Chapter IV

“We must work quickly,” Francis said to the Solanos.

“We must save him!” Leoncia cried out.

“All Gringos look alike to the Jefe,” Francis said. She was splendidly beautiful and wonderful, he thought. “We must get him out tonight.”

“Now listen,” Leoncia said. “We Solanos cannot permit this… this execution. Our pride… our honor. We cannot permit it. Father, suggest something.”

And while Enrico Solano and his sons talked plans and projects, a house servant came, whispered in Leoncia’s ear, and led her away.

Around the corner, Alvarez Torres greeted her, bowed low with a sombrero in hand.

“The trial is over, Leoncia,” he said softly. “Tomorrow at ten o’clock is the time. It is all very sad, most very sad. He was an honorable man. His one fault was his temper.”

“He never killed my uncle!” Leoncia cried.

“And it is regrettable,” Torres said gently and sadly, avoiding any disagreement. “The judge, the people, the Jefe Politico, unfortunately, all believe that he did. But I came to offer my service. You may command. Speak. I am your slave.”

He dropped suddenly and gracefully on one knee before her. He caught her hand.

“I knew you when you were small, Leoncia, and I loved you always. No, listen! Please. My heart must speak. I have been patient. I was silent.”

She listened patiently. Henry… And Francis… Why is this Gringo in her heart? Was she a wanton? One man or another? Or any man? No! No! She was not unfaithful. And yet?… Perhaps it was because Francis and Henry were so much alike. Her poor woman’s heart couldn’t distinguish between them. And she could follow Henry anywhere over the world, but now she is ready to follow Francis even farther. She loved Henry. But she loved Francis, too. There was a difference in her love for the two men.

Torres continued:

“Oh, Leoncia! I have dreamed of you… and for you. You are the Queen of my Dreams. And you will marry me, my Leoncia! We will forget this mad Gringo. I shall be gentle, kind. I shall love you always. He won’t stand between us.”

Leoncia was silent. How to save Henry?

“Speak!” Torres urged.

“Hush! Hush!” she said softly. “How can I listen to you, when the man I loved is yet alive?”

Loved! The past tense of it! She said “loved”. She loved him, but no longer. Torres was glad. The one thing is clear: if he wants to win Leoncia quickly, Henry Morgan must die quickly.

“Come,” she said. “We will join the others. They are planning now, or trying to find some plan, to save Henry Morgan.”

“I have a plan,” Torres began. He smiled, and twisted his mustache. “There is one way, and it is simple. That is just what it is. We will go and take Henry out of jail in brutal and direct fashion. It is the one thing they will not expect. Therefore, it will succeed. There are enough rascals on the beach with which we can storm the jail. Hire them, pay them well, and that’s all!”

Leoncia nodded. Old Enrico’s eyes flashed. And all looked to Francis for his opinion or agreement. He shook his head slowly.

“That way is hopeless,” he said. “Why will you risk your necks in a mad attempt like that?”

“You mean you doubt me?” Torres bristled. “Solanos are my oldest and most honored friends.”

Old Enrico began to speak.

“Senor Torres, you are indeed an old friend of the family. Your late father and I were comrades, almost brothers. But truly your plan is hopeless. To storm the jail is truly madness. Just look at the thickness of the walls.”

Torres briefly apologized and departed for San Antonio.

“What have you against Senor Torres? Why did you reject his plan and anger him?” Leoncia demanded of Francis.

“Nothing,” was the answer, “except that we do not need him. He is a fool and he will spoil any plan. And we just don’t need him. Now his plan is all right. We’ll go straight to the jail and take Henry out. And we don’t need to trust to rascals. Six men of us can do it.”

“There is a dozen guards at the jail,” Ricardo^[38], Leoncia’s youngest brother, a lad of eighteen, objected.

Leoncia frowned at him; but Francis said,

“That’s true,” he agreed. “But we will eliminate the guards.”

“The five-foot walls,” said Martinez Solano^[39], twin brother to Alvarado^[40].

“That’s what I mean. Do you, Senor Solano, have plenty of saddle horses^[41]? Good. And you, Alesandro^[42], can you bring me a couple of sticks of dynamite? Good. And do you have some bottles of rye whiskey?”

Chapter V

It the mid-afternoon, Henry, at his barred cell-window, stared out into the street. The street was dusty and filthy. Next, he saw a light wagon. The wagon was drawn by a horse. In the seat a gray-headed, gray-bearded man strove vainly to check the horse^[43].

Henry smiled. Just opposite the window, the old man made a last effort. The driver fell backward into the seat. Then the wagon was a wreck. The gendarmes came out of the jail. The old man went hurriedly to the wagon and examined some cases, large and small. One of the gendarmes addressed him.

“Me? Alas senors, I am an old man, and far from home. I am Leopoldo Narvaez^[44]. I have driven from Bocas del Toro. It has taken me five days. My home is in Colon. But tell me, is there Tomas Romero^[45] in this city?”

“There are many Romeros in Panama,” laughed Pedro Zurita^[46], the assistant jailer^[47]. Do you mean the rich Tomas Romero who owns many cattle on the hills?”

“Yes, senor, it must be he. I shall find him. If my precious goods can be safely stored, I shall seek him now.”

He took out from his pocket two silver pesos and handed them to the jailer. Pedro Zurita and the gendarmes began to carry the boxes into the jail.

“Careful, senors, careful,” the old man said, greatly anxious. “Handle it gently. It is fragile, most fragile. “

Then he added gratefully: “A thousand thanks, senors. Tomorrow I shall return, and take my goods. Good-bye, senors!”

In the guardroom, fifty feet away from Henry’s cell, the gendarmes were robbing Leopoldo Narvaez. Pedro Zurita made a survey of the large box.

“Leave it alone, Pedro,” one of the gendarmes laughed at him.

The assistant jailer sighed, walked away and sat down, looked back at the box, and sighed again.

“Take the hatchet there and open the box,” he said. “Open the box, Ignacio^[48], we will look, we will only look. Then we will close the box again.”

“Whiskey! The old man was a fool,” laughed gendarmes. “That whiskey was his, all his, and he has never taken one little sip!”

In few minutes everybody was drunk. Pedro Zurita became sentimental.

“My prisoners,” he maundered. “I love them as brothers. Life is sad. My prisoners are my children. Behold! I weep. Let us share with them. Ignacio, carry a bottle of this elixir to the Gringo Morgan. He will drink and be happy today.”

Henry was crossing his big cell to the window when the heard a key in the door. Ignacio came in, completely drunk, bottle in hand, which he gravely presented to Henry.

“With the high compliments of our good jailer, Pedro Zurita,” he mumbled. “He says to drink and forget that he must hang you tomorrow.”

“Tell Senor Pedro Zurita to go to hell along with his whiskey,” Henry replied.

The gendarme suddenly become sober.

“Very well, senor,” he said, and locked the door.

In a rush Henry was at the window just in time to encounter Francis face to face. Francis was thrusting a revolver to him through the bars.

“Henry,” Francis said. “Stand back in your cell, because there will be a hole in this wall. The Angelique is waiting for you. Now, stand back.”

Henry backed into a rear corner of his cell, and the door was clumsily unlocked and opened.

“Kill the Gringo!” cried the gendarmes.

Ignacio fired wildly from his gun. The next moment he went down under the Henry’s bullet. Henry waited for the explosion.

It came. The window and the wall beneath it became all one aperture. Francis dragged him out through the hole.

“The horses are waiting,” Francis told Henry. “And Leoncia is waiting with them. In fifteen minutes we’re on the beach, where the boat is waiting.”

“Funny thing that whiskey. An old man broke a wagon right in front of the jail,” Henry said.

“A noble Narvaez, eh, senor?” Francis asked.

“It was you!”

Francis smiled.

Chapter VI

Jefe Politico of San Antonio, leaned back in his chair with a smile. The old judge gave judgment according to program. And the Jefe was two hundred dollars richer. His smile was even broader as he greeted Alvarez Torres.

“Listen,” said Torres. “We can kill both Morgans: Henry tomorrow, Francis today.”

The Jefe remained silent.

“I have advised him to storm the jail. The Solanos are with him. They will surely attempt to do it this evening. They could not do it sooner. Francis Morgan will be killed in the fight.”

“Why must we kill Francis?” the Jefe asked. “Henry must be hanged. But let Francis go back to New York.”

“Francis must be kept away from New York for a month or forever. I understood Senor Regan quite well. Money matters, you know.”

“But you have not told me how much you have received, nor how much you will receive,” the Jefe said.

“It is a private agreement. This Senor Regan is a hard man, a very hard man. But I will divide fairly with you.”

The Jefe nodded, then said:

“A thousand?”

“I think so. And five hundred is yours if Francis leaves his bones in San Antonio.”

“It must be more than a thousand,” the Jefe persisted.

“Senor Regan may be generous,” Torres responded. “He may even give me five hundred more, half of which will be yours.”

“I shall go immediately to the jail,” the Jefe announced. “You may trust me, Senor Torres, as I trust you. Come. We will go at once, now, you and I, and you may see the preparation I shall make for this Francis Morgan’s reception. So this Gringo will storm our jail, eh? Come.”

He stood up. But a boy appeared:

“I have information. You will pay me for it, Senor? I have run all the way.”

“I’ll sent you to the jail!” was the reply.

The boy cried:

“You will remember I brought you the information, Senor. I ran all the way!”

“What is your information, you fool?”

“The jail,” the boy said. “The strange Gringo has blown down the side of the jail. The hole is very big! And the other Gringo, the one who looks like him, has escaped with him out of the hole. This I saw, myself, with my two eyes! And then I ran here to you all the way, and you will remember… “

“I don’t believe you. It is not possible.”

The gendarme came through the door.

“The jail is destroyed,” were his first words. “Dynamite! A hundred pounds of it! A thousand! We came bravely to save the jail. But it exploded the thousand pounds of dynamite. I fell unconscious. When sense came back to me, I looked about. All others, the brave Pedro, the brave Ignacio, the brave Augustino^[49] all, all were dead. The cell of Morgan was empty. There was a huge and monstrous hole in the wall. I crawled through the hole into the street. There was a great crowd. But the Gringo Morgan was gone. They rode toward the beach. They have a schooner. Francis Morgan rides with a sack of gold on his saddle. It is a large sack.”

“And the hole?” the Jefe demanded. “The hole in the wall?”

“Is larger than the sack, much larger,” was the reply. “But the sack is large. And he rides with it on his saddle.”

“My jail!” the Jefe cried. “My jail! Our justice! Our law! Horses! Horses! Gendarme, horses! To hell with Senor Regan! My law, our law! Horses! Haste! Haste!”

“Glad to welcome you on board, sir,” Captain greeted Francis with a smile. “But who is this man?” He nodded his head to indicate Henry.

“A friend, captain, in fact, a kinsman.”

“And who, sir, are those gentlemen riding along the beach?”

Henry looked quickly at the group of horsemen, took the binoculars from the skipper’s hand, and gazed through them.

“It’s the Jefe himself,” he reported, “with gendarmes.”

“They tried to hang me yesterday,” Francis laughed. “And tomorrow they were going to hang Henry.”

Here Enrico Solano approached Henry and held out his hand.

“I have made a grave mistake, Senor Morgan,” he said. “My beloved brother, Alfaro… I was thinking you were guilty of his murder. The evidence was all against you. I regret. I am sorry. And I am proud once again to welcome you into my family. You will marry my Leoncia.”