The impulsive Mr. Morrison

By Fred MacIsaac

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Title: The impulsive Mr. Morrison

Author: Fred MacIsaac

Illustrator: Howard V. Brown


        
Release date: October 8, 2026 [eBook #79744]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: The Frank A. Munsey Company, 1929

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79744

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMPULSIVE MR. MORRISON ***




                      The Impulsive Mr. Morrison

                           By FRED MacISAAC

                 _Author of "The Spectral Passenger,"
                       "The Press Agent," etc._

               _Central Americans are temperamental and
             quick to act--but none of them was as wildly
                impulsive as young Jim Morrison during
               that whirlwind intrigue in Banana Land._

                         _Novelette--Complete_




                              CHAPTER I.

                        THE CONSUL'S DAUGHTER.


From the window of his chamber in the Hotel Trinidad, James Vincent
Morrison looked upon the city of Rosa Blanca and cursed it for a hot,
festering, vile-smelling tropic hole. Although he was clad only in B.
V. D.'s, these were wringing wet, and perspiration was still oozing
from his pores and irritating him as it trickled down his body. It was
the hottest part of the day, 2 P.M., and everybody else was
indulging in a siesta. Jim's body was too uncomfortable, and he had too
much on his mind.

The window looked upon the Plaza of Rosa Blanca, capital city of the
Central American republic of Santa Rosa. A hundred yards across the
park he could see the palace of the president, a long, low plaster
building set back in a garden and protected by a high brick and plaster
wall, against which two sentries were leaning, probably asleep on their
feet.

The Plaza was the business center of Rosa Blanca, but with the
exception of colored folks sleeping on the benches of the park, no
human being was in sight. There were a lot of mangy dogs wandering
about, and a black and white goat.

So bright was the sun, reflected as it was by the white walls of
the buildings, that it hurt Jim's eyes to look out, and the air was
permeated by a subtle but unpleasant perfume which offended his
nostrils.

Just the nasty capital of a rotten little banana republic, he
reflected, and any white man who didn't leave by the first boat was a
fool. He was a fool. He could have sailed on the fruit steamer this
morning, and if it wasn't for Ellen he certainly would have done so.

For a week he had been lingering in Rosa Blanca--"White Rose," a lovely
name for this pest hole--because Ellen Goring was here. Although she
had indicated emphatically that she didn't want to marry him, he would
hang around until she changed her mind; it might be for years and it
might be forever.

Only seven days ago Jim Morrison had come down from the chief Morrison
banana plantation to take the ship for New York. Although it had not
been frightfully hot in the hills, it had been gosh-darned lonesome,
for the manager and his wife, even if they were efficient banana
raisers, were social duds; didn't even play bridge.

Coming down to Santa Rosa had been his father's idea; just a scheme to
get him away from Gladys Glower of the Follies, with whom he hadn't
been in love at all. Tom Morrison had told Jim it was time he got
acquainted with the source of the family income, and had practically
shipped him out of New York. Having been marooned among the banana
trees for a month, he had driven down to Rosa Blanca a week ago and
arrived at cocktail time. The next morning he was to start home.

Holding forth at the bar of the Hotel Trinidad was a fat man in
whites; a soft, paunchy, loose-mouthed, blear-eyed old nuisance who was
discussing American politics, expressing the dreariest blather in an
unpleasant voice.

As Morrison was a newcomer the man had fixed on him, practically
buttonholed him. After listening with growing impatience to his
drool for a quarter of an hour, Jim lost his temper, something he
lost easily, and expressed his opinion of bores so pungently and
objectionably that the old man got furious and called him an ignorant
young whippersnapper.

"I'd rather be that than a chattering superannuated ape," Jim retorted,
and if the two or three Americans present hadn't held the paunchy
person by the arms there would have been a real fight.

       *       *       *       *       *

Leaving the bar in disgust, Morrison went into the dingy dining room
and was led to a seat and a menu thrust into his hand by a black
waiter. He did not consult it, however. Facing him, and only a few
tables distant, was the most exquisite, most delectable, most glorious
and most desirable girl in the world. With her was an elderly woman,
drab, stern-visaged, starchy and argus-eyed, whom he put down as a
missionary.

The girl had dark hair parted in the middle and caught in a knob at
the back of her neck; long hair, mind you; and she had the largest
brown eyes that ever adorned a female face. Her nose was small and
saucily tilted, her mouth small, whimsical and expressive, her chin
determined--and it had a dimple in it.

The woman with her said something and she smiled, which exhibited two
rows of sublime teeth, and disclosed another dimple in the center of
her right cheek. Her complexion was blond, despite her dark hair, a
rare combination, and, in Jim's opinion, an adorable one.

That part of the figure visible above the table was alluring, and he
knew without seeing them that her legs would be marvelous. It turned
out that they were. When she observed his stare she looked demurely
down and veiled her eyes with criminally long black lashes, while a
bright blush illuminated her milky cheeks.

Jim Morrison knew by the astonishing behavior of his heart that he had
met the girl of all girls, and the next thing was to find out who she
was. He left his table abruptly and sought the hotel clerk.

"You mean the Señorita Goring," smiled the young Spaniard. "She
is--ah--superb! Her father is the American consul."

"What luck," thought Jim. "I'll make his acquaintance, marry her and go
north with her on next week's boat. Tum, tum, te, tum te tum tum."

It was the Mendelssohn wedding march he was humming. He rapidly wrote a
note to the steamship company canceling his passage on the morrow and
returned to the dining room. Sitting with the future Mrs. Morrison was
the very same old dodderer who had wanted to beat him up in the barroom!

So it was the American consul with whom he had picked a fight. Holy
mackerel, what a boner he had pulled! At the moment Mr. Goring looked
up and saw Jim, and scowled fiercely, and then he said something to his
daughter, who proceeded to gaze at Morrison with scorn and loathing.

"Torpedoed," Jim muttered. "James, my boy, you're sunk without a trace
unless you do something, and do it quick. Now or never!"

He rose and walked toward the trio at the consul's table, who gazed at
him in angry astonishment.

"Sir," Jim said, "I don't know who you are, but I wish to tell you
that I am very much ashamed of my exhibition of a few moments ago. I
think it must have been the heat. That drink I had disturbed me. I
just want to say that you were entirely right and I was wrong. There
is no question that the Republican party is the party of Lincoln and
Roosevelt and the only party worthy of ruling the United States of
America. If you made any other statements that I contradicted, due to
my abnormal condition, I wish to tell you that you were correct, and I
am a whippersnapper, just as you said."

Mr. Goring's rather fishy blue eyes regarded him, without change of
expression, his cheeks grew even more purple than they had been. They
were almost as purple now as his nose, and his pendulous underlip
quivered menacingly. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands
insolently upon his paunch.

"Young man," he said, "your conversion is too sudden to be convincing.
I quarrel with no man about his opinions. I am glad you are aware
that you are a whippersnapper, but I still regard you as a most
objectionable person. And you called me a superannuated ape."

"What?" exclaimed the young woman. "He called you that, father?"

"I was only prevented from chastising him by the interference of
others."

"I withdraw that statement, too, sir. I withdraw everything. I regret I
so far forgot myself as to insult a worthy gentleman. I think it must
have been the heat."

"I cannot accept your apology. Kindly leave us, sir."

"My name is James V. Morrison," he persisted with desperation. "I am
the son of Thomas Morrison of New York."

"I wouldn't care if you were the son of the President of the United
States, sir," said the unmollified old gentleman, "I want nothing to do
with you."

"May I suggest," said the elderly lady, in tones compared to which
vinegar would be sweet, "that you withdraw, young man. You are grossly
intoxicated."

Jim looked imploringly at the girl, whose face was without expression,
then he bowed and slowly left the dining room. He had tried a bold
stroke and lost. However, the girl knew exactly why he had humiliated
himself. It was for her. Perhaps he had piqued her interest.

What an ass he had been. Of course he was irritable because of his
long ride in the appalling heat, but he didn't have to get into a
controversy with the old imbecile. He might have walked out of the
barroom. And it had to be the father of the one girl!

"I'll get her yet," he assured himself, "but it's going to be tough."




                              CHAPTER II.

                          THROWN FOR A LOSS.


Morrison was strolling aimlessly around town next morning when he saw
Miss Goring come out of a shop. Opportunity knocks but once. He bore
down rapidly, braked abruptly in front of her, lifted his panama with a
graceful gesture and addressed her.

"Miss Goring," he said rapidly, "I cannot tell you how badly I feel
about last night. It must have been the heat."

The girl bit her ripe underlip and eyed him icily. "So you explained
last night."

"It's doubly unfortunate, because I fell in love with you the instant I
saw you. I am anxious to make friends with your father. Won't you help
me?"

Her eyes widened and her cheeks flamed, but she retained her composure.

"Are you still intoxicated?" she demanded.

"Sober as a judge. It's this way. I want to make the next boat for New
York. I'd like to be married and--"

"You are quite mad," she exclaimed. "Step aside, please--or must I call
a policeman?"

He stepped aside and she brushed by. He called after her:

"No man ever loved a girl as I love you."

She affected not to hear him, and hurried on.

"Well," observed Morrison to the ambient atmosphere, "she knows it now.
She knows I love her, and my intentions are honorable. I will proceed
to buy out some florist and send the contents of his shop to the
consulate."

Ellen Goring, smiling in spite of herself at the encounter, walked
briskly back to the consulate. She had observed this young man in the
flyspecked dining room of the Hotel Trinidad last evening, noted that
he was big and blond and clean-cut and wholesome. It is probable that
he would have attracted her attention even if she had seen him in a big
American city, but down here, in this exotic spot, whose inhabitants
were mostly black and tan and whose resident Americans were few and
mostly unappetizing, she had inspected him with interest. Even if a
girl is perfectly satisfied to be unmarried, there is no reason why she
should not look over the members of the male sex.

And then her father had come in and explained that the fellow was a
quarrelsome, boisterous and insulting young brute. It was hard to
believe that, but Mr. Goring was still hot from a quarrel with him.
While Ellen loved her father she was not blind to his faults, and she
thought he probably exaggerated a trifle, but she glanced at the
culprit and saw that he was staring at her, and he had bold eyes.
Then he had the effrontery to come to their table and admit to her
father, in her hearing, that he had insulted him, had called him a
superannuated ape.

His apology was an even greater insult. She knew why he made it. He
wanted to get acquainted with her. This young man was much too brash
and his impudence was egregious. She thought about him a lot that
night, wondering how she could put him in his place, provided she had
an opportunity to take him in hand.

And now the man was insane enough to accost her on the street, tell her
he loved her and propose marriage on the spot. He had not even been
introduced to her. She had charged him with intoxication, but she knew
he was sober; she had declared he was mad, but she didn't believe it.
She was thrilled, and it made her angry to be thrilled. What kind of
girl did the fellow think she was? She would show him!

She would tell her father on him. Perhaps the consul could have him
deported.

The American consulate was a small house on a side street half a block
from the Plaza, a Spanish dwelling with a patio. It was rather a shabby
patio and a shabbier house, but the consul's salary was small, and it
was the best he could afford. There was a room on the ground floor
which Mr. Goring had fitted up as an office, and the family lived in
four rooms on the second floor. None of the other ground floor rooms
were habitable. Over the entrance was a small flagstaff upon which hung
the American flag, when their one servant remembered to hang it out.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Goring was sitting in the patio when she entered, clad in a soiled
white suit, and minus collar and necktie. He had also omitted to shave,
but he had his morning drink upon the little table beside the big
wicker armchair in which he was stretched. Her father was degenerating
rapidly in the tropics, she thought. Too much to drink, nothing much to
do, and this withering, melting heat. If only he would give it up and
go home!

The Honorable Elias Goring had no intention of going home. He liked his
title, he liked the easy life, and he liked cheap drinks and plenty of
them. He had been a State Senator in Illinois and had been defeated for
reëlection after sixteen years in office. He had felt he was too old to
set up in business again in Springton, their home, so he had grasped
eagerly at the offer of the consulate in Rosa Blanca. While he had been
somewhat disappointed when he first saw the place, three months ago, he
had decided it would do.

Ellen, who had old-fashioned ideas about the love and respect due a
parent, was finding it daily more difficult to respect her father, and
his present appearance repelled her. Nevertheless, she was so angry she
had to erupt, and she duly erupted.

"Father," she began, "that man who insulted you last night had the
impudence to speak to me upon the street just now. He was abominable.
He tried to make love to me."

"What's that? Why, the miserable young pup! I'll, I'll--" He stopped
short.

"Well, what will you do about it?" she demanded. "Can you have him
deported?"

Mr. Goring rubbed his unshaved jaw with his big right hand.

"It's like this, Ellen," he deprecated. "I was talking with our
minister last night at the hotel. It seems the fellow's the son of
Thomas Morrison, who is the Morrison Fruit Company. Well, Morrison owns
this spiggoty republic. He put the present administration in power, and
keeps it there. I reckon Morrison is powerful enough to yank me out of
here if I assert myself in this matter the way I ought to."

"He told you who he was last night. You were bold enough then."

"Well, the fact is, I was excited, and I didn't connect the name at the
moment."

"Upon my word!" exclaimed the furious girl. "I can be insulted by a man
on the street and my father is afraid to protect me."

The consul got up from his chair and struck a statesmanlike attitude.
His watery blue eyes tried to glower at her. "Don't you say that; don't
you dare say I can't protect my daughter! I'll see this young man and
give him a piece of my mind; but I can't deport him. The administration
here wouldn't do it if I asked them to."

"Very well. Oh, very well! I'm sorry I told you about it. I can look
after myself." She tapped the flagstone with an angry toe.

"I'll attend to this," said the father, striding up and down and
fanning his own wrath to make it warm. "In just what way did he insult
you?"

"He asked me to marry him and go North on the next boat."

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Goring. "Upon my word! But, after all, Ellen, is
a proposal of marriage from a rich young man an insult?"

She half smiled and suppressed the smile. "Considering that he had
never met me and was practically picking me up, I think it is. Maybe
not an insult, but very impudent. Don't bother, father--though, if you
were removed from this dreadful place, it might be a good thing for all
of us."

"I have a right to protect my daughter, and I shall. I'll speak to this
young man!"

"Then here is your opportunity," she exclaimed. "I'm going to run for
it."

She had observed, coming through the entrance, none other than Jim
Morrison, staggering under so many tropic blooms that he really should
have conveyed them in a cart. Ellen whisked up the stairs to the
second floor and then went into a room directly over her father's
chair, so she should not miss the conversation which was going to ensue.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Good morning, Mr. Goring," said Jim cheerfully. "I came to pay my
respects to our country's representative, and to leave a few simple
flowers for the wife and daughter of the consul."

Mr. Goring resumed his chair and curled his lip at the visitor.

"You've got a gall coming here after last night," he said.

"I hoped you would remember that I apologized most humbly for what
happened in the bar. It was the heat. I was not myself."

"We'll let that pass," said the consul angrily. "You have committed a
new offense. You insulted my daughter upon a public thoroughfare, and I
ought to horsewhip you for it."

"I insulted your daughter? Mr. Goring, I paid her the greatest
compliment a man can pay a woman. I asked her to marry me."

"She took it as an insult. Now, young man, I don't care if you are your
father's son and if you've got influence enough to have me pulled off
this job, I don't like you. My daughter doesn't like you. We can't run
you out of Rosa Blanca, but we can prevent you from coming into this
house. Have you got any official business with the consul?"

"No-o," said Jim, then, brightly, "but no doubt I can think up some."

He thought he heard a titter somewhere above him, and looked up, but he
could see nobody.

"The trouble with you young bloods from New York is you suppose you can
commit all the crimes on the calendar and get away with it," proclaimed
Mr. Goring. "Now, I'm a plain citizen from a country town in Illinois,
but I don't kowtow to any New York millionaire or his brash son. My
daughter is just as good as you are--"

"Say, she's a million times better," declared the object of the
reproof. "She's the most beautiful girl I ever saw and I think she's
the finest. When she gets to know me, maybe she'll find out I'm not so
bad either."

He spoke loudly, for he suspected that Ellen was listening from above.
He was sure about that titter.

"Well, I forbid you to make her acquaintance. I forbid you this
house. If you accost her on the street again, I'll cable your father,
appealing to him as one father to another."

"You're going to make it tough for a couple of nice young people,"
protested Morrison.

"Confound your impudence! My daughter don't want anything to do with
you. She came in here, almost crying, and do you know what she asked me
to do? Have you deported! Now, young man, you better go."

Jim Morrison's brisk cheerfulness faded and his face lengthened.

"Say, did she actually feel like that? I'm darn sorry. Will you ask her
to accept these flowers as a token of my remorse?"

"Pick up your flowers and carry them off or I'll have the servants
throw them out," said the consul roughly. "Are you going to leave or
must I have you put out?"

"Oh, I'll go," he said dismally. Ellen leaned out the window and read
his distress in the manner in which his big shoulders drooped. She ran
downstairs again.

"Were you listening?" demanded Mr. Goring. She nodded.

"You can't complain of your old father now. I told him plainly where
I stood and let him know that his wealth didn't impress me. Are you
satisfied?"

"You needn't have told him I wanted him deported," she said crossly.
"And you were much too harsh with the poor boy."

The consul's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "If you don't beat
all!" he exclaimed. "You demand that I protect you and I risk my post
to do it and this is the thanks I get."

Ellen rushed to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his
cheek. "You are a dear," she said, "and I am very ungrateful. And I
don't think you discouraged that young man much."




                             CHAPTER III.

                          JIM TRIES STRATEGY.


Jim Morrison was not discouraged, but for the moment he was nonplused.
As the reader must have discovered, he was a very impulsive young man.
As they used to say in the dime novels, "To think was to act with Jack
Dalton"; and because Jim acted instantly upon his impulses he had got
into hot water more than once.

A very rich young man cannot violently rush theatrical ladies in the
city of New York without waking up married in New Jersey or Connecticut
sooner or later, and if such a fate had not befallen Jim, it was more
through good luck than good judgment.

On several occasions a pair of fine eyes had bowled him over, but he
had recovered when he knew the lady better; in the case of Ellen Goring
he was certain he would never recover. The effect that girl had upon
him when he set eyes on her in the hotel dining room was as different
from the feeling with which Gladys Gower had inspired in him as
sunlight is from moonlight. Ordinarily he didn't make such an idiot of
himself as he had done upon the two occasions he had encountered Ellen:
he had acted like a drunken man, but he was drunk, not on liquor as she
had charged, but upon a pair of amazing brown eyes.

He had blurted out that insane proposal to a girl to whom he hadn't
been introduced because he could not help himself; and he had been
in a fever when he bought a load of flowers and followed her to the
consulate. The mouthings of that small-town politician, her father, had
not bothered him in the slightest until the old man had stated that
Ellen wanted him deported from Rosa Blanca. That was like emptying a
pail of ice water upon his devoted head.

So far, in his twenty-five years, he had always got what he wanted
from everybody, and when he paid court to young women he had found
them responsive. Was it possible that this girl, the only one he could
ever love, was not going to love him in return? Had he made such a sad
impression on her that she disliked him? If she wanted him deported she
couldn't like him very much. He shook his head.

"Wrong tactics," he muttered. "Can't rush a swell girl like that off
her feet."

It's possible he might have been completely discouraged had it not been
for the titter which he had heard from above while arguing with the
old gentleman. It was exceedingly unlikely that Ellen's mother would
giggle; the servants probably did not understand English; and that left
only the young lady to be considered as the author of the mirthful
sound.

Deport him? He would show her. But he had to find some way to meet her
if he couldn't call at the consulate or speak to her in the street. Get
somebody to invite her to dinner and seat him beside her and then she
would have to talk.

Upon his arrival in Rosa Blanca _en route_ for the plantation he had
stopped in the sweltering seaport only long enough to procure an
automobile to take him into the hills, but Morrison's had a manager
in the city and that gentleman would have to be nice to the son of
Tom Morrison. From him he could find out a lot about the Gorings, and
if the manager had a wife he might confide in her and persuade her to
square him with Ellen.

This manager was a sun-browned, hard-drinking individual of middle age
named Jefferson Tillman, who had met Jim at the boat and capered about
in his anxiety to be of service. Look him up.

Cramming his straw hat upon his blond head, Jim left the hotel and
walked three blocks to the office of the Morrison Company, a gloomy
looking interior, darkened in a vain effort to keep it cool. There he
found Mr. Tillman in a small room at the rear with his feet upon a desk
reading a New York newspaper a fortnight old. Mr. Tillman leaped to his
feet and came forward with both hands extended in welcome.

"I've been to your hotel twice this morning, Mr. Morrison," he
exclaimed. "I only heard late last night you had got in. How did you
find things at the plantations?"

"Nothing there but a lot of bananas," he retorted as he threw himself
into a swivel chair and put his own feet on the desk. "Say, this is
probably the hottest and dirtiest town in all Central America. I'll go
further and say in the world."

"You're lucky you don't have to live here," replied Tillman as he
seated himself again. "I heard you canceled your passage on to-day's
boat. Why?"

"I'm detained here on business," replied the heir of the Morrison
banana business. "I have to wait till I persuade a girl to marry me,
and it's going to take time by the looks of it. Years, maybe, the way
she feels about me now."

"Not a Spanish girl? Not somebody you met in the hills?"

"The future Mrs. Morrison is known at present as Ellen Goring, and her
old man is our consul in this interesting city. I am afraid he doesn't
like me very much."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Ellen Goring!" cried Mr. Tillman. "By Jove, you've picked a corker!
That's one of the finest girls I've ever known, and my wife says so,
too. So you're going to marry Ellen? I'm tickled to death. You work
fast, young fellow. I suppose, though, you met her in America."

"It's like this, Tillman," he said, shamefacedly. "Miss Goring hasn't
exactly agreed yet. She isn't taking the situation in the right spirit.
In fact, she wants her father to have me deported."

"What? By the way you talked I thought it was almost settled," gasped
the properly astonished agent.

"It's settled in my mind, but not in hers. You see, she's prejudiced
against me by the fact that I had an argument with her father before I
knew who he was. I called him a superannuated ape."

"And so he is," declared Tillman with a laugh, "only that wasn't very
tactful of you."

"Well I had to overcome that and I tried plunging tactics. I stopped
her on the street this morning and told her I wanted to marry her. So
she wants me deported," he said ruefully.

"They couldn't deport you from this country, my boy. The Morrison Fruit
Company is practically the government. But it's too bad you were so
precipitate."

"I don't think she really meant it, but her father thinks she did.
Anyway, I'm forbidden the consulate, and she'll probably call a cop if
I speak to her again on the street, so I wondered if you and your wife
couldn't throw a party and sort of give me a chance to have a talk with
her. Give me five minutes alone with that girl--" His spirits soared at
the idea.

The agent reached for his hand and shook it heartily. "You bet we
shall," he exclaimed. "I'll talk it over with Mary at lunch. Suppose
you come home with me and have lunch with us. Mary is crazy about Ellen
and she was saying only last night it would be terrible if that girl
threw herself away upon Carlo Lopez."

"What's that? Who?"

"Carlo Lopez, the minister of war. He is very rich and he has been
paying her attentions. I think her father favors him."

"Say," shouted Morrison. "Do you mean to say that old catawampus would
let his daughter marry one of these 'high-yallars' down here?"

"Lopez is as white as you or I. He is a Castilian, young, handsome and
rich, as I have said. Ellen seems to like him."

"Yeah? Well, we'll soon change all that. The minister of war. Eight
generals and two privates, that's his army, I suppose."

"No, no," protested Tillman. "They have a pretty good little army
here. About five thousand well trained, well armed men. Morrison money
armed and equipped them when President Garcia was a revolutionist and
overthrew the government of President Moreno. I don't suppose I should
tell you this, though."

"I wish I had called that old man something worse than an ape. He's an
unnatural father. He's a scoundrel!"

"No. Just a loud-mouthed old jackass. He's flattered by the attentions
of Lopez, but he couldn't make Ellen do something she didn't want to.
She has a will of her own, that girl."

"Come on. We'll go see your wife," Jim commanded. "Good Lord, we've got
to get things started right away. I never dreamed I was up against any
competition. I've got to get going."




                              CHAPTER IV.

                     REVOLUTIONARY UNDERCURRENTS.


When Mr. Tillman informed Jim Morrison that the minister of war,
General Carlo Lopez, was young and handsome, he did not exaggerate,
for Lopez was a remarkable looking young man. There is a popular
impression in the United States that the peoples of Central America are
of mixed blood and they are referred to by the impolite as "spigs" and
"greasers"--in return for which the Central Americans refer to us, when
they think it safe, as "Yankee pigs."

It is perfectly true that there are millions of Indians and negroes
in the hot countries and millions more who are half and three-quarter
breeds, due to the fact that the early Spanish explorers and conquerors
came away from home without their wives and--well, explain the
mulattoes in America. However, the early settlement of Panama and
adjacent countries enabled many aristocratic and cultured Spanish
families to come across the ocean, and most of these were very careful
to keep their blood pure.

Carlo Lopez could trace his ancestry back three hundred years and
demonstrate that none of his progenitors had married outside the white
race while it was obvious by looking at him that no red Indian or black
African blood flowed in his veins. He was about five feet eight inches
in height with straight, delicate features, extraordinarily fine black
eyes, a narrow but determined chin, and a clear olive complexion.

He was as handsome as some of those old grandees of Spain whom
Velasquez painted, and every time Ellen Goring looked at him she got a
queer tingling feeling which might be love for all she knew. She had
told Mrs. Tillman that it was unfair to womankind that a man should be
permitted to be so beautiful.

The Lopez family had lived luxuriously upon the earnings of silver
mines in the hills of Santa Rosa for three hundred years, except during
such periods as when enemies were in control of the government and
tried to confiscate the mines; then the male Lopezes took the field and
stayed there until their friends had acquired the government of the
republic.

Carlo Lopez had attended Harvard for two years, until the faculty
decided that he was too sporting for a student and expelled him; but in
this he had nothing on Jim Morrison, who was expelled from Princeton
at the end of his junior year for undue boisterousness.

Lopez had returned to Santa Rosa five years ago to join the Liberal
party, whose active members were hiding in the jungle with the
Conservatives taking pot shots at them whenever one of them showed
above the tall grass. The Lopez mines were occupied by the Moreno
forces, a Moreno general was living in the Lopez country house, and
things were in very bad shape from a Lopez standpoint.

However, the agents of the Morrison Fruit Company had discovered that
General Moreno proposed to make an exclusive banana arrangement with
the Blue Star Fruit Company, so they shipped down several carloads of
machine guns, rifles and ammunition, landed about a hundred American
adventurers who had seen service in the World War, drilled and equipped
the Garcia patriots for a few months, extracted an exclusive banana
contract from General Garcia, and enabled the cause of liberty to
triumph.

       *       *       *       *       *

While Jim Morrison was having lunch with Mr. and Mrs. Tillman, Carlo
Lopez, minister of war, General Garcia, president of the republic, and
General Arnaldo Volpe, commander-in-chief of the army, were lunching in
the palace with a lantern-jawed, angular American who represented the
Blue Star Fruit Company.

It was Jefferson Tillman's business to know about this luncheon, but he
was busily occupied in trying to make good with the son of his boss.

"It's this way, your excellency," John Laird, the American, was saying.
"You've been on the level with Morrison for five years and what's it
got you? Just a measly twenty-five thousand a year. You've kept us out
of this country, you've made yourselves dependent on Morrison, enabled
him to make many millions, and all for what? A few cargoes of arms and
ammunitions."

"Morrison enabled us to overthrow the tyrant Moreno," stated Carlo
Lopez. "It is due to his aid that Liberty reigns in Santa Rosa."

"Well, that's all right. He's had his five years. That's probably
longer than he has expected. You got a right to make a change unless
you want to admit you're Tom Morrison's hired man."

"Take care," warned President Garcia. He was a fat, black-whiskered,
saturnine individual, and, if Carlo Lopez was a hundred per cent
Caucasian, President Garcia probably would not have assayed sixty per
cent.

"You have no opposition now," Laird went on. "The Conservatives are
shot to pieces. You have the country's revenues, a neat little army
of five thousand men, a couple of batteries of field artillery, a
hundred machine guns or so, and you don't have to take off your hats
to anybody. Morrison couldn't do anything to you now. Moreno is
dead, there's no revolutionary leader. And, general, I'll tell you
something else. The day is past when American business men can foment
revolution in Central America for their own purposes. You can appeal
for protection to the Administration at Washington against interference
in your government by the Morrison Fruit Company, and you'll get it."

"What is your proposition, Mr. Laird?" asked President Garcia.

"I want your Congress to open up the country. Some patriot can
introduce a bill repealing the exclusive agreement with the Morrison
Fruit Company and steamship company. A fair field and no favor, that
ought to be the motto of Santa Rosa. That's going to sound all right
in the United States. And, between ourselves, the Blue Star has a much
bigger pull in Washington than Tom Morrison. He's in bad with the
Administration."

Garcia looked at the minister of war. "Are we in a position to take
such a stand?" he demanded.

"Yes," replied Carlo Lopez. "Pizzo, the bandit in the hills, has only a
couple of hundred men. My spies report order everywhere, no plotting to
amount to anything. The army is loyal, is it not, General Volpe?"

The commander-in-chief of the army, a very small blue-eyed Spaniard
with red hair, nodded affirmatively. "They are being paid regularly,
they have decent quarters, and there is nobody to tamper with their
loyalty."

"In return for the privilege of trading here, what sort of proposition
do you make to us?" asked the president.

"A quarter of a million in American money, delivered to you to be
divided any way you wish. Fifty thousand a year instead of the Morrison
contribution of half that."

"In which case Morrison sends arms and ammunition to Pizzo in the
hills, slips in a foreign legion like that which fought with us, and we
have a real revolution on our hands," said Garcia shrewdly.

"At the first sign of that you can throw the Morrison interests out,"
Laird declared eagerly, "and lodge a protest in Washington. You can
depend upon the Blue Star to back you up."

Garcia looked at Lopez.

"Strange as it may appear to you, Mr. Laird," Lopez replied, "we of
Santa Rosa are not for sale to the highest bidder. We love our little
country. We took up arms against a tyrant and accepted American aid,
even as the United States accepted aid from the King of France in your
revolution. We have had five years of profound peace, we are prosperous
and contented, and we have money in our treasury. We gave our word to
Morrison and we shall keep it. The Blue Star was supporting the tyrant
Moreno, if my memory is correct."

"Bravo!" exclaimed the president. "The minister of war expresses my
sentiments, Señor Laird. Not if the Blue Star offered very much more
American gold would we betray our country and break our treaty with our
friend, the Morrison Company."

"Furthermore," Lopez said sternly, "I am fully informed of everything
which goes on in Santa Rosa, and any attempt of your people to
encourage the bandit Pizzo will be thwarted, Señor Laird."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Well," said Laird, "I see I'll have to get in touch with my
principals. I may get a better offer."

The president rose from his chair with great dignity, having had his
coffee anyway. "Señor Laird," he declared, "this meeting is at an end.
Your remark is offensive."

The American agent hastened to apologize, and polite relations were
restored, but a few moments later the party broke up.

So far as Carlo Lopez, a Castilian gentleman of Santa Rosa, was
concerned, the government's statement to Laird was made in the best of
faith. That was true also as far as the president was concerned--at
least until he got a better offer.

The minister of war, of course, was fully aware that the son of the
mighty Tom Morrison was in the city, but he was not yet aware that Jim
Morrison was endeavoring to pay court to Ellen Goring.

Having stood up stoutly for the right of the Morrison Fruit Company
at the conference with the agent of the Blue Star Line, it seemed
to General Lopez, as he sat at his desk in the war office in the
Administration Building, that it would do no harm to let the son of Tom
Morrison know who was a true friend in Rosa Blanca, and how crafty were
the machinations of the Blue Star miscreants. Accordingly, he wrote a
polite note to Jim Morrison in which he asked him to be his guest at
the Exposition Restaurant that evening, and dispatched it immediately
to the Hotel Trinidad.

When Jim returned from a very satisfactory meeting with Mrs. Tillman he
found the note. Mrs. Tillman was a woman of thirty-five who had been
blond and beautiful. She had lived three years in Rosa Blanca and her
ambition was to get back to New York.

She had learned that the climate of Central America is horribly bad for
blond ladies of thirty-five, for it shrivels them, withers them, ages
them before their time. A young American girl will lose her color and
dry up if she lives very long on the Central American coast, but she
can come back when she gets into a decent climate; for a blond woman of
thirty-five whose complexion is on the wane anyway, there is no coming
back.

To win the friendship of Jim Morrison by helping him get the girl of
his choice was an opportunity she was eager to grasp, because it was
an important step to landing Jefferson Tillman some important job in
New York. She had agreed to invite Ellen to dinner the following night
and to seat her alongside of Jim Morrison. If Ellen proved obdurate she
would sing the praises of the young man until the girl relented.

If Jim had not known that Carlo Lopez was paying court to Ellen
he would have passed up his dinner invitation because it might be
tiresome; but, supplied with this information, he was appalled by the
fellow's impudence. Very curtly he wrote that a previous engagement
would deprive him of the pleasure of meeting the minister of war. He
spent the afternoon in his room in a state of undress, with a tall
glass filled with ice and yellow liquid beside him and a book which
bored him.

At dinner time he was early in the hotel dining room and remained late,
but the Gorings did not dine at the hotel that night. He found two or
three young Englishmen and Americans in the bar afterward and listened
to their jabber for an hour or so, and then strolled out into the
streets.

       *       *       *       *       *

Night in Rosa Blanca was not so bad, as a balmy breeze blew in from
the Caribbean, and the stars were like lamps in the heavens and the
crescent moon was indescribably beautiful. The street sights were
interesting, and the peculiar aroma of the city was less flagrant by
night, or so it seemed to him. There was a principal avenue, wide
and well paved; two or three business streets upon which only the
_cantinas_ were open; and then a maze of narrow thoroughfares not much
wider than alleys, which were the residential quarters of the natives
of Rosa Blanca.

The houses were usually one or two stories in height, built in
solid blocks. Because of the heat, doors and windows were open and
uncurtained, so that a saunterer upon any of those streets might look
in and see the black and brown and yellow and near-white inhabitants
enjoying their home life. Jim thought the said home life was rather
disgusting.

There were many people on these narrow streets walking aimlessly, and
many more sitting on doorsteps. He seemed to attract no attention as
he moved among them, and when he came to a group which crowded the
sidewalk they made way for him with a courtesy he wouldn't meet in New
York.

He heard the bell on the cathedral striking the hour of nine, as he
turned into a wider and more prosperous street where the houses were
all of two stories. Upon the balconies of these houses he observed many
women sitting and peering into the thoroughfare below, commenting upon
the passers-by, giggling and apparently being well amused.

This street was less crowded than the alley-like _calles_ through which
he had passed, and as he came to its end it was almost deserted. From
a side street he heard the tinkling of guitars and then a tenor voice
lifted in a seductive Spanish song.

He turned the corner, and a few rods distant stood three men on the
curb with upturned faces; two of them playing guitars while the third
was vocalizing. Upon a balcony stood a yellow girl, dressed all in
white, who leaned her elbows upon the rail and smiled down, while, on
other balconies, other women were visible, enjoying the show.

"A serenade," he thought. "By Jove, a real Spanish serenade!"

The singer had a good voice, and he sang with so much passion that Jim
was convinced that he was the lover. A little crowd gathered which did
not perturb any of the actors, but they did not applaud when a song was
finished; etiquette demanded that the lovers be not disturbed.

Presently the tenor finished and made a low bow, sweeping the ground
with his Yippy Yappy hat, and then the girl unpinned a rose from her
breast, held it out and dropped it when he lifted the hat to receive
it. The young man picked the flower out of the hat, kissed it, and the
girl tittered and disappeared from the balcony. The show was over.




                              CHAPTER V.

                         THE SPANISH CAVALIER.


The three musicians strolled, then, toward the corner where stood Jim
Morrison and other spectators and, as they passed, he thrust out his
hand and grasped the arm of the tenor.

"Any of you boys speak English?" he demanded.

"_Sí, señor_," said one of the guitarists, "I spik de Engleesh."

"You want to make ten dollars?"

"_Sí, sí, sí, señor!_"

"Then you come with me to the American consulate."

They had to show him the way, for he was hopelessly lost, but in ten
minutes they stood in the deserted street outside the home of Ellen
Goring.

"Now do your stuff," commanded Jim. "I'll show that kid a new wrinkle.
I bet she's never been serenaded before."

The guitars twanged and the tenor opened his mouth and sang even more
passionately than he had for love, a few minutes before. Jim stood
beside them in delight. It mattered not to him that one of the guitar
players was black as coal and the others were mulattoes.

As the man sang people appeared on balconies up and down the street,
but although there were lights in the windows of the consulate, the
serenade had no effect. Ellen, apparently, had no notion that she was
the object of the musical tribute in the street below. Jim waited with
as much patience as he could muster, but after ten minutes he could
stand it no longer.

"Hey, gimme that," he commanded and grasped a guitar from a protesting
player. He did not know how to play a guitar, but the strings would
make a noise if he pulled them. He struck a couple of jangling chords
and in a voice which was loud and very unmusical he began:

    "The Spanish Cavalier
    Paused in his retreat
    And on his guitar
    Played a tune, dear.
    Say, darling, say
    When I'm far away,
    Remember my, remember--
    Tum, tum te tum, te de tum ta."

[Illustration: _In a loud and unmusical voice Jim began his serenade._]

He had selected that number because they used to sing it in college,
and it seemed appropriate, but he didn't remember the words very well
and the tune only approximately. However, it had an effect. He heard
laughter on the second floor of the consulate and then out on the
balcony popped Ellen, in a white evening dress. Behind her were Mrs.
Goring, the consul, and a man in resplendent green and gold uniform,
a stunning-looking man, who, he knew, could be none other than the
minister of war, his rival. And all four were laughing heartily.

If the ground could have swallowed him up Jim would have been grateful;
but there he stood with his mouth open, a guitar in his hands, and
three colored men as his companions. Ellen looked down and recognized
him, and uttered a wild whoop of mirth.

Mr. Goring peered down and also recognized him.

"Upon my word, Mr. Morrison," he cried angrily, "this is too much.
If you must get intoxicated, why come and exhibit yourself under my
windows--"

"And whoever told you you could sing?" demanded the heartless Ellen.

"May I ask who is this gentleman, and why he is disturbing the peace?"
asked the minister of war, smoothly and maliciously.

"It's that dreadful young man we saw in the hotel," announced Mrs.
Goring shrilly.

"Come on, you boys, let's get out of here," muttered Jim, overwhelmed
with embarrassment.

"Just a minute, please," called Ellen, who disappeared. She returned in
an instant and began to throw down into the street the flowers he had
dropped in the patio that morning. It was too much. Jim led the retreat
at a run, mocking laughter ringing in his ears. And such was the sad
fate of a great idea.

As he fled he was pursued by his hirelings demanding their pay, and he
tossed three ten-dollar bills at them without pausing in his gallop.
Ellen, far from appreciating the thoughtfulness of his attention, had
laughed louder than anybody and had added insult to injury by hurling
his own flowers at him.

And that popinjay of a war minister had wanted to know who was
disturbing the peace. For that Jim vowed he would punch him in the
nose. The brute had invited him to dinner and, when Jim had refused, he
had gone to call on the Gorings and was welcomed by the whole family,
while he, Jim Morrison, who truly loved the girl and wanted to make her
his bride, was compelled to caterwaul outside the window and then get
insulted for his pains.

Well, he would go back to the hotel and drink and drink until he had
drowned the recollection of his humiliation.

       *       *       *       *       *

An hour later, having consumed half a dozen fiery concoctions without
effacing the recollection of what had happened, he went up to his room
and had begun to prepare for bed when his telephone rang. He regarded
it dubiously. He was in no mood to talk to any one, and it was probably
the obsequious Tillman. It rang again, and he took the receiver from
the hook.

"Hello."

"Mr. Morrison?" said a sweet and thrilling soprano voice. He grasped at
a chair to steady himself.

"Yes," he succeeded in replying.

"It's Miss Goring. I--I want to apologize for being so rude to you.
I was very cruel. I know your attention was well meant, but you were
so"--her voice broke with laughter--"so funny."

"You're an angel. I was a fool, but I hadn't had a drink, Miss Goring.
I'm not a drunkard, honestly."

"I was afraid you felt terribly hurt and I wanted to apologize."

"Sure," he exclaimed joyously. "Can I see you in the morning?"

"Certainly not," she cried angrily. "I might have known you would
misunderstand me!"

"No, no, I don't--" But she had rung off. Why did he always put his
foot in it with her? He had offended her again, and she was so sweet
and kind.

Jim went to bed, but he lay awake some time considering things. Ellen
had proved herself to be the kind of girl he thought she was by phoning
him to apologize for her mockery of his pitiful serenade; she had
proved that she was everything desirable, and he loved her more than
ever, but did he stand any chance with her?

He had glimpsed his rival on the balcony, and the fellow was fiendishly
handsome. The mirror had informed Jim frequently that he belonged to
the rugged school of pulchritude. He was rough and ready, and there was
something about that girl which caused him to behave like an idiot.

Why an American girl should prefer a foreigner to one of her own kind
was something he could not understand, but American girls were always
marrying Frenchmen and Italians and Spaniards, and a girl he knew in
New York had told him that they knew how to pay court to a lady; that
their manners were perfect, they were adepts in doing the things that
pleased a woman.

So far all Jim had done was to infuriate Ellen. Even when she had
apologized on the phone he had been so light-headed as to act as though
she were seeking an excuse to make an engagement with him. She had a
right to be angry. Well, to-morrow night, when he met her at dinner, he
would be on his best behavior and would make her see that he wasn't the
buffoon she must consider him. Full of good resolutions he fell asleep
and he woke up in the morning in the best of spirits and buoyed up by
the importance of this day.

It happened to be one of the hottest days that Rosa Blanca had ever
known, and even the natives complained of the temperature, but Jim's
sufferings were tempered by the knowledge that he would meet Ellen at
dinner in the house of people who were bound to his interest and who
would give him his opportunity.

Dinner was at seven, but Morrison reported at six. He had hoped for a
party of four, but Mrs. Tillman informed him that she could not invite
Ellen without asking her parents, and there would be six at table.

"Whatever did you do last night?" she demanded. "Mrs. Goring is furious
with you, and she called up this morning to break the engagement on
behalf of the family. I had to plead with her not to get my husband
into trouble by preventing us from doing for you the only thing you had
asked us to do, and I guaranteed your good behavior. Mrs. Goring thinks
you have horns and a tail."

"I swear to you," he declared earnestly, "that I'll be a lamb to-night.
I thought it would be a good idea to serenade Miss Goring, but it
didn't turn out to be such a good idea."

"I didn't know what you had done. Mrs. Goring was simply incoherent,"
replied the hostess. "However, the Gorings know how powerful your
father is in this country, and I don't believe they would dare to
refuse to come, actually."

"How powerful is my father?" he demanded. "I've heard that from several
sources, but he never tipped me off. He just sent me down to see his
principal plantation in order to get me out of New York."

"He financed and armed the last revolution and he is keeping President
Garcia in power," she said.

"You don't say! I'll try to get him to fire the minister of war. I
don't like that guy."

She laughed, tapped him playfully on the arm with her fan and went off
to look after dinner arrangements. Tillman took up the story and before
the other guests arrived Jim had learned a lot about the methods of the
fruit company in which, some day, he would be the principal stockholder.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Gorings arrived at seven o'clock, Mr. Goring looking uncomfortable
in evening clothes, Mrs. Goring starchy and repressing her rancor with
difficulty, and Ellen gorgeous in a frilly, fluffy pink gown with bare
arms and shoulders. There was a look in her brown eyes which made him
uneasy. Mrs. Tillman went through the introductions as though they had
never met before, and Jim thought apologies were in order.

"I'm terribly sorry about that serenade," he said to Mrs. Goring. "It
was just an idea I had, but it wasn't so good." Ellen choked back a
laugh, but he caught her eye, and the hostile look was gone.

"Just a quiet little dinner," cooed Mrs. Tillman. "I wanted you all
to meet Mr. Morrison and he was so distressed about your unfortunate
misunderstanding at your other meeting that he was eager to set himself
right in your eyes."

She gave her arm to Mr. Goring, Tillman took in Mrs. Goring and Jim had
the privilege of leading Ellen, who took his arm demurely.

"Will you forgive me for the exhibition I have been making of myself?"
he demanded.

"Provided you don't give way to any more ideas like the serenade," she
smiled. "You know, Mr. Morrison, I have been thinking you were quite
mad."

"I am--mad about you," he whispered.

They were at table and took the seats indicated by Mrs. Tillman.

The Tillmans did their part by engaging Mr. and Mrs. Goring in
sprightly conversation, and this gave Jim a chance to talk to Ellen.

"Will you give me a chance to see something of you and make you realize
that I'm not the idiot you think?" he asked.

"It depends on how you behave. Do you usually tell a girl you love her
before you have been introduced?"

"I've never been in love before," he assured her. "That's why I don't
know how to behave."

"But you can't want to marry a girl you have only seen once or twice,"
she protested.

"I knew I was a goner when I first set eyes on you in the hotel dining
room. Imagine my embarrassment when I learned that your father was the
old gentleman with whom I had just had an argument."

"I think you are just a spoiled rich man's son," she said severely.
"You have always got exactly what you wanted and you suppose any girl
you deigned to notice would be flattered."

"If I did, I'm all over that," he said ruefully. "Did you really want
me deported?"

She smiled. "I thought the heat had affected you and a cool climate
might cure you."

"You listened yesterday morning when I called on your father?" he
accused.

"I didn't."

"I heard you laugh. You know you were listening."

"Well, I thought your conversation might be amusing. I wanted to see if
father had courage enough to bawl out the son of Tom Morrison."

"He did--and how!" They both laughed.

"Whatever made you think of that preposterous serenade?" she asked in a
more friendly tone than any she had yet used.

Jim told her how he had run across the serenaders. "I only grabbed the
guitar when it looked as if you would never come out on the balcony."

She giggled at the recollection. "Consider my surprise when I heard
the 'Spanish Cavalier' being murdered in English." It was delightfully
funny now and their new understanding emboldened Jim to put his foot in
it again.

"What made me mad was to see that greaser on the balcony. What on earth
do you let one of those spigs come into your house for?" he asked
earnestly.

Ellen stiffened and her reply was muffled fury. "Señor Lopez is as
white as you are and much more of a gentleman. He is a friend of mine
and I resent your statement, Mr. Morrison."

"I beg your pardon," he said contritely, but she punished him by
turning to Mr. Tillman and forcing him to talk to her for the rest of
the dinner.

For representing Morrison's in hot, unhealthy Rosa Blanca, Tillman
received a salary which enabled him to rent a far more comfortable and
attractive residence than the house of the American consul, and the
party left the spacious dining room to take coffee in the large and
blooming patio where a gently splashing fountain seemed to temper the
warmth of the evening and where a faint breeze stirred the leaves of
the little trees and bushes.

In the patio, conversation perforce was general, and after
three-quarters of an hour, on a strong hint from Ellen, the consul, who
was very comfortable, sighed, and said they would have to be going.

"Please, may I come and see you?" whispered Jim. "I'm dreadfully sorry
I offended you again."

"You are the largest child that ever wandered around without a
guardian," she said, showing her dimples. "Yes, only you are on
probation."

His delight was so evident that she softened still more. "You
would really be nice," she informed him, "if you didn't have such
preposterous ideas. Good night, Mr. Morrison. Mary, the dinner was a
joy. Good night, Mr. Tillman."

"I'll never cease to be grateful to you good people," declared Jim when
the guests had gone.

"Did you square yourself?" Tillman asked. "Mrs. Goring was telling me
about your drunken serenade."

"I was absolutely sober, I swear it," he protested, "but I don't
suppose I'll ever make that woman think so. I must love the girl when
I'm willing to take on that pair as in-laws."

Mary laughed deprecatingly. "Mrs. Goring is really a dear," she said,
"only her disposition has been soured by living so many years with Mr.
Goring, who has always been a hard drinker. I think she fancies Carlo
Lopez because he is a teetotaler. He doesn't even drink wine."

"The more I hear about that Spig the less I like him."

"In your own interests, Morrison, and those of your father, soft-pedal
remarks about Spigs in this country," advised Tillman. "Things have
been known to happen to reckless Yankees. Lopez is a pure Castilian."

"Huh, you can't prove by me that Castilians are pure. Thought you said
Lopez got expelled from Harvard for raising Cain?"

"He's reformed," grinned the agent.




                              CHAPTER VI.

                       GENERAL LOPEZ INTERRUPTS.


The inhabitants of Castile, according to all accounts, are proud,
haughty, honorable, and easily offended, and Carlo Lopez came of
Castilians who had lived for three hundred years in Central America,
where the climate has a degenerating effect upon the fine qualities of
any white race.

He had made overtures to James Morrison in perfectly good faith,
assuming that Jim was representing his father in Rosa Blanca and was
fully informed regarding the situation of the fruit company in the
republic of Santa Rosa, and he had been grievously offended by the curt
note in which Morrison refused to dine with him without even bothering
to explain his refusal. This was not only a slight to the ministry of
war, but was particularly insulting to the very proud incumbent of the
office.

Later in the evening, while paying his respects to Miss Goring in the
presence of her parents, his ears had been assailed by ribald singing
and he was informed that it was Jim Morrison in person who was making
the night hideous under the window of Ellen Goring.

Lopez had long since made up his mind that Ellen would make a perfect
Señora Lopez and his discovery that the son of Tom Morrison was
interested in the young woman would have alarmed him if he had not been
reassured by the behavior of Miss Goring upon that occasion.

But, as he kept informed of everything that happened in the city, he
learned next night that the Gorings were dining with the Tillmans and
that the only other guest was James Morrison, and he remembered an old
Spanish proverb that one could not tell how a woman felt by what she
said or did.

Ellen, he knew, did not like living in Santa Rosa and if she accepted
the minister of war, she would have to reside here most of the time.
Morrison was richer than Lopez and he could settle his wife in New
York. It might be Morrison's winning argument.

Next afternoon, about four o'clock, General Carlo Lopez, wearing a
striking service uniform of his own design--green coat, with heavy
gold frogs, white riding breeches and high boots, and a gold and red
fatigue cap--passed through the archway of the consulate and came into
the patio, where he found Ellen Goring in the arms of Jim Morrison who
was kissing her on the lips. True, she broke away immediately, her eyes
blazing, her little fists clenched. She faced Jim like a young fury.

"I ask your pardon. I have intruded," softly said Carlo Lopez, whose
black eyes were also blazing.

Ellen's composure returned. "Come right in, general," she said. "Mr.
Morrison is just going. Oh yes, you are, and you're never coming back!"

"Is there any little thing I can do, Miss Goring?" asked Lopez softly
but significantly.

"I am quite capable of managing my affairs, thank you," she retorted.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Morrison."

Jim looked imploringly at the girl, threw Lopez a glance full of
resentment for his intrusion and indeed for his very existence, then
picked up his hat and went away. Lopez seated himself and, with
exquisite tact, began to discuss a German opera company which the
president of the republic had invited to Rosa Blanca.

Jim had behaved shamefully as he admitted to himself. Once again the
brown eyes of that girl had intoxicated him and the kindness with which
she had received him had affected his brain.

He had just come into the patio and Ellen, who was sitting under the
colonnade, had risen and come forward with outstretched hand and a
smile on her lovely face. All was well; she was no longer hostile and
it only needed good judgment and a little patience; but what did he do?

Imbecile, he had flamed at the touch of her hand, exploded at the
benevolence in her eyes and he had dragged her roughly into his embrace
and rained kisses upon her sweet unprotected little face. She had
struggled fiercely and then seemed to yield; he wouldn't swear to it,
but it seemed as though she were beginning to return the pressure
of his lips when that gold and green and white Adonis, Carlo Lopez,
appeared on the scene. Ellen had thrust him violently from her and
pronounced sentence of exile. It was all Lopez's fault. Now what was he
going to do?

       *       *       *       *       *

From his hotel he sent by messenger a letter full of extravagant
protests of repentance, which was returned unopened. He tried the
telephone and got Mrs. Goring, who told him Ellen did not wish to speak
to him. He planted himself for two days outside the consulate and, on
the second day, she emerged looking as cool and fresh in the melting
afternoon as though she had come out of a refrigerator. She saw him,
hesitated, and continued toward him.

"Please forgive me, Miss Goring," he said humbly.

"Don't you ever dare to speak to me again," she said as sharply as a
lovely girl could say anything, and then she passed on her way.

General Carlo Lopez had a pleasant visit with Ellen after the departure
of Jim Morrison and found her kinder toward him than usual, but her
manner did not entirely satisfy him. He had seen her repulse and
banish the mad American, and she certainly seemed to resent the man's
familiarity with the utmost bitterness--but would she have done so had
the minister of war not appeared unexpectedly upon the scene?

Being totally unacquainted with the impulsive nature of Jim Morrison,
Lopez could not conceive that the fellow might have embraced and
kissed Ellen without some encouragement. The Latin race has always
overstressed the importance of a kiss. Lopez recalled the old Spanish
proverb: "A woman kissed is two-thirds won." He was already furiously
jealous of the young American, yet, such was his breeding, he had asked
Ellen no questions regarding the situation he had blundered upon.

Back in his office in the Administration Building, however, General
Carlo Lopez had a secretary telephone to John Laird, who was at the
Hotel Trinidad, and Laird arrived shortly before six o'clock.

"Mr. Laird," he said crisply, "at our conference I told you that we
should keep our agreement with the Morrison Company. That goes. If it
should happen, however, that the Morrison Company should make an unjust
demand upon this government, or reflect in any way upon our ability
to govern our country, I should feel that we were absolved from our
obligation and I am sure President Garcia would feel the same way."

"Yes? Is there any--er--prospect of such a thing coming to pass?"

Lopez smiled. "I think there is such a possibility. Therefore, if your
principals can make us a better offer--"

"I'll undertake to arrange that," said the Blue Star agent eagerly.

When he had gone, Carlo Lopez wrote a letter, called in a spruce young
officer and studied him for a moment.

"I want this letter placed in the hands of Pizzo the bandit," he said
slowly. "Do you think you can find his camp and deliver it?"

"_Sí, Señor Géneral_, I shall do my best."

"Go in civilian clothes and be silent about this mission. If you
succeed you will not be a lieutenant any longer, you will be a captain."




                             CHAPTER VII.

                            A DARING RAID.


A week had passed since Jim Morrison rode down from the hills to take
the steamer from New York. Now he sat in his room in his B. V. D.'s and
wondered how you married a girl who hated you.

His temperament was mercurial; he was either in the clouds or at the
bottom of an abyss. That he had made an impression on Ellen he was
sure, for she had kissed back; but what good did that do when she
wouldn't let him see her any more? Here he was, stewing in this hole
for her sake, and he couldn't think of any way to make her see him,
while in the offing was that handsome peacock, Lopez, who knew all
about making love to women.

His watch on the bureau said two thirty; the whole darn town, resident
Americans as well as natives, would sleep until three. Nobody to talk
to, nowhere to go, and drinks didn't help much.

Tap, tap--a knock on the door.

"Come in, whoever you are," he called wearily. The door opened and a
very curious-looking man appeared on the threshold.

"_Perdóna me, señor_," he said, removing his hat, a very dirty Panama,
and bowing very low. He was small, half Indian by the look of him. He
wore a heavy black mustache, possessed only a few front teeth, and
needed a bath very badly. He was dressed in what had once been a khaki
uniform and around his waist was an ammunition belt from which was
suspended a heavy revolver in a leather holster, and a hunting knife.
On his feet were canvas shoes.

"What the deuce do you want?" demanded the American.

"You are Señor Morrison, _sí_?"

"Well, yes. What of it?"

"I introduce myself. I am General Esteban Pizzo." A second low bow.

Jim opened his eyes. "Not Pizzo, the bandit?"

"Pizzo, the patriot, _señor_."

"You got a nerve coming to town. Have a drink?"

"A thousand regrets, _señor_. There is not time. You will dress and
come with me."

"You go to the dickens," Jim retorted. "Clear out! Scat!"

General Pizzo drew from his holster his very large revolver. "My men,
they surround the hotel. You come or I kill."

"I'll come," Jim agreed quickly. He was unarmed and the fellow looked
villainous. "But why? What for?"

"I think the Señor Morrison pay very large ransom for his son. That is
why."

"Yes? Maybe he'll be glad to get rid of me. Can I put my clothes on?"

"_Porqué no?_"

Taking this for assent, Jim dressed leisurely, wondering how it was
possible for the bandit and his men to enter Rosa Blanca in the face of
the government army, walk into the leading hotel, and carry off one of
its most prominent guests.

"We go now," Pizzo declared, and Jim walked in front of him with the
uneasy feeling that a gun was pointed at the small of his back. They
walked along the corridor and descended the staircase one flight to
the ground floor. There were four bandits in the office. No guests were
visible or servants. The bandits fell in behind their leader and the
party moved to the door, which was suddenly blocked by Ellen Goring,
who frowned at the sight of Jim, and then took in his escort with
astonishment.

"What's this?" she exclaimed. "Another of your wonderful ideas?"

"Beat it, Ellen," he cried. "It's Pizzo, the bandit. I'm pinched."

"Are you crazy?" she demanded. "What--why--oh?"

For General Pizzo had come out from behind the broad form of Morrison
and covered Ellen with his big revolver.

"I regret," he said in his weird English. "_La señorita_ is beautiful,
but she make mistake to be here. Now she come with us. We take two
prisoners."

The whole affair had struck Jim Morrison as being comic opera, but the
statement of the bandit made it look very different. The brute was
pointing a gun at Ellen and talking about taking her into the hills.

With his usual precipitancy he let fly his right fist at the chin of
General Esteban Pizzo, caught him on the side of the jaw because he
happened to move, and sent him down like a log, the revolver clattering
on the floor. Jim forgot there were four more bandits behind him, and
before he remembered he was struck on the back of the head with the
butt of a long blue-barreled Colt and joined the general on the dirty
stone floor.

A rush of bandits captured Ellen before she could utter a cry, and a
dirty hairy hand covered her pretty mouth. General Pizzo got up from
the floor with a snarl of rage, kicked Jim Morrison heavily in the ribs
with one of his big boots, and then recovered his _sang-froid_.

"_Pronto!_" he exclaimed. "Throw the man and woman in the bottom of
the car and let us depart."

       *       *       *       *       *

There was nobody in the Plaza when Jim and Ellen were placed in the
tonneau of a big though ancient touring car, and nobody to interfere
when the five bandits climbed in after them and drove away. The machine
rattled along through empty streets to the west side of the city and
came to the barrier which was guarded.

Half a dozen soldiers and a sergeant piled out of a stone hut and the
bandit who was driving stopped the car. The sergeant approached and
demanded the password, whereupon Pizzo leaned out and said in a low
tone:

"_El Presidente._"

"Pass," commanded the non-commissioned officer, and that was all there
was to it.

Jim had received a savage blow and had been unconscious during the
ten minutes required to get out of the city, but he recovered as the
machine began to bump over the rough country road, and he opened his
eyes to find Ellen's face within six inches of his own and her eyes
filled with anxiety. He realized that his head was pillowed on her
knees, and they were both in the bottom of an automobile. He recalled
everything.

"My dear," he said, "I'm so frightfully sorry."

"Hush," she said softly. "You were wonderful. It wasn't your fault."

The machine was climbing now in second gear, for the foothills of the
Sierras are close to the shore in Santa Rosa. The two bandits in the
back seat were watching them closely with their weapons drawn and
ready. He and Ellen were headed for hardships and dangers he could only
suspect, but Jim was happier than he had been for a week, because his
head was on Ellen's knees and she had said he was wonderful.

The machine was halted suddenly when several government cavalry men
blocked the road. Again the password was efficacious, the horsemen drew
to one side, and even the sight of two people in the bottom of the car
did not seem to disturb them.

"Does your head hurt terribly?" she whispered.

He grinned at her. "It would if I moved. I'm terribly sorry about you,
Ellen. They captured me to hold me for ransom, and no doubt they'll do
the same for you. I'll see that they get whatever they ask."

"I'm not afraid. It was very brave of you to attack them when you saw
that I was in danger." Her eyes were moist.

"Don't you know that I'd lay down my life for you?" he said softly.
"Only, as usual, everything I do is wrong. They might have let you go
if I had not hit Pizzo."

"No, no, they wouldn't," she protested. "They knew I would alarm the
city. They had to take me."

Pizzo, in the front seat, turned his head.

"Silence back there," he commanded harshly.

Something made Jim chuckle. "What is it?" she whispered.

"Motor bandits in this God-forsaken country. Jesse James had a horse."

It was getting cooler as they climbed, and the car rattled and shook
and bumped over a road which was more and more rocky and filled with
holes. At the end of an hour it turned off the apology for a road and
stopped a few rods within the jungle.

Pizzo got out first and approached the tonneau.

"Does the _señorita_ speak Spanish?" he asked.

Ellen nodded.

"It is my great regret that it has been necessary to take you with
us," he said, his black eyes devouring her loveliness. "You shall see
that General Pizzo is a _caballero_ who knows how to treat beautiful
ladies. This man is rich. We hold him for ransom, but we hold you to
delight the eyes of my brave patriots who one day will rule Santa Rosa."

"What's he saying?" demanded Jim, whose Spanish was hopeless.

Ellen had turned pale at what his remarks implied, but she feared to
tell the headstrong youth. Jim was likely to get himself killed out of
hand.

"Just fulsome compliments," she said.

"And now we must mount our horses," continued Pizzo. "If Señor Morrison
cannot ride we shall tie him on a horse."

Jim most reluctantly lifted himself from his pillow. "I can ride," he
said curtly.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                            A CLEVER GAME.


The clerk at the Hotel Trinidad had been bound and gagged and laid down
behind his counter, where he was found an hour later by other employees
of the hotel who came on duty. He reported that bandits had carried off
Mr. James Morrison and a lady who had entered the hotel as they were
departing, and the police immediately notified the government, so that
General Carlo Lopez was in receipt of the information a few minutes
later; but he was not surprised by it.

He had written to the bandit Pizzo that he could probably win a fortune
by capturing Morrison and, as he had personal reasons for wishing the
fellow out of the way, he would arrange that Pizzo and a few picked
men might enter and leave the city unmolested. There was a chance that
the minister of war was only laying a trap for the bandit, but Pizzo
did not think so, because he was aware that the existence of a small
band of robbers was the government's excuse for taxing the people to
support an army which was overlarge for the population of the republic.
There was no special enmity between him and Lopez, and the government
had made no serious effort to molest him for a couple of years.

So General Pizzo had risked himself and a few followers in the city and
escaped, not with one prisoner but with two; but Lopez did not learn
the identity of the second captive until Consul Goring telephoned him
in great distress that Ellen had gone out shortly after two o'clock and
had not returned to dinner.

Although Lopez had been informed that the hotel clerk had reported that
a lady had been carried off with Morrison, it had not occurred to him
for a second that the woman might be Ellen Goring. Having a low opinion
of male morality he had supposed that Pizzo had found the American with
some plaything and had obliged him by taking her along.

A search of the city which occupied the entire police force for hours
revealed no trace of Ellen, and the minister of war was forced to
conclude that the woman he hoped to marry had been taken in the trap he
had arranged for his rival. If Ellen had seen Lopez in his rage, the
fact that it was due to concern for her would not have prevented her
from being terrified.

His plan had been to send an expedition after Pizzo, with secret
instructions not to find him, after being officially informed that
Morrison had been carried off by the bandit. Tom Morrison in New
York would rage and storm against the government of Santa Rosa, and
undoubtedly would make threats that no self-respecting administration
need tolerate. In retaliation, President Garcia would break the
exclusive trade arrangement with the Morrison Fruit Company, and the
Blue Star would enter the republic in triumph.

Morrison, of course, would agree to pay the ransom when it was evident
that the Santa Rosa government was incapable of rescuing his son, but
this would be a matter of weeks, possibly months, and in the meantime
Lopez expected to persuade Ellen Goring to marry him.

This imbecile of a Pizzo had complicated a very sweet little plot by
carrying off the very girl Lopez wanted to keep away from Morrison, and
he made the air blue with curses upon the devoted head of the bandit.

Then he cooled down and considered the situation more calmly.
Apparently the girl had either been calling on Morrison in his
chambers, something which his esteem for Ellen made it impossible to
believe, or she had entered the hotel by accident at the moment of the
raid and had been carried off by Pizzo lest she give the alarm. In any
case, she was of no value to Pizzo, and when the bandit learned that
she was dear to the minister of war he would release her quickly.

Lopez sent for the young officer who had delivered his first message to
the bandit and, while awaiting him, indited a letter which would put
fear into Pizzo's soul if he had one. It was a peremptory demand for
the immediate release of Miss Goring, daughter of the American consul.
If she were not back in Rosa Blanca in twenty-four hours the entire
army of the republic would take the field against him and exterminate
his band.

The messenger started in a speedy motor car some seven hours after
the car containing the captives and their captors had passed out of
the city. Lopez ordered two regiments to be prepared to march into
the hills at six o'clock the following morning, and then he called on
the president to explain how the failure to rescue Jim Morrison would
result to the advantage of the administration.

It was necessary to make a gesture against the bandits, of course, but
Morrison would only be satisfied with success, and a break between him
and President Garcia was certain. Garcia saw the light quickly.




                              CHAPTER IX.

                      IN THE LAIR OF THE BANDIT.


There was a big lump on Jim Morrison's head, but no abrasions. He could
not account for the pain in his side until Ellen told him that Pizzo
had kicked him while he lay unconscious.

"I'll get even with him for that," Jim muttered as they walked to the
horses. "But, first, I've got to get you out of this."

"I'm not afraid--that is, not very much," she said rather dolefully.
"But these men are rather awful."

They followed a winding path through a fernlike growth and came
unexpectedly into a clearing where a dozen saddled horses were waiting,
in charge of two black men armed with rifles and wearing very few
clothes. Pizzo approached and pointed to a sorry horse which he ordered
Morrison to mount, then smirked at Ellen and started to lead her
forward to a small but efficient-looking mountain pony.

"I deeply regret," he explained in Spanish, "I have no side saddle, for
I did not expect the good fortune of the _señorita's_ company."

"I can't ride astride in these clothes," she replied, "but if you go
slowly I can sit sidewise in the saddle."

"We shall accommodate our pace to your needs, _señorita_," he assured
her, "and I shall ride beside you to assist you in necessity."

She looked at him contemptuously. "I shall not need your help."

He bowed again, a very gallant bandit. "Nevertheless, I shall be beside
you."

He bent his back for her to step upon to mount and she leaped lightly
from it into the saddle. Morrison was already mounted and watched this
courtesy with well founded uneasiness.

If the yellow brute was going to be smitten with Ellen, it would make
their situation much more serious than he had considered it up to the
present.

Pizzo led the way up the mountain trail, and the cavalcade strung out
behind him. Jim glowered as he rode along and vainly sought a practical
plan of extricating them from their peril.

There were two blacks behind him with rifles; three bandits, armed with
revolvers, rode ahead, between him and Pizzo, who rode beside Ellen. If
Jim had been alone he would have risked throwing himself off his horse
and plunging into the dense jungle through which they were threading
their way, but he had to submit to this humiliating progress because of
Ellen. If only he were beside her to cheer and encourage her! But Pizzo
had made sure that they were separated.

If Esteban Pizzo had seen Ellen in Rosa Blanca he would not have dared
lift his eyes to her, but he was general of a small and well armed
band, and she was his captive. He rode a foot behind her so he could
study her, and the more he studied her exquisite profile, the graceful
poise of her fine little head, the perfection of her figure as she
jogged along, the greater grew his admiration.

This was the loveliest creature who had ever ridden into the mountains
of Santa Rosa, and she was his prize of war. He congratulated himself
that he had dared enter the city in response to the invitation of Carlo
Lopez, for not only would he get an enormous ransom for the son of
Thomas Morrison, but he had secured a lovely mistress, perhaps a wife.
Why not? He was a bachelor.

The sun set, and still they rode slowly through the hills. The
character of the vegetation changed, the temperature lowered very
pleasantly, and then it was dark, and Pizzo sent a man ahead with a
lantern to light the way, while one of the blacks fastened Morrison's
hands behind him and roped his feet under the belly of his horse.

Ellen was an experienced horsewoman, but she was half dead with fatigue
and almost hysterical from terror and apprehension, for she had not
missed the attraction she seemed to possess for the bandit leader. But
at last they passed through a narrow rocky defile and came suddenly
in sight of the lights of a settlement in a valley a few hundred feet
below.

"It is my camp," said Pizzo proudly. "In fifteen minutes we shall be
there, _señorita_. I promise you a welcome."

Morrison also saw the lights and knew that the end of the journey was
in sight. He also was very tired, his head hurt, and he thought he had
a broken rib, but he was glad, more for Ellen's sake than his own, that
they would have a chance to rest.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a quarter of an hour they debouched into a village street, passing
between rows of wooden huts thatched with palm leaves. They were
cheered by several hundred men and women who rushed out of the houses.

Before the largest of the huts they dismounted, and Ellen would have
fallen had not Pizzo grasped her and passed his arm about her waist.
Her strength returned magically, and she tore away from him.

"Don't you dare to touch me!" she exclaimed.

The bandit turned his palms out in deprecation. "You were about to
fall, _señorita_."

"I don't care. Don't touch me."

"Be pleased to enter my poor dwelling. You and the Señor Morrison will
dine with me to-night." He ordered Morrison released from his bonds and
ushered the two prisoners into a large room in which a table was set,
bare of linen, but upon which reposed a cold ham and a huge round loaf
of bread which both Ellen and Jim eyed wolfishly.

"_Señor, señorita_," announced Pizzo. "I go to give some orders, but I
return _pronto_ and then we shall dine."

"Ellen, darling," Jim said when they were alone, "it breaks my heart
that you should be in this predicament."

"It's not your fault," she said crossly, "and don't use endearing terms
to me."

"It's the way I think of you," he muttered. "What brought you to the
hotel at that moment?"

"I wanted some stationery and the shops were closed. Does it matter?"
She dropped exhausted upon a chair.

"My father will arrange ransom for us both, but it's dreadful you
should be held in a place like this even for a minute."

She smiled. "I suppose this is what is known as adventure. I don't like
it. That Pizzo is appalling. However, General Carlo Lopez will have us
out of here in a day or two. The whole army may be on the march at this
minute."

"He might do it for you," said Jim, "but I don't think he would bother
his head about me, and I'd rather be ransomed than be beholden to him."

"Upon my word," exclaimed the girl, "when I begin to like you you make
the thing impossible. Carlo Lopez is my friend. I admire him."

"Well, he doesn't admire me. Say, wasn't it very queer these bandits
were able to come into the heart of the city? And they knew the
passwords. Who gave them to them? I wouldn't be surprised if your
friend Lopez--"

"Jim Morrison--" she began angrily and then blushed violently.

"That's the first time you have called me Jim," he declared.

"And it will be the last. A slip of the tongue."

"Please don't let's quarrel," he pleaded. "I don't know why I always
get your goat. You're not really interested in Lopez, are you?"

"It's none of your business," she retorted.

"It is too. I love you and want to marry you. He knows it, and I
wouldn't be surprised if he got me kidnaped."

She sprang to her feet and glared at him. "And had me kidnaped too, I
suppose!"

"No-o. I expect that was Pizzo's private enterprise. Ellen, is there
anything I can do to make us friends?"

She was still angry. "You might try keeping quiet."

He sat down and felt of his head.

"Does it hurt very much?" she asked quickly.

Jim nodded. He felt of his ribs.

"Do you think they are broken?" she asked, still more gently. "It was
the most brutal thing I ever saw."

He sighed heavily.

"You poor boy," she cooed. And then General Pizzo had to enter.

"_Señor, señorita_, at table," he commanded. "I am of a great hunger
myself."

Nothing loath, they seated themselves, and, despite the atrocious table
manners of the bandit, they ate heartily of ham and bread, but neither
could drink the goat's milk, which Pizzo observed, and ordered a ragged
servant to bring in a bottle of wine.

The bandit was in superb spirits and evidently wished to make an
impression on the girl by his gallantry. Fortunately Jim did not
understand most of his remarks or he might have met a violent end, but
Ellen's cheeks were red and she answered in monosyllables.

       *       *       *       *       *

"How much ransom are you going to ask for me?" asked Morrison when the
general sank back in his chair surfeited with food.

"Two hundred fifty thousand dollars," replied Pizzo, his eyes agleam at
the thought of so much American money.

"Double it," said Jim. "That includes also the young lady."

"Ah, you have interest in the young lady?"

"She is my fiancée--" He glanced at Ellen, read danger signals, and
added hastily, "almost."

"_Sí, sí._ I do not know that. I think that over. I ask perhaps five
hundred thousand dollars for you, maybe with, maybe without _la
señorita_."

"The minister of war, Carlo Lopez," said Ellen in Spanish, "is a very
great friend of--my father. If you do not release me without ransom,
you will have the whole army of the republic to fight."

Pizzo shrugged his shoulder. "I do not care for the army of the
republic. In the mountains I am king. But I would do very much for the
beautiful _señorita_."

"Then let me go," she pleaded.

He smirked at her. "I consider that. Maybe you will like it here. It is
very nice here. Cool. Not hot like Rosa Blanca."

"What's he talking about?" demanded Morrison for Ellen had shuddered.

"Nothing," she lied. "Don't anger him."

Pizzo understood and laid down his knife; he had not used a fork.
"Señor Morrison, you are worth much money to me. I treat you well, but
if you anger me, look out. I shoot quick and I shoot to kill."

"You're a regular hot tamale," sneered Jim. "If you injure a hair of
this lady's head--well, you see what will happen." His finish was lame.

Pizzo rose, went to the door and shouted and in a few seconds three or
four savages with rifles entered the room with much stamping.

"Take the _señor_ to the empty _casa_ opposite and lock him up for the
night. Put a double watch around the house. _Buenas noches_, Señor
Morrison," he said mockingly.

Jim jumped up and clenched his fists. "Be careful," warned Ellen. "You
must do as he tells you."

"But I won't leave you alone with this--this--"

"Don't say it. I am sure General Pizzo knows how to respect a
_señorita_."

"No man in Santa Rosa is a greater _caballero_," declared Pizzo. "Take
him away."

Jim obeyed the prayer in her eyes and went silently. At the door he
looked back, his face working with emotion.

"Good night, Jim," she called to him. "Don't worry. I shall be all
right."

When she was alone with the bandit she faced him fearlessly.

"I am tired. I wish to sleep, general," she said coolly.

Pizzo opened a door to an inner room and showed her a bed.

"It is my chamber, _señorita_. None shall disturb your slumbers. I
shall have a bed made up in this room."

Ellen managed a smile. "General, I think you are a true _caballero_,"
she said gratefully.

The little man swelled at her words. "You shall see," he declared.




                              CHAPTER X.

                         PIZZO SHOOTS TO KILL.


However, as soon as Ellen was in the chamber, which was reasonably
clean, by the way, she placed two chairs, one on top of the other,
against the door so that an attempt to open it would cause the top
chair to fall with a crash. She lay down upon the bed, fully dressed.
Her intention was to fight off sleep, but she was dead with fatigue and
in ten minutes she was unconscious.

Many hours later she was awakened by voices in the next room and she
saw that the sun had been up at least an hour. Pizzo was talking to
some one and she could hear every word.

"I do not fear General Lopez, or President Garcia," he boasted. "I do
not care if she is the wife of Carlo Lopez. He cannot command me. She
is my prisoner. I think I marry her myself."

"General Lopez says he will take the field himself at the head of the
whole army of the nation," said the stranger boldly. "Beware, General
Pizzo. You cannot fight the whole republic."

Pizzo laughed scornfully. "This Lopez! I do him a service. I carry off
this Morrison. I will pay him a commission on the ransom. Tell him
that. It is not my fault this beautiful _señorita_ encounters me just
as I am leaving the city. I take her with me so she cannot bring down
the police upon us and get this Lopez into trouble with me. Now, I love
her. I am as good a _caballero_ as Lopez. I think she likes me better
already. I do not give her up."

"Then you and your whole band, men, women and children, will be
exterminated!" declared the messenger. "Our airplanes will drop bombs
on this village as soon as I return."

"If you return," retorted the bandit significantly. "My friend, I know
a pass through the mountains into Nicaragua. Once there, I am safe; the
army of Santa Rosa is powerless. A few more bandits in Nicaragua mean
nothing whatever to Nicaragua. From any part of these mountains I can
collect the ransom from Señor Tomaso Morrison. Lopez may find another
American _señorita_. This one belongs to me."

"Shall I take back that message?" asked the man.

"A moment. You have twice been in this valley. You know where are my
outposts. Another shall take back my defiance. You remain."

"I came here under a flag of truce," cried the other. "You wouldn't
dare detain me."

Pizzo laughed. "I dare anything."

"Then I proclaim you nothing but a treacherous brigand," cried the
brave man who confronted him.

_Crash!_ It was a pistol shot. She heard a groan and a heavy body
fall and she tore open the door and stood in the doorway. Pizzo was
returning a smoking pistol to his holster. A man in the uniform of
a Santa Rosa army officer lay bleeding on the floor. Ellen uttered a
shriek and crumpled down into a still white heap.

Pizzo looked at his victim, then at the girl lying on the floor.
Shrugging his shoulders, he picked Ellen up with difficulty, for she
weighed a hundred and eighteen pounds, and he was a small man, carried
her back into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. For a moment he
looked down on her. Was she worth the decision he had made to defy the
whole military force of the republic? Well, anyway, he had done it, and
she would pay for it. He left the hut and shouted for his lieutenants.

"Break camp, burn the houses, pack everything we can carry," he
commanded. "We're going across the frontier into Nicaragua."

There were protests. This valley was the only home these outlaws
possessed; but Pizzo knew how to explain the situation. Lopez had
permitted him to carry off Morrison for ransom, but now Lopez had
changed his mind and demanded that they give up their captive. The
ransom of Morrison would make them all rich. It would be a million
American dollars.

In Nicaragua's mountains they were safe from the army of Santa Rosa,
and the revolution in that country would prevent its government from
bothering about alien bandits in the remote recesses of the hills. The
girl? Oh, she was nobody; it was on account of Morrison that they were
taking to flight.

       *       *       *       *       *

Looking through a window in the hut in which he had spent the night,
Jim Morrison saw the outlaws assemble. There were about a hundred men,
he thought, thirty-five or forty women, and a score or more of children
of all ages. In the entire outfit there were not a dozen men who could
be called white, the rest were Indians, negroes and breeds of the three
races.

He watched them bustle about with lack-luster eyes. What had happened
to Ellen during the night? Who had fired the shot just now, which
came apparently from Pizzo's headquarters? The last question was soon
answered for he saw four men carrying out a body dressed in the uniform
of an officer of Santa Rosa cavalry. An envoy, perhaps, from the
government, and this brigand had killed him!

Until he set eyes upon that dead body, Jim Morrison had not been fully
alive to the desperate character of his captors. Pizzo was a slimy
little rat, a menace to an unprotected young woman, but Jim couldn't
accept him as a full-fledged bandit. He hadn't believed in bandits. The
whole thing had seemed absurd. But Ellen's situation was not absurd,
and ransom or no ransom, neither of them was safe in such a mob.

His door was unbolted and a soldier beckoned to him. He followed him
into Pizzo's hut where the general was sitting at table.

Pizzo motioned to a seat.

"The young lady?" Jim demanded.

"She have refuse to come," said the chieftain. "I have to kill a man
and she unfortunately see him. It's a pity."

"Where is she?" he cried. Pizzo nodded toward the inner room. Jim
rushed to the door and knocked. "Ellen, it's Jim. Will you come out to
breakfast?"

"I will not eat with a murderer," she answered hysterically. Pizzo
laughed.

"I have finished. I go. Make her eat."

He left the room and Ellen emerged upon being informed of the fact. She
was very pale and her eyes were red.

Jim grew pale as he looked at her. "Did that wretch--did he--"

"No, no," she denied. "He was decent to me, but, oh, Jim, he shot an
officer who came from Lopez, murdered him in cold blood."

"Yes. I saw the body carried out. You poor kid, it must have been
dreadful! Sit down here. There's nothing but bread and milk, but you
need your strength."

He seated her and took his place opposite. Ellen was silent for a
long moment, her head bent, but she was watching him through her long
lashes. "Jim," she said shyly, "I have been very unjust to you, and I
was horrid last night."

He laughed delightedly. "Anything you ever said to me, I deserved. I
had it coming to me."

"No, you didn't. The officer was a messenger from Lopez and I overheard
his conversation with Pizzo. Jim, Lopez was responsible for your
capture. He contrived it with Pizzo."

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Jim replied calmly.

"The officer was sent to demand my release, not yours."

"Well, that would help a lot."

"And Pizzo killed him so he couldn't return and inform Lopez the
location of this camp." Her voice began to shake. "He--he isn't going
to let me go."

"Oh, yes, he will," Jim assured her.

She stretched appealing hands across the table. "Jim, I have been
frightful to you and I don't deserve anything from you, but will you
save me from this man? He says he's going to m-m-marry me." Her sobs
overcame her. With two strides Jim was around the table and had her in
his arms and this time she didn't repulse him.

"Don't you worry, darling," he declared as he stroked her glossy hair.
"Nobody's going to marry you but me. I was afraid of Lopez, but you're
onto him now, and you bet this funny bandit won't get you."

She looked up and smiled pitifully. "You'll think it's just because I'm
in peril that I turn to you."

He laughed loudly to conceal his emotion. "I should worry why you turn
to me, so long as you do. It's a question of money with these beggars
and father has plenty for both of us."

She released herself and smoothed her hair. "No, Jim," she said.

"Pizzo thinks he's in love with me and he expects to get all the money
he wants for you. I heard him say he was going to cross the frontier
to Nicaragua and escape the Santa Rosa troops. If you can't save me, I
won't be saved, that's all."

"Then it's up to us to get away. Just be ready to do whatever I say.
Something will break for us."




                              CHAPTER XI.

                         JIM OBEYS AN IMPULSE.


Outside was much shouting and shrilling and Pizzo was heard giving
sharp commands; there was the stamping of horses and mules and burros.
Pizzo had no fear that the troops would penetrate into his fastness
for days and he knew that Lopez expected his messenger to return
accompanied by the young woman, so he need expect no overt action from
the war minister until the messenger became overdue.

If Pizzo regretted that he had permitted his affections to jeopardize
the existence of his band it was too late, now, to change things. The
frontier of Nicaragua was forty miles away over high mountains, two
days distant for an outfit which was loading most of the animals with
its possessions and would have to proceed on foot.

He wanted to be on the march as soon as possible lest Lopez send
airplanes on his trail when twenty-four hours had passed without the
return of the unfortunate officer. Pizzo thought he could conceal his
forces from the eye of an observer in a plane, but it would be safer to
be across the frontier before the aircraft were sent out.

Ellen and Jim had half an hour together before the busy leader returned
to their headquarters, and it was their first wholly amicable
interview. The treachery of Lopez had shocked Ellen inexpressibly, even
though it was displayed against Jim and not herself. She could not
help contrasting favorably the big, blond, honest, humorous youth who
sat opposite her with the slender, suave, handsome, but crafty Central
American.

She was petrified with terror of Pizzo, and though she had turned to
Jim and let her head rest on his breast just because he was her only
hope, she had liked the feel of it there. She liked his protestations
of love because now she believed he meant them, and she remembered that
she had begun to like his kisses back home in the patio. Perhaps, after
all, he was her man.

Jim was silent during most of their _tête-à-tête_ because his mind was
furiously working. It was up to him. Ellen depended on him. He was
alone against a hundred armed and savage men, yet somehow he had to
save her.

He shuddered at the thought of the girl in Pizzo's power for a second
night. The man's passion must be tremendous if he had chosen to hold
her against the whole force of the republic of Santa Rosa, and it was
not to be trusted. The thought of Ellen in the arms of the half-breed
caused his brain to reel. Ellen watched him as she nibbled at the dry
bread and knew pretty well what was passing through his head. She
wasn't afraid now, for somehow this ridiculous youth, whom she had
mocked in Rosa Blanca, inspired confidence.

"Have--have you a plan?" she hazarded finally.

"No," he said dolefully. "We'll just have to watch our chance. It's
bad enough now, but if he gets us away up in the interior, even if we
escaped we'd perish before we ever reached a settlement. Hush, he's
coming."

Pizzo entered. He had strapped a sword around his waist, had two
revolvers in his belt now, and wore a flapping felt hat with a red
feather in it. His black eyes gleamed as he looked at Ellen. Morrison
he ignored.

"You feel better, _señorita_?" he demanded in Spanish. "My heart is
sick that you saw an execution. You must understand I am a soldier and
I killed an enemy."

"I don't care to talk to you, murderer," she said coldly.

His smirk vanished and he drew himself up. "_Señorita_," he said. "I
love you. Because I love you I have refused a demand that I send you
back to Rosa Blanca and now the whole army is marching against me. That
is love, is it not?"

For answer she rose from the table and moved toward the inner room.

"You cannot take refuge there," he said, following her. "For your sake
I abandon this camp where I have lived for three years and cross the
frontier with my soldiers. This house and all the others I am about to
burn."

Jim had risen and was listening with anxiety to the tirade, for the
bandit's voice was rising. Pizzo whirled on him.

"I attend to you," he snarled. He darted to the door and shouted and,
in a moment, two soldiers, a negro and an Indian, entered, closing the
door behind them.

"Take this man outside and guard him," he commanded.

       *       *       *       *       *

Pizzo turned his back to Jim and followed Ellen into the bedroom. This
was too much for the hot-tempered American. The riflemen had stepped
up to him and separated, one of them indicating that he was to step
between them. With every ounce of strength he possessed, Jim brought
his right fist up and crashed it against the point of the Indian's jaw.
As the fellow dropped, Jim grasped the rifle and drove the butt of it
squarely against the forehead of the negro who was trying to lift his
gun to his shoulder. The second man collapsed and fell upon the body of
the first, and Morrison swung about with the rifle and covered Pizzo
who had turned and was standing in the doorway of the bedroom in the
act of drawing his revolver from its holster.

"Drop that gun," Jim commanded harshly.

The revolver fell from the fingers of the bandit.

"For this I will kill," Pizzo snarled, his upper lip drawing back and
showing yellow fangs and cavities.

"I'm doing the killing," declared Morrison. "Ellen, pick up that
revolver and take the other one away from him.

"Quick!" he cried as she appeared, hesitating, behind the bandit.

Ellen fumbled at the holster on the left side of Pizzo's belt and drew
out the weapon, then picked up the revolver from the floor, holding
each timorously by the muzzle instead of the butt.

"Now tell him that if he calls for help I'm going to shoot. He may not
understand my English."

"I understan'," said Pizzo. "You are imbecile. No ransom now. I kill
you."

"Bring me those guns," Jim commanded; and Ellen glided to his side and
handed him the weapons while Jim instantly covered Pizzo with one of
them, having dropped the rifle to the floor. Both fallen soldiers were
moving, and one sat up and blinked stupidly. "Tell them to be silent,
Pizzo," he commanded. "If they yell, I'll shoot you."

Pizzo gave the order.

"Pull out his sword, and then stack these two rifles on the other side
of the room," Jim said to Ellen. The girl returned timidly to Pizzo and
shuddered at the glare he gave her, but she drew out the long blade
from the scabbard. And then came a thump on the door.

"Ask them what they want, and tell them not to enter," snapped the
American.

Pizzo lifted his voice and complied.

"What did they say?" he demanded of Ellen.

"They say all is ready for the word to march, and six men remain behind
to fire the houses."

"Pizzo," he said softly, "tell them all to march, and not to fire the
houses. You will follow with these men and the prisoners."

Pizzo was shaking with indecision.

Jim looked him squarely in the eye. "I'm going to fire," he exclaimed.
"Listen, Ellen. If he says anything else, tell me, and I'll empty this
gun into him."

There was a tense second. The bandit chief understood what it meant to
be abandoned by his men, but he saw that Morrison was desperate enough
to shoot. In fact, he had no choice. He snapped out the order to march.

The lieutenant who stood outside the door shrugged his shoulders and
shouted: "_Sí, sí, mi géneral!_" To him it was plain what was happening
inside. The general was with a beautiful woman and wished to remain
with her for awhile. He had two men to guard the male prisoner and
saddled horses waiting with which to overtake the band which was moving
forward on foot.

"Pizzo, go stand against the opposite wall with the others," instructed
Jim, and the little bandit, head drooping but eyes watchful as those of
a ferret, obeyed. Jim was perspiring from excitement as though he were
in a steam bath. Ellen was almost fainting from nerves. They waited in
silence.

Outside was much shouting, tramping, rattling of accouterments, and
the buzzing of two ancient Ford cars that were going to be used on the
mountain paths as far as they could be driven. Presently it was evident
that the movement had commenced. Jim thanked the gods that there were
no windows on the front of the hut, just the door.

There was a window at one side, but it was covered with a dirty
curtain. Daylight streamed in from a bedroom window at the rear. No
eyes outside could witness the drama of the interior.

Presently Pizzo spoke. He addressed Ellen in Spanish.

"He says," she translated, "that, even now, he will spare your life and
overlook this incident, and he will release me with you when the ransom
is paid."

"Tell him to go to the devil."

Pizzo understood that and tried English.

"My men will return and kill you, _señor_," he threatened.

"They'll find you dead, in that case," Jim said grimly. There was a
silence lasting ten minutes. "Look outside, Ellen," Jim commanded. "See
if the column is in sight."

The girl opened the door and stepped outside. She returned with a very
white face.

"They are out of sight," she said, "but there are two armed men about a
hundred feet away guarding six horses."

"Stick your head out, Pizzo," Jim ordered. "Tell those fellows to mount
two horses and report you will be along in half an hour. Or how would
you like a bullet in your back?"

Shaking with hatred and fury, Pizzo opened the door and yelled to the
men. Ellen nodded that he had said what he was told to say.

"Back up, Pizzo--back up!" warned Jim.

The general returned to his post by the wall. A moment later they heard
two horses galloping past.

"Now," said Morrison, "this is what is going to happen. Pizzo, you and
I and the lady are going to take the other horses and ride to Rosa
Blanca. You are going to show us the way. If you try any tricks, you
get filled full of lead. If you are a good boy, I won't turn you over
to the Santa Rosa troops. Translate that, Ellen darling; he can only
understand about six words of English at a time."

Ellen translated, and Pizzo looked sullen, but said nothing.

"Darned if I know what to do with the other two," Jim muttered. "March
them ahead of us, I guess, for a few miles, and turn them loose. Ellen
dear, can you carry those rifles as far as the horses? I'll have my
hands full. Come on, Pizzo, you lead the way and tell the others to
follow. I've got a lot of bullets here for you, remember that."




                             CHAPTER XII.

                          THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL.


Apparently there was no fight in Pizzo, for he did what he was told.
Jim made the trio go in single file and followed with his revolvers
while Ellen staggered under the weight of the heavy rifles. Jim mounted
first and took the two rifles from the girl, which he laid across his
pommel, intending to throw them into the first chasm they came to. He
made Pizzo aid the girl into her saddle.

"I'm going to ride astride," she declared. "Don't look at me, Jim.
We've got to make good time, and I can't ride fast while sitting
sidewise."

The two disarmed bandits were a problem, for if left behind they would
bring the band quickly on the heels of the fugitives. He decided to
force them to run ahead of the horses. He made Pizzo lead the fourth
horse and ride ahead; he followed, and Ellen brought up the rear.

At a hundred yards he was able to dispose of the rifles by dropping
them into a small stream, and then, keeping a sharp eye upon the men
ahead, he ordered them to move faster. He remembered the rocky defile
through which they had entered the valley, but from that point he was
at Pizzo's mercy, for they had traveled in darkness the night before.

At a distance of two miles he dismissed the disarmed soldiers. He
calculated that the main force of the bandits must be two miles from
camp in the opposite direction, and it would take the pair an hour and
a half to reach them.

There was more danger that a force might be sent back to camp to see
what detained the general, but this possibility had to be chanced.

For an hour they climbed a narrow defile, and then they began to
descend. They were making much better time than upon the previous
night, due to Ellen's ability to travel faster, and Jim was hardly able
to credit that things were going to work out so easily.

Pizzo rode with shoulders hunched and head bowed, probably boiling with
fury and humiliation and plotting as hard as he was able. Occasionally
Jim threw a word back to Ellen, but he dared not look around. She
always answered cheerfully.

Two hours passed, and they were still traveling through mountainous and
bewildering country. Suspecting that Pizzo might be leading them by a
circuitous route toward his toiling followers, Jim shouted to him to
slow up, and rode closer to him so he could threaten him frequently and
at ease.

They were descending now, and the vegetation was changing from more
temperate growths to ferns and occasional banana and bamboo thickets, a
sign they were approaching the coast country. A third hour. Ellen rode
up beside Jim, for the path had widened.

"I think we are pursued," she said. "Away up on that other mountain I
can see a long row of horsemen."

"How far back? I can't take my eyes off Pizzo."

"I think it's where we were about an hour ago."

"Faster!" he said tersely.

The bandits had grown suspicious, and sent a force back to the camp.
Finding it deserted, they had continued on until they met the two men
he had turned loose, and now--trouble. He figured they had ridden for
five hours the night before, from the point they left the automobile,
and it was still two hours off. If the pursuers were an hour behind and
the machine was still there, he and Ellen had a chance.

Pizzo was looking back. "You surrender now," he suggested. "My men soon
catch us."

"If they do, you won't be alive to see it. Ride faster!" he commanded.

He had to threaten Pizzo a dozen times, for the bandit was trying to
delay them, but they made better time. Another hour passed, and they
could not see the pursuers, who might be just around a bend or five or
ten miles back.

It was growing very hot, for the sun was directly overhead. However,
the traveling was easier now, the trail less difficult.

       *       *       *       *       *

Jim was watchful lest the bandit lead them out of the only road to
safety, though there seemed to be no forks in the trail; but ten
minutes later they came to a side path, down which Pizzo turned his
horse's head.

"Wait a minute!" shouted Jim. "Halt!" He looked at the side path and
at the trail upon which they were. This trail was well marked and the
other very faint, yet still it might be the right one. However, Pizzo
would not take the proper road if he could help it, and he had turned
to the left.

"Back," Jim commanded. "Try that again, and I'll shoot you and risk
finding my way."

The look on Pizzo's face told him he had guessed correctly.

"Jim," called Ellen softly, "I saw the men behind just now. I don't
think they are two miles back. I saw them only for a moment, but there
are a lot of them."

"Gallop, you yellow dog, gallop!" Jim commanded fiercely; and Pizzo
galloped.

The trail was downhill and winding, but they followed it as fast as the
horses could be persuaded to go. Jim was in an agony. It couldn't be
possible they would be recaptured now, after coming so far.

Suddenly two men with straw hats and ragged whites, holding rifles,
appeared before them in the road a hundred feet ahead. With a shout,
Pizzo drove his horse to the right into the jungle through which they
were passing.

Jim fired at him and missed, and their guide was gone.

The riflemen were taking aim, but Jim's horse was plunging down on
them. Two shots rang out, and two more, and then Jim was upon them, gun
smoking. One of them fell--Jim couldn't miss at twenty feet--the other
ran into the bush.

Jim and Ellen galloped on, and now they heard firing behind them. He
looked back and saw several men on horseback on an elevation a quarter
of a mile back, who were firing as they rode. Too great a range now,
but the pursuers would soon be upon them. On, on, and they rode into
a clearing which Jim remembered. Upon the farther side of it was the
automobile. If it had gas--if it wasn't locked--

"Hurray, Ellen!" he shouted. "We are saved!"

He rode up to the car and jumped off his horse. Ellen almost fell
off. They climbed in. The bandit picket, who had taken to the jungle,
appeared on the opposite side of the clearing and leveled his rifle.

"Duck," Jim commanded. The bullet struck the steel side of the car with
a vicious _ping_, and so did half a dozen other bullets. But Jim had
the car started. The engine was roaring. He heard a great shouting up
the trail, which meant that Pizzo had rejoined his men; but now the car
was jolting along through the rough, camouflaged way to the highroad.
He dared not go fast--he had to be careful not to break a spring--and
the enemy was close behind.

There were many shots now. Ellen was crouching in the bottom of the
car, and he was bending as low as he dared. Suddenly the vegetation
blocked his path. He drove through it because he could do nothing else,
and it proved to be only a screen of loose branches of trees to conceal
the path from the highroad.

Out on the road at last. Bad as it was, he was traveling twenty-five
miles an hour, bumping and bouncing dangerously. For five minutes he
drove with set teeth, then he drew a long breath and looked down.

"Sit up, Ellen," he said. "It's all over. We're safe."

Ellen, however, had fainted, and he dared not stop until he had put
five or six miles between him and the pursuers.

By that time Ellen had recovered, and he lent her his right arm to help
her into the seat.

"Are we actually safe?" she murmured.

"We are, unless they have another car, and I doubt it very much. But
what the deuce is that?"

They had rounded a bend, and the road ahead was blocked with men on
horseback.

"Soldiers!" he exclaimed. "Ellen, here comes your boy friend Lopez and
his army."

"Lopez!" she said scornfully. "Don't speak of him."

"Well, we're safe, anyway."

"Thanks to you, and nobody else," she declared, gazing at him mistily.

Jim chuckled. "Ellen darling, this is Friday. There's a boat for New
York Monday. Think you can make it?"

She caught his big right arm in her two little hands and squeezed it.

"I wouldn't be surprised, dearest," she said.


                               THE END.



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