LYING under the coils of heavy cable, jolted against unyielding machinery, Bill began to have doubts about the wisdom of his plan. He could hear the soldiers talking about him above the engine’s roar, and the things they said were not exactly promising.
Cueto’s heavy voice was heard to say, “This fellow, he has the greatest amount of brass. He comes down into town quite as if nothing in the world was there to stop him. He comes down and pretends to be the greatest man in town—excepting lugarteniente Herrero—and fools everybody.”
The driver muttered something and Cueto expanded.
“But then we find this man Jorge Henderson lying along a path. We find somebody has stuck a knife into him—so! And right away, lugarteniente Herrero turns to me and he says, ‘Cueto, you have a vast amount of training along this line, and I am asking for your opinion, Cueto, as you are the best sergeant I have ever had. What do you think about this, Cueto?’
“And so I said, ‘Lugarteniente, it appears that someone has made an attack on this man and I think that that man—the one who attacked him—was no other than that bloodthirsty renegade, Murphy.’
“And lugarteniente Herrero thinks and he says, ‘Cueto, I knew I could depend upon you as I always have.’ And then he says, ‘Por Dios, did you not tell me that this Jorge Henderson was in the city?’
“Then I says, ‘That is the point, lugarteniente. That is the point. He could not have been in the city and out here getting knifed at the same time.’
“And so the lugarteniente says, ‘I think you are right. Perhaps we had better locate this impostor.’ And so we did and what did we find? We found that I had been right in the first place. It was this Murphy.
“And so we tried to catch him, but he has the devil on his side and he got away from us, but we have the patrols out and the minute we lay eyes upon him, bango! He’s a dead man!”
“You mean,” said the driver, “that you’ll shoot … shoot him in cold b-b-b-blood?”
“We are not afraid of him,” said Cueto, proudly.
“No indeed,” said another soldier. “I’ve got my sights all set for him. When the lugarteniente says shoot on sight, I shoot on sight, eh, Sergeant?”
“That’s it,” said the sergeant. “We aren’t afraid of anybody, much less this murdering jacaré, Murphy.”
The truck rolled on through the darkness and presently turned off into a mud-slimed, brush-lined trail which led up toward Camp Jaguar.
For expedience, a horse was best. Trucks had a nasty habit of getting bogged down and when they did that, you had to get out and remove all manner of heavy gear, unbog the truck and load the gear again.
Bill lay there sweating under the cables and hoped they wouldn’t get into a mudhole this night.
They went slowly, evidently because the driver didn’t want Bill Murphy to play this shooting-on-sight trick when they got into Jaguar. The driver probably hoped they would bog down, forgetting that the instant they did, Bill would be uncovered.
The truck rolled slower and slower. The sky began to glow up ahead. They were getting near Camp Jaguar.
Bill tensed himself for a dash the instant they stopped. Maybe the troopers’ guns would stick in their holsters or something. Maybe there would be some excitement and he wouldn’t be noticed.
Meantime they still had another kilometer to travel, the worst kilometer of all. The mud was so thick, it had a creamy quality when you beat it up. Pools of water lay in the jungle trail, ready and waiting for the unwary wheel. The driver slowed down again.
“Faster,” said Bill, but he said it to himself. Trucks bogged faster when you slowed down. Was there no hope for it?
A rear wheel spun for a moment without picking up traction. The body lurched drunkenly and the truck slid back into the hole.
Bill gave a weary sigh and prepared to do battle.
Cueto climbed out with several grunts and looked the situation over with his flashlight.
“It’s pretty deep,” said Cueto.
“Too deep,” agreed the driver.
“Do we have to unload?” said Cueto, warily. “We could get some of the Jaguar men.…”
The driver’s words choked in his throat. “Ugh, blurg … ah … I don’t think …”
The flashlight played over the load for the space of a minute. Bill could see the beams of it coming down through the cables. If the sergeant noticed a stray foot or hand, it would be just too bad.
Well, thought Bill, he wouldn’t ever be able to explain to Marcia now. They’d unload this gear and that would be that. If shoot-on-sight orders had really been issued, it was all over. A Latin soldier likes nothing more.
Cueto gave orders for one of the men to go up to camp and Bill could hear the boots squishing away from there. Cueto sat down on the tailgate and smoked a cigarette. The driver walked up and down, up and down, and didn’t even notice that he was wading through a deep pool.
“Keep a sharp lookout,” said Cueto, to his three remaining men. “This fellow Murphy may try to come up this trail and you know your orders if he does.”
Bill groaned silently. Poor Marcia. She was so sure she was right and that he had done these things attributed to him. It was tough, thought Bill. They’d had such a swell time when she’d been down here before. They’d gone riding and swimming and dancing and she’d told him …
The men were coming back from Jaguar.
Bill heard Romano’s voice. “But I tell you, we didn’t order a rotary drill! We didn’t say anything. Where is the driver? What do you mean by this? Are you crazy? What is the idea calling us off shift to unload a truck, eh? What is the matter with these pigs of soldiers, eh?”
“We must have made a mistake,” said the driver, miserably.
“Hmmmm, a mistake,” said Romano, scornfully. “That Stewart woman came back an hour ago and she didn’t order this drill. She hasn’t any brains as the good lord will testify, but she knows better than to order something we do not need.”
Bill’s hopes began to soar. Maybe they would refuse to unload the thing after all. Maybe they’d go back to camp and forget about it and maybe the soldiers would go with them.
They argued bitterly about it for some time and then Romano said, “Well, we cannot have you on this trail. We cannot do that. Turn around and go back to Maracaibo.”
“I can’t turn around here,” said the driver.
“Then go up to camp.…”
“But we’re bogged down, I tell you. You’ve got to unload the t-t … I mean … I’ll see … see if I … if I can’t b-b-b-b-back the thing out.”
He tried but it was no use. The heavy load only made the wheel sink deeper.
“We’ll unload it,” snapped Romano peevishly, playing his flash over the load. “Here, you men, start on those cables.”
The cables were jerked toward the tailgate. Bill hauled at them and tried to keep covered up. He couldn’t fight off all these armed men. The instant they sighted him …
“¡Por Dios!” cried Cueto. “Look! Look! A hand! See!”
The men about the truck yelled and came closer, hauling at the cables.
“There’s a foot!” cried Romano. “Pull him out of there. It’s that Murphy! Pull him out of there and shoot him, quick!”
The cables jarred again and the soldiers gave a mighty heave.
Then there was a moment’s silence.
Cueto roared, “What are you doing in there?”
Romano snapped, “El Opio!”
The soldiers grabbed the luckless gow-eater and hauled him down to the ground. But el Opio was bound and gagged, a fact which amazed them all.
“How did he get in here?” demanded Cueto of the driver.
“Somebody … somebody must have hid him,” said the driver.
“Hid him,” cried Romano. “Well, let him go. He’s harmless.”
“No,” said Cueto, definitely. “I think I smell a mice.”
“But what can you do with him?” protested Romano.
“I think we take him up to camp right away,” said Cueto. “This man is undoubtedly in the pay of señor Murphy. This man is a hired assassin and I think the lugarteniente will thank me if I have him here for questioning.”
“But my dear sergeant,” said Romano, changing his tone completely, “I think you will be wasting your time by questioning …”
“I know what I am doing,” roared Cueto. “You think you are smarter than the police, eh? You think you can outwit the cavalry. We take him to camp and question him.”
They were so startled by their find that they completely forgot about the truck until somebody noticed that the driver was no longer present. This also mystified them greatly.
But with the driver gone, the truck meant nothing to them.
They marched up the road bearing el Opio between them.