# War Drums (Sass)/Chapter 8

LACHLAN played with his glass, lowering his eyes lest his elation might be visible. So far, mat ters had progressed better than he had dared hope. He had expected to invade a nest of enemies, and, instead, the ship was almost empty. He had feared that Falcon might recognize him at once, and now that danger was past. There remained a contest of wits in which he would have need of all his shrewdness; but he began that contest with a light heart. It was with easy confidence that he improvised his answer to the other's question.
"I hope, Captain Falcon," he said, "that my news is more valuable to you than it appears. It is brief enough. My colonel, Don Joachim de Montiano, bade me tell you that Chief Concha, the Appalache, still holds his prisoner and that the latter's health is good."
Lance Falcon nodded slowly, twisting the end of his stiff moustache.
"And what of the affair of Chief Concha's daughter?" he asked eagerly.
Lachlan reached beneath his sash for a kerchief, pretending to rub a spot on his sleeve. He was in deep water at the very start.
He knew nothing save what he had learned or sur​mised from the letter that had been tossed into Falcon's window at Ramage's tavern. There had been no mention of Concha's daughter in that letter, and though in the brief half-second while he fumbled with his kerchief, he searched his brain for a clue, he could not conceive what Falcon meant by this query. There was nothing for it but to strike out boldly.
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug and spread his hands in a gesture which might have meant anything.
"As to that, Captain Falcon," he said, "I am given to understand that it progresses very slowly."
It was a blind stroke delivered with a silent prayer that it might not be a blunder. Its effect was startlingly dramatic.
In an instant Falcon's face was convulsed with rage. His thick brows drew together in a black scowl and his closed hand struck the table with a crash. Lachlan's muscles tightened and he pushed his chair back a little that he might more quickly leap to his feet if the need arose; but in a moment the man opposite him seemed in a measure to regain his self control.
"I knew it," Falcon growled. "I knew that nothing would come of it. I was a fool to listen to Montiano. Henceforth I do what my own judgment tells me."
Again Lachlan plunged blindly.
"You are too hasty, Captain Falcon," he remarked quietly. "I did not say that the affair was at a standstill. I said that it progressed slowly. Is not that something gained?"
​The question seemed in some measure to renew Falcon's anger.
"Upon my life, Señor Ruy Ortiz," he cried irritably, "I do not know, and I am not likely to know so long as I trust to your commandant, Montiano, in this matter. Why he should be so tender towards this Gilbert Barradell I cannot guess. But this I will tell you—that I am done with dallying and paltering. The matter is my private affair. It is no part of my bargain with Montiano that I should follow his wishes in this business. I shall defer to him no longer. Within the week I shall set sail for the southward, and when I reach Concha's town I shall deal with Barradell as I think best."
At the first mention of Barradell, Lachlan's heart had given a mighty leap. It was true, then. Chief Concha's prisoner was indeed Jolie Stanwicke's lost lover! What had been hitherto mere conjecture was now a certainty; and even if nothing else were learned from Falcon, priceless information had been gained. That there was much more to be learned was obvious; but it was obvious, too, that an effort to learn more would be desperately dangerous and might undo all that had been won.
All this Lachlan realized in a flash; yet, yielding to impulse, he ventured greatly.
"So be it, Captain," he answered suavely. "It is not for me to dissuade you."
He lifted his wine to his lips.
"To your success!" he murmured, and drained the ​glass. Idly he played with it for a moment. Then, with a quizzical smile, he said softly:
"There is a proverb in my country which affirms that when you have dealt with My Lady's lover, you have still to deal with My Lady. Will that be easy, Captain?"
He did not know what storm this rash impertinence might provoke. He had scarcely spoken the words before he regretted them. Yet, to his amazement, Falcon smiled. Perhaps in some subtle way the query appealed to his vanity and thus pleased him.
"I perceive," he said, "that Don Joachim de Montiano has told his lieutenant much but not all. There will be no trouble about the lady, Señor."
He paused, as though reflecting, and Lachlan saw his gray eyes harden while the blood mounted slowly to his cheeks. He held out his left hand palm upward and tapped the palm with the forefinger of the other hand.
"I hold her father there," he said slowly. "I can crush him when I choose."
He broke off suddenly. The hard light faded from his eyes, the tight lips relaxed in a smile. He reached for the wine and refilled his glass.
"But enough of this matter, Señor," he said. "I see that you have nothing more to tell me regarding it, and that Montiano's object in sending you here was to prevent me from acting upon it in my own way. In that object he has failed. As I told you, I shall sail southward within the week."
He raised his finger as Lachlan started to speak.
​"Spare me your remonstrances, Señor," he exclaimed. "My mind is made up and I shall come. If Don Joachim values my services to him here, he will not seek to thwart me."
"Your services have indeed been valuable, Captain Falcon," Lachlan murmured. "I make no doubt they will be suitably rewarded."
"As to that," replied Falcon briskly, "I ask but little—though I might ask much, not only for what I have done for the King of Spain in Charles Town, but also for what I have refrained from doing to him upon the seas. I carry letters of marque, as you doubtless know. But since my bargain with Montiano I have touched no Spanish ship; and some that I might have taken were well worth the taking."
Lachlan smiled. Here was a new lead, worth following.
"And your work in Charles Town?" he asked not too eagerly. "You were mistaken in your surmise as to my commandant's object in sending me on this voyage. His real object was to learn from you how our interests prosper here."
"The time is not yet ripe," Falcon answered. "It is not ripe, but it is ripening. The defences of Charles Town are weak and they are not being strengthened. The Cherokees grow more and more angry. They will rise when Spain gives the word. The aid you have promised them at Fort Prince George——" He paused and seemed to ponder for a moment.
"But let that wait, Sefor Ruy," he said at last. "I ​shall visit your commandant within the fortnight and shall tell him many things. He can wait until then for the information that he desires."
"As you will, Captain Falcon," said Lachlan easily. "So short a delay can be of little moment—though, if you have nothing to tell me, I might have been spared this journey."
He pushed back his chair and arose.
"I think, then," he continued, "that I shall bring my visit to an end. My sloop lies in the River of Stono, and it took my paddlers an hour of steady work to bring me here. With the tide ebbing, 'twill take them longer to return."
"Aye," said Falcon, "and 'twill be well if you get to sea before daylight. Your Spanish sloops, no matter how disguised, still look like Spaniards."
He rose, put on his hat and took a step forward, as though to pass around the table to the door; but midway he halted suddenly. A murmur of voices came from the deck without. Lachlan heard them also, heard them with a sudden thrill which set his heart beating faster.
"My men from below deck," growled Falcon irritably. "They are faithful scoundrels, but I prefer that they shall not see you."
He stood, his head cocked on one side, listening. Next moment a hail rang out from the deck and was answered from the river.
"Strange," muttered Falcon. "The time has passed more quickly than I thought."
​He turned to Lachlan.
"We will wait here a little, Señor Ruy," he said. "Apparently my crew are returning from the town, and when they have come aboard, perhaps I can get you off unobserved into your canoe."
Lachlan nodded slightly and for some moments they waited in silence. His keen ears told him when the approaching boat ran alongside the brig, but he listened in vain for the loud jests and laughter that he thought would mark the return of Falcon's crew. At last came the sound of footsteps, the footsteps of three or four men. They came straight to the cabin door and halted just outside; then, after a moment, a loud knock sounded on the panel.
Falcon, frowning, muttered an oath.
"Come," he growled.
The door swung open. Without stood three of Falcon's crew, evidently the men who had been sleeping below deck; while in front of them, framed in the doorway, stood a short squat Spaniard, bearded and swarthy, one hand raised to his plumed hat, the other resting lightly on his rapier hilt.
He lifted his hat and bowed to Falcon. He did not see Lachlan because the latter was hidden from him by the door, which opened inward.
"I am an hour before the appointed time, Captain Falcon," he said smoothly, "but my paddlers made a swift journey from the River Stono. I am Don Ruy Ortiz of St. Augustine."