Plotting in Pirate Seas | Page 3

looked like.
"I suppose I've got to go to Cap Haitien."
"But, Yes."
"And when?"

"But now, Yes!"
"It's a long walk," protested Stuart. "Twenty miles or more."
"We not walk, No! Get mules near. Now, we start."
The boy had hoped, in some way, to get the negro out of the hut and to
make a bolt for the woods where he might lie hidden, but this sudden
action prevented any such ruse. He turned to the table to put into his
knapsack the couple of changes of clothing he had brought. There was
no way for him to take his father's clothes, but the boy opened the
larger knapsack and took all the papers and documents.
"See here, Hippolyte," he said. "I give you all these clothes. I take the
papers."
The negro grinned a white-toothed smile at the gift. He cared nothing
about the papers. He would do what Jules had paid him to do, and no
more.
As they left the hut, it seemed to Stuart that the nerve-racking beating
of the tom-tom sounded louder and nearer. They walked a mile or so,
then, as Hippolyte suggested, at a small half-abandoned plantation, they
found mules. Once mounted, the negro set off at breakneck speed,
caring nothing about the roughness of the road, all the more treacherous
because of the dead-black of the shadows against the vivid green-silver
patches where the tropical moonlight shone through.
"What's the hurry?" clamored Stuart, who could see no reason for this
mad and reckless riding.
"The dance stop at dawn! I want to be back, Yes!"
They galloped on as before.
A few miles from the town, Stuart snatched at an idea which flashed
upon him suddenly.
"Hippolyte," he said. "You want to get back for the voodoo dance?"

"But, Yes!"
"You'll be too late if you take me into town. See."
He showed his watch and held out a twenty-five gourde bill.
"Suppose I give you this. It's all the money I have. You can tell Jules to
tell Manuel that you saw me get on board a steamer in Cap Haitien, and
that you saw the steamer start. Then you can be back in plenty of time
for the dance."
Hippolyte hesitated. The temptation was strong.
"Unless, of course," the boy added carelessly, "you like this white man,
Manuel, so much."
An expression of primitive hate wrote itself on the ebon face, a
peculiarly malignant snarl, as seen by moonlight.
"I hate all whites!" he flashed.
"Then why should you do a good turn for this Manuel?"
The instincts of a simple honesty struggled with the black's desire. A
passing gust of wind brought the rhythmic beating of the tom-tom
clearer to their ears. It was the one call that the jungle blood of the
negro could not resist. He held out his hand for the money.
"You go into Cap Haitien alone?" he queried, thickly.
"Yes, I'll promise that," the boy agreed.
He dismounted, swung his knapsack on his back, and handed the reins
of the mule to Hippolyte, who sat, still uncertain. But the negro's head
was turned so that he could hear the throbbing of the drum, and, with
an answering howl that went back to the days of the African jungle, he
turned and sped back over the rough trail at the same headlong speed he
had come.

"If he doesn't break his neck!" commented Stuart, as he saw him go,
"it'll be a wonder!"
There were yet a couple of hours before dawn, and Stuart plodded
along the trail, which could lead to no other place than Cap Haitien. He
walked as fast as he could, hoping to reach the city before daylight, but
the first streaks of dawn found him still nearly two miles from the town.
He did not want to enter the town afoot by daylight. That would be too
conspicuous, and there were plans germinating in the boy's head which
needed secrecy. He must hide all day, and get into Cap Haitien the next
night.
Stuart slipped off the road and wriggled his way through the dense
thicket, seeking a place where there was light enough to read, and yet
where the foliage was dense enough to prevent him being seen by
anyone passing that way.
A few moments' search only were required before he found the ideal
spot, and he threw himself down on a pile of leaves with great zest.
That mule had been hard riding.
"First of all," he said to himself, half aloud, "I've got to find out where
I'm at. Then I'll maybe be able to figure out what I ought to do."
Stuart's mind was not so quick as it was strong. He was a straight
up-and-down honest type of fellow, and thoroughly disliked the crafty
and