LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

was roused at once. Since Roezl made the discovery, fifteen years before, every one had come to know that rarities may be expected on an Indian church. The pious aborigines collect any orchid of exceptional beauty which they notice in the woods and carefully replant it on the sacred building. It was the custom of their heathen forefathers.

      ‘Are there any white ones among them?’ Oversluys asked. An albino form of Cattleya Bowringiana had never been heard of, but he thought it might exist. And if so the roof of an Indian church would be the place to look for such a treasure.

      ‘As many white as red! I say, what will you give for a dozen?’

      This was a difficult question under any circumstances, since the plants could hardly be flowering then; and there is no difference in growth betwixt the white varieties and the red. Besides, Oversluys had not the very slightest confidence in this youth.

      ‘How will you get them?’ he asked.

      ‘Never mind that. Pay me half the money down and I’ll bring the plants to-morrow. You know, our Indians are suspicious of collectors. You mustn’t be seen in the village.’

      That was reasonable enough in one point of view, but preposterous in the other. ‘Oh,’ said Oversluys, ‘I must see the orchids at any risk – that’s flat! and I must hear how you mean to work.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because if you take them without the Padre’s consent you know as well as I that the Indians will be after me at daylight, and – h’m! There would be work for the doctor! What sort of man is your Padre?’

      ‘A sort of pig, of course,’ laughed Don Hilario. ‘A fat old boar, ready for the knife. And my knife is ready, too! Patience, friend, patience!’ His eyes still laughed, but he made the significant gesture so common in those lands – a sudden stealthy grip of the machete at his waist.

      This was not an unimportant revelation. ‘You are on bad terms with the Cura?’ Oversluys asked.

      ‘Not now. He thinks I have forgotten. It’s years ago. I was a boy. But the Castilian never forgets! I will tell you.’

      The story was not edifying. It related to a young woman in whom the Cura felt interest. He surprised her in company with Don Hilario and beat the lad.

      ‘Well,’ said Oversluys, ‘I’m sorry you and the Padre are not friends, because I will have nothing to do with removing orchids from the church unless he bears part in it.’

      ‘But the pig will want all the money.’

      ‘You need not tell him how much I am to give you.’

      Don Hilario argued, however, until, finding Oversluys immovable, he grew sulky. The fact is that to strip their church against the Indians’ wish would be not a little perilous even though the Cura were implicated; to ignore him would be madness. Collectors have risked it, they say, before and since, but never assuredly unless quite certain that the prize was worth a deadly hazard. In this instance there was no security at all.

      As they approached the village Don Hilario brightened up. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what will you give me?’

      Oversluys had no money, but he offered a sum – the amount of which I have not heard – payable in Guatemala city; to be doubled if the orchids should prove white. Don Hilario declined this proposal with oaths; he dared not go to Guatemala city, and he could not trust a friend. The negotiations came to an end. Grumbling and swearing he rode for a while by himself; then fell into silence, and presently rejoined Oversluys quite cheerful. The houses were close by.

      ‘It’s a bargain, friend,’ he said. ‘Your hand! It’s a bargain!’

      ‘Good! Now I won’t take my mules with the orchids into the village. Can you lead us round to the other side? There is a hut there, I daresay, where I can leave my men and return with you.’

      Don Hilario declared that such precautions were unnecessary, but when Oversluys insisted he led the way through by-paths. They did not meet a soul. Upon the edge of a broad savannah beyond was a corral, or enclosure, and a shed, used by the vaqueros for slaughtering, branding, and so forth in the season, empty now. Hundreds of cattle browsed slowly towards the corral, for evening approached and the woods were full of jaguars doubtless. Though unwatched at this time of year, they took refuge nightly in the enclosure. It was just such a spot as Oversluys sought. His men had food, and he told them to remain with the animals. Then he returned with Don Hilario.

      It is usual to ask the Cura for lodgings in a strange place; he himself puts up a traveller who can pay. This was a rotund and masterful priest. They found him alighting from his mule, with soutane rolled up to the waist, showing a prodigious breadth of pea-green trousers. He wore a triple string of blue beads round his neck, and flourished a whip of cowhide.

      Oversluys looked like a traveller who could pay, and he received a greeting as warm as foreigner can expect; a foreigner in those lands is presumed to be no ‘Christian.’ They entered the parsonage. Don Hilario was to broach the business, but first Oversluys would satisfy himself that the orchids were worth negotiation. He slipped away.

      A glance settled that. The church was a low building of mud, as usual. On either side the doorway, looking down the street, stood an ancient idol, buried to the waist, but still five feet high. The features were battered, but the round eyes, with pupils cut deep in a half circle, glared in hideous threat, and the mouth gaped for blood; no need of an interpreter there – one saw and felt the purpose. But Oversluys was not interested in these familiar objects. He looked up. His comrade had not exaggerated the size of the orchids, at least. They were noble specimens. But as for their colour he could see no trace to guide him.

      Don Hilario had gone to greet his parents; it was comparatively late when he returned, but then he got to business forthwith. The Cura was startled. He showed no indignation, but after pondering declined. Before going further, Oversluys asked whether the orchids were white? Impatiently the Cura replied that he never looked at them – very likely they were. People decked the church with white flowers, and perhaps they got them from the roof. He had other things to think about.

      Oversluys guessed that the man was eager to sell but afraid, and fretful accordingly. He raised his price, whilst Don Hilario taunted the Cura with fearing his parishioners. That decided him. Loudly he declared that the church was his own, and consented.

      The deed must be done that night. But who would climb the church roof in the dark? Don Hilario was prepared for that difficulty. He knew half a dozen fellows of his own age and stamp who would enjoy the mischief. And he went to collect them.

      It was long past midnight when the band appeared – a set of lively young ruffians. So vivacious were they, in fact, though not noisy, and so disrespectful to their pastor as they drank a glass for luck, standing round the board, that Oversluys thought it well to prepare for a ‘row.’ He slipped out, saddled his mule and tied it by the door.

      Then the young Indians filed off in high spirits, chuckling low and nudging one another. The Cura followed to the door, commended them to heaven and stopped. Don Hilario would not have that – he must take his share of the enterprise. The others returned and remonstrated warmly. In short, there was such hubbub, though all in low tones, that Oversluys grew more and more alarmed. The Cura gave way savagely, however, and they started again; but Oversluys kept well behind, leading his mule. It was a dark night, though not dark as in a northern climate. He could follow the little group with his eyes, a blurred mass stealing over the plaza. The church itself was faintly visible a hundred yards away. All remained still and silent. He advanced.

      A low wall encircled the church. The Indians did not think it prudent to use the entrance – of which those idols were the gate-posts, as it may be said. Oversluys, reassured, had drawn close enough now to see them creep up to the wall. Suddenly there was a roar! A multitude of figures leapt up the other side of the wall, yelling!

      That was ‘Boot and Saddle’ for Oversluys. Off he set full gallop, for the risk of a broken neck is not worth counting when vengeful Indians are on one’s trail. But though all the village must have heard him thudding past, no one pursued. Very extraordinary, but the whole incident was mysterious. After fifteen

Скачать книгу