Rose Orchid | Page 2

his pony carried him forward, past the wonderful blue limestone cliffs and innumerable rushing streams of the southern slope of the Sierra de Luquillo, his mind was thirty miles away, on the decks of the Helena.
It dwelt on a score of petty details: the independence of Ensign Brownell, the return of Quartermaster Moran, the disgraceful condition of the pay storeroom at the last Sunday inspection. He considered these matters at some length; he liked their flavor; and he earnestly desired to deal out justice--according to the code.
At Caguas, where he stopped for a cooling drink and a few minutes' rest, he was advised to postpone the continuance of his journey.
"It is dangerous, se�Cor," said the proprietor of the little shop. "See!"
He pointed to the northeast, where, above the top of the dim, blue range, a black cloud was proceeding slowly westward, like a giant treading ponderously from peak to peak.
"Well, what of it?"
"It means a storm, se�Cor; you will be drenched. And the trail over the mountains--at night--"
But the lieutenant-commander stopped him with a gesture, mounted his pony, and departed.
He was very nearly in the center of the range, within two miles of the village of Rio, when the storm finally broke. It began with a mild drizzle; and the lieutenant-commander dismounted long enough to unstrap the rubber poncho from his saddle and put it on.
He had not proceeded a hundred yards farther when the rain began to descend in torrents. At the same moment the fastapproaching darkness came like a blanket over the narrow trail; and the traveler found himself fighting blindly against whirling sheets of water and the impenetrable blackness of a tropical night.
He soon gave up the attempt to guide his pony; it required all his strength, bending over close against the animal's neck, to maintain his seat. The roar of the wind and the descendin' torrents seemed terrific; he was incapable of thought or movement.
Something brushed violently against his body, and he felt the pony sway and stumble; then a jar, a feeling as though he was being hurled violently through space....
The lieutenant-commander sat up, glanced round, and cursec long and variously. He wanted to know where in the name of th' Seven Seas--Then he remembered.
He started to rise to his feet, and suddenly became conscious of a sharp, stinging pain in his left arm; and, trying to raise it, found that it hung helpless at his side. With another oath he stood up and stamped vigorously to assure himself of the seaworthiness of his legs, and gave an involuntarily grunt of pain as the shock communicated itself to the broken arm.
The storm was past.
Overhead the stars gleamed with the soft brilliance of the South. About and above him the thick foliage waved its broad fingers mysteriously in the gentle breeze, and through a rift to the left could be seen the uncertain white outline of a limestone cliff. Toward this the lieutenant-commander made his way, thinking to find the trail. The pony was not to be seen.
For perhaps half an hour he searched for the trail, stumbling over roots and fallen branches, occasionally brought to an abrupt stop by a growth of shrubbery and vines too dense to penetrate.
At every step a shiver of pain ran through his body from the injured arm, and his head felt faint and dizzy.
Suddenly he found himself in an open clearing, at the farther end of which he saw a light shining from the window of a cottage. He staggered to it painfully and hammered on the door
The door opened; the floor seemed to rise to meet him; and once more all was darkness.
When he awoke it was to a feeling of the most delicious warmth and weariness. For some minutes after he became conscious he kept his eyes closed, merely through the lack of desire to open them. Suddenly he heard a voice at his elbow The words were Spanish.
"No, beloved, he is still asleep."
Another voice, a man's, came from across the room
"But are you sure?"
"But yes Really there is no cause for worry. Except for the arm, there is no injury."
"All right. Come here, Rita."
The lieutenant-commander opened his eyes. It was broad daylight; evidently he had remained unconscious, or had slept, for many hours. He noted a small bamboo table placed close by the couch on which he lay, an American wicker rocking chair, a homemade palm screen; then his gaze wandered across the room, where stood the owners of the voices.
The girl was directly in front of the man, disclosing to view only the outlines of his figure. Suddenly she moved to one side; and the lieutenant-commander gave a start of surprise and closed his eyes involuntarily.
Then he opened them again, slowly and cautiously. The man's face stood out clearly in the light from the open