With Frank Merriwell’s party on board, Henry Crossgrove’s magnificent steam yacht finally dropped anchor in Camden Harbor on the coast of Maine. After Dick Merriwell’s victory, he and his triumphant companions of the Fairhaven team had been invited by Crossgrove to join Frank’s party on the Sachem. While the winners of the pennant in the Trolley League had accepted this invitation and were taken from Fairhaven by the handsome yacht of the steel magnate, on arriving at Camden Dick and Brad Buckhart were the only ones of the victorious nine who had not dropped off at other ports and departed for their various homes.
The evening following the arrival of the yacht at Camden was a glorious one. A full moon shed its mellow light over the village that nestled at the foot of the mountains. The harbor was unrippled by a breath of air, and the mellow sweetness of passing summer lay over everything.
During the day Frank and his friends had enjoyed a buckboard ride along the turnpike road, and, therefore, both Elsie and Inza were quite content to remain on the yacht that evening when Frank announced that he must go ashore for the purpose of mailing some letters.
For a time the girls sat chatting in the moonlight, unapproached or interrupted by any one.
“It doesn’t seem so very long since we were here before, Inza,” said Elsie. “Do you remember all the strange things that happened then?”
“I can never forget them,” declared Inza, reaching out and grasping Elsie’s hand. “I can never forget your nobility and generosity, my dear friend. For my sake you tried to make Frank believe yourself shallow, fickle, and false-hearted. You deceived me, but you couldn’t deceive him. He never lost confidence in you, Elsie.”
“I don’t think we quite knew our own minds in those days, Inza,” declared Elsie. “We thought we did, but I am sure we didn’t. It’s all come right at last. There are no more jealousies, no more heart-burnings, and no more bitterness.”
“It took us a long time to know each other, didn’t it, dear?” murmured Inza. “But in one way you are more fortunate than I.”
“How’s that?”
“Frank must go back to Mexico. It’s absolutely necessary, he says, to have a hand in the building of that railroad which will open up the country in which lies his San Pablo Mine. He has heard some things of late that make him uneasy. You know there’s always a chance for trouble over any large investment in Mexico. There are rumors that another syndicate wishes to build a railroad through exactly the same territory, and that powerful influence is being brought to bear on the Mexican government by this rival concern. I am almost sorry Frank has not sought a market for his Sonora Mine. Now that Bart has no mining interests, he is at liberty to go into any business he chooses, and he may remain in the East.”
“We have talked that over, Inza,” said Elsie. “Already Bart has told me about this trouble Frank may have, and I have urged him to stand by Frank until it is settled. Instead of remaining in the East, Bart will return to Mexico when Frank goes.”
“Oh, Elsie!” exclaimed Inza; “I know how keenly you must feel the sacrifice! You had planned something entirely different, and now——”
“And now I am ready to put my plans and hopes aside for a time. Bart knows how much he owes to Frank, and he is anxious to stand by him. If I were to ask it, he would not go back to Mexico; but I have urged him to do so.”
“Just like you, Elsie!” declared Inza. “Frank may not start for some time yet. He will have considerable work in New York with the capitalists who are going to push that railroad through. You know he has a number of maps and plans of the country through which the railroad will pass. True, a survey has been made, but Frank knows that country better than the engineers who made the survey. This he has demonstrated to the capitalists, and there’s to be a meeting in New York some time next week. It’s impossible to say how soon after that meeting he will be obliged to leave for Mexico.”
“Don’t you fear to have him go down there into that wild country, Inza?”
“No, I don’t fear,” was the immediate answer. “I have absolute confidence in Frank.”
“But the Mexicans are so treacherous. They often strike at an enemy’s back.”
“That’s true of a certain class of Mexicans, Elsie. There are several classes of people in Mexico, you know. For instance, there are the native Indians, then the Creoles of Spanish descent or Mexican birth. Then there are the Spaniards born in Europe, and, finally, the half-breeds, or cross between the Mexicans and Indians. These half-breeds are the treacherous ones, Elsie. They are called Mestizos. They are the enemies to be watched and avoided.”
“Do you believe, Inza, that they are really the most dangerous? Are they not in many cases the tools of others with more brains? Now you know there’s a person on board this yacht who can’t be a Mestizo, yet I am afraid of him. He is a Mexican, for he has said so.”
Inza laughed a little.
“You mean Se?or Porfias del Norte. He’s a friend of Mr. Crossgrove.”
“I don’t care,” said Elsie. “I don’t like him. I’m afraid of him. I’m afraid of his smooth and snaky ways. I am afraid of his smile and his restless eyes.”
“I am sure he is a fine-looking fellow in a way.”
“In a way, perhaps,” admitted Elsie. “Some might call him fine-looking, and I have no doubt he considers himself very handsome.”
“Yes, I think he does,” nodded Inza. “He has a way of rolling his eyes at one, and then that smile which shows his perfect teeth—I am sure he practices it before the mirror.”
“It’s very strange, but I can’t bear to have him near me.”
“It’s very strange, but somehow I have taken a great interest in him. I fancy he has some underlying purpose in life, and I wonder what it is. I am consumed by a desire to read his secret and sound the depths of him.”
“Well, you may spend your time reading him as much as you like,” said Elsie; “but excuse me! When he comes around I vanish.”
“He’s a fine singer, and he plays beautifully on both the guitar and mandolin.”
“I confess he’s a fine singer. Had I never seen him to talk with him, I should enjoy his singing; but now the very sound of his voice gives me a little shivery feeling, and I want to stop my ears.”
“Why, I never dreamed you were such a prejudiced person, Elsie! You always see the good in everybody.”
“That’s right, and, therefore, something tells me that when I see the bad in a person that person must be very, very bad. Inza, I can’t help it, but in spite of the polish of Porfias del Norte, in spite of his politeness, his education, his entertaining manners, I feel that he is a snake, and a poisonous snake at that.”
“Of course, you may be right, Elsie,” said Inza; “but I have never regarded you as an acute student of human nature.”
“Nor do I profess to be, but still Profias del Norte——”
“I beg your pardon,” said a smooth, musical voice that made both girls start. “Are you speaking of me, ladies? I hope I don’t intrude.”
A slender, graceful man stepped forward with a soft footfall. He was dressed in light flannels and bowed politely, with his hat in one hand and a guitar in the other, as the two girls partly rose from their chairs.
“I beg you not to be disturbed, ladies,” he said. “I was seeking a spot on deck where I might smoke and drum a little on my guitar when I happened to pass you. I fancy I heard my name spoken.”
“Yes,” said Inza at once, “we were speaking of you Se?or del Norte. I don’t know just how it happened—perhaps it was caused by the moonlight, by the almost tropical calm and beauty of this night.”
“Ah!” he said. “It is a beautiful night—a glorious night! Never have I dreamed that so far up here in the North they could have such nights. I am a child of the South, and to me the North has ever seemed cold, and sterile, and barren, and devoid of all that’s beautiful and attractive. I love beautiful things. I love the flowers, the birds, the open air, the sunshine, almost everything but darkness. Somehow I don’t like darkness. It oppresses me! It crowds me! In the moonlight I am happy, but let the moon go behind a cloud and I am heavy-hearted. At night I sleep always with a light within reach of my hand. Strange, isn’t it?”
“Strange!” exclaimed Elsie. “Yes, it is. I have known children and women who always slept with a light burning, but it’s a rare thing for a man. Isn’t it possible, se?or, that you have a reason for being afraid of the darkness?”
“Possibly I have,” he admitted at once. “My father was murdered at midnight on a very dark night. My mother heard the blows and tried to aid him. She sprang to his assistance and grappled with his assailants. They beat her down. She was stricken unconscious to the floor. When she recovered she struck a light, and it fell on the dead body of my father, who had been stabbed nineteen distinct times. My mother never forgot it. She told me of it scores of times. No wonder I hate the darkness!”
He gave a heavy sig............