When Agueda left the Casa de Caboa she turned down the trocha towards the sea. Although the sea was not far from San Isidro as the crow flies, the dwellers at the hacienda rarely went there. In the first place, there was the river to cross, and then the wood beyond the river was filled with a thick, short growth of prickly pear. This sort of underbrush was unpleasant to pull through. Don Beltran had tried to buy it from Escobeda up at Troja, but Escobeda seemed to have been born to annoy the human race in general, and Don Beltran and Silencio in particular. He would not sell, and he would not cultivate, so that the sea meadow, as they called it at San Isidro, was an eyesore and a cause of heart-burning to Don Beltran.

Agueda chirruped to her horse, and was soon skirting the plantation of Palmacristi. The chestnut was a pacer, and Agueda liked his single foot, and kept him down to it at all hazards.

She felt as if she were in Nada's American chair, the motion was so easy and pleasant. The beach was rather a new experience to the chestnut, but[Pg 44] after a little moment of hesitancy he started on with a nod of the head.

"Ah!" said Agueda, with a laugh, "it is you, Casta?o, who know that I never lead you wrong."

She shook the bridle, and the horse put forth his best powers. They took the wet sand just where the water had retreated but a little while before. It was as hard and firm as the country road, but moist and cool.

"How I should like to plunge into that sea," said Agueda to Casta?o. Casta?o again nodded an acquiescent head. A salt-water bath was a novelty to these comrades.

After a few moments of pacing, Agueda came to the sand spit which ran out from the plantation into the sea. Here was the boat-house which Don Gil had built, and Agueda noticed that it was placed upon a high point, with ways leading down on either side into the water. She looked wistfully at the boat-house. "How I should love to sail upon that sea," thought Agueda. "No water, however high, could frighten me." Then she recalled with a flash the flood which had brought her happiness. She smiled faintly, for with the thought the unpleasant feeling which Don Gil's words had called up returned, she knew not why. Agueda was pacing towards the south. Upon her right stood up tall and high the asta of Palmacristi, the staff from[Pg 45] which hung the lantern that, she had heard, sent forth its white ray each night to warn the seafarers on that lonely coast.

"What harm for a ship to run on the sand," thought Agueda. "I have heard that rocks are cruel. But the sand is soft. It need hurt no one."

She struck spurs to Casta?o, and covered several miles before she again drew rein. And now the bank grew high, and Agueda awoke to the fact that she was alone upon the beach, screened from the eyes of every one. Again the thought came to her of a bath in the sea, and she was about to rein the chestnut in when she heard a shout from the plateau above her head. She stopped, and tipping back her straw hat, she looked upward. All that she could discover was a mass of flowers in motion. "They are the air-plants, certainly," said Agueda to herself, "but I never saw them to grow like that." She looked to right and to left, but there was no human being in sight along the yellow bank outlined by sand and overhanging weeds.

"Who calls me?" she cried aloud, holding her hair from her ears, where the wind persisted in blowing it.

"Caramba, muchacho! Can you not see who it is? It is I, Gremo."

There was a violent agitation of the mass of blooms, and Agueda now perceived that a head[Pg 46] was shaking out its words from the centre of this woodland extravaganza.

"I can hardly see you, Gremo," said Agueda. "What do you want with me, Gremo?"

"And must I make brains for every muchacho[3] between here and the Port of Entry? Do you not know there are the quicksands just beyond?"

"Quicksands, Gremo! Yes, I had heard of quicksands, but I did not think them here. Can I get up the bank, Gremo?"

"No," answered Gremo, from his flower screen. "You must ride back a long way." He wheeled suddenly toward the south—at least, the mass of flowers wheeled, and a hand was stretched forth from the centre. A finger pointed along the sand. Agueda turned in the saddle and shaded her eyes again.

"What is it, Gremo?" she asked. "I see nothing."

"Then you do not see that small thing over which the vultures hover?"

"I see the vultures, certainly," said Agueda. "Some bit of fish, perhaps."

"No bit of fish or fowl, but foul flesh, if you will, hombre. It is the hand of a Se?or, muchacho."

"The hand of a Se?or? And what is the hand[Pg 47] of a Se?or doing, lying along there on the shore?"

"It lies there because it cannot get loose. Caramba, muchacho! Do I not know?"

"Cannot get loose from what?" asked Agueda, still puzzled.

"From the Se?or himself, muchachito. He lies below there, and his good horse with him. Do you not see a hoof just over beyond where the big bird lights?"

Agueda turned pale. She had never been near such death before. Nada had passed peacefully away with the sacred wafer upon her lips, and in her ears the good padre's words of forgiveness for all her sins, of which Agueda was sure she had committed none. Hers was a sweet, calm, sad death. One thought of it with relief and hope, but this was tragedy. There, along the beach, beneath the smiling sand, whose grains glistened in a million, million sparkles, lay the bodies of horse and rider, overtaken by this placid sea.

"I suppose he was a stranger," said Agueda. "There was no one to warn him." Suddenly she felt faint. A strong whiff of air reached her from the direction of the birds. She turned the chestnut rapidly, and struck the spur to his side.

"Wait, Gremo, wait!" she cried, "I am coming! Do not leave me here alone." The chestnut paced[Pg 48] as never horse paced before, and after a few minutes Agueda found a little cleft in the bank where a stream trickled down. Into this opening she guided Casta?o, and with spur and whip aided him in his scramble up the bank. She galloped southward again, and neared the place where Gremo stood. She was guided by the mass of bloom. As she advanced she saw the blossoms shaking, but as yet perceived nothing human. Tales of the forest suddenly came back to her. Could it be that this was a woodland spirit, who had lured her here to this high headland, to throw her over the cliff again to keep company with the dead man yonder and the birds of prey? She had half turned her horse, when Gremo, seeing her plan, thrust himself further from his gorgeous environment.

"Ah! It is the little Agueda! Do not be afraid, Agueda, little Se?orita. It is I, Gremo."

Agueda's cheek had not as yet regained its colour.

"It is Gremo, muchachito."

"What terrible thing is that down there, Gremo? And to see you looking like this frightened me!"

It was a curious sight which met Agueda's eyes. Gremo, the little yellow keeper of Los Santos light, was standing not far from his signal pole. He held a staff in each hand. The staves were crooked and uneven. They were covered with bark, and scraggy bits of moss hung from them here and[Pg 49] there. The strange thing about them was that each blossomed like the prophet's rod. At the top of the right-hand staff there shot out a splendid orange-coloured flower, with velvety oval-shaped leaves. Near the top of the left-hand staff was a pale pink blossom, large also, not wilted, as plucked flowers are apt to be, but firm and fresh. But these were not all the prophet's rods which Gremo carried. Across his back was slung an old canvas stool, opened to its fullest extent, and laid lengthwise across this were many more ragged staves, and on each and all of them a flower of some shade or colour bloomed. Then there were branches held under his arms, whose protruding ends blossomed in Agueda's very face, and quite enclosed the yellow countenance of Gremo. The glossy green of the leaves surrounding each bloom so concealed Gremo that he was lost in his vari-coloured burden of loveliness.

"So it is really you, Gremo! Do they smell sweet, those air-plants?"

Gremo shifted from one leg to the other. One of Gremo's legs was shorter than the other. He generally settled down on the short one to argue. When he was indignant he raised himself upon his long leg and hurled defiance from the elevation.

The mass of bloom seemed to exhale a delicate aroma. So evanescent was it that Gremo often[Pg 50] said to himself, "Have they any scent after all?" And then, in a moment, a breeze blew from left to right, across the open calix of each delicate flower, and Gremo said, "How sweet they are!"

"I sometimes think they are the sweetest things on God's earth," said Gremo. "That is, when the Se?orita is not by," he added, remembering that his grandfather had brought some veneer from old Spain; "and then again I ask myself, is there any perfume at all?"

"Oh, now I smell it, Gremo!" said Agueda, sniffing up her straight little nose. "Now I smell it! It is delicious!"

"It is better than the perfume down below there," said Gremo, with a grimace. Agueda turned pale again.

"And what do you do with them, Gremo?" asked she.

"I take them to the Port of Entry, Se?orita. I get good payment there. Sometimes a half-dollar, Mex. They stick them in the earth. They last a long, long time."

"Were you going there when you called me from—from—down there?"

"Si, Se?orita. I was walking along the bank. I had just come from my casa"—Gremo gestured backward with a dignified wave of the hand—"when I heard El Casta?o's hoofs on the hard sand there[Pg 51] below." He turned and looked along the beach to where the noisome birds hovered. "I was too late to warn the Se?or. Had I been here, I should even have laid down my plants and have run to the edge of the cliff"—Gremo jerked his head towards the humped-up pit of sand—"and called, 'Olá! Porque hace Usted eso? It is Gremo who has the kind heart, muchacho.'"

"I am not a boy, Gremo," said Agueda, glancing down at her riding costume.

"It is the same to me, Se?orita," said Gremo, who in common with his fellows had but one gender of speech.

Agueda was looking at the hand which thrust itself out from the sand of the shore. It seemed as if the fingers beckoned. She shuddered.

"They should put up a sign," she said, quickly. "I shall tell the Se?or Don Beltran. He will put up a notice—a warning."

"Caramba, hombre! And why must you interfere? No people in this part will go that way. They all know the danger as well as the birds. I live here in this part. Why not leave it to me?"

"But will you, Gremo?"

"What? Put up the sign? I most certainly shall, Se?orita. Some day when I have not the air-plants to gather, or the lanterna to clean, or when I am not down with the calentura, or there is no fair at[Pg 52] Haldez, or no cock-fight at Saltona. The Se?orita does not know how long I have thought of this—I, Gremo! Why, as long ago as when the Se?or Don Gil bought the sand spit I had the board prepared. That is now going on four years, if I count aright. I told the Se?or Don Gil that I would get a board, and I have."

"He thinks it there now, I am sure," said Agueda.

"Well, well! He may, he may, our Don Gil! I am not disputing it, Se?orita. I am only waiting for the padre to come and put the letters on it."

"Have you told him, Gremo?" said Agueda, bending forward anxiously.

"Caramba, Se?orita!" said Gremo, raising up on his long leg, "where do you suppose I am to find the time to tell the padre? If I should take a half-day from my work when I am at San Isidro, and walk over to the bodega, the padre might be away at the cock-fight at Saltona, or the christening at Haldez. The Don Beltran is a gentle hombre, but he would not pay me for half a day when I did not earn it. If I could know when the padre was at home, I would go, most certainly."

"You must have seen him many times in the last three years," said Agueda.

"I will not deny that I have seen the padre," answered Gremo, rising angrily on the tips of[Pg 53] his knotted brown toes. "But would you have me disturb a man like our padre when he was watching the shoemaker's black cock from Troja, to see if his spurs were as long as the spurs of the cock of Corndeau?—that vagamundo!"

Agueda reined Casta?o round, so that his head pointed in the general direction of the bodega, as well as homeward.

"I can tell the padre, Gremo," she said, and then added with determination, "It must not be left another day."

Gremo settled down upon his short leg.

"Now, Se?orita," he said argumentatively, "do not interfere. It is I that have this matter well within my grasp. There is no one coming this way to-day—along the beach, I mean."

"How do you know, Gremo?" questioned Agueda.

Gremo shrugged his shoulders.

"It is not likely, muchacho. Our own people never come that way, and there are so few strangers—not three in as many years. We cannot now help the Se?or who lies there, can we, Se?orita?"

"No," said Agueda, sadly; "but we can prevent—"

"Leave it to me, Se?orita. I promise that I will attend to it to-morrow. I—"

"And why not to-day?"

[Pg 54]

"Because, you see, muchacho, I must take the air-plants to the Port of Entry. I am on my way there now. I but stopped to warn the Se?orita, and I pay well for my kindness. Now I shall not be able to return to-night. As the Se?orita has detained me all this long while, will she be so good as to stop at my casa and tell Marianna Romando to come over and light the lantern on the signal-staff at an early hour? This, you know, is my lighthouse, little 'Gueda. This is Los Santos."

"Have I come as far as Los Santos head?" asked the girl.

Agueda looked upwards at the place where the red lantern hung against the staff.

"How can a woman climb up there?" she said.

"She will bring the ladder, the Marianna Romando," said Gremo, moving a step onwards.

"I do not think I know Marianna Romando. Is she your wife, Gremo?"

"Well, so, so," answered Gremo. "But she will do very well to light the lantern all the same."

Agueda sat her horse, lost in thought. When she raised her eyes nothing was to be seen of Gremo. An ambulating mass of bloom, some distance along on the top of the sea bank, told her that he was well on his way toward the Port of Entry. This was the best way, Gremo considered, to put an end to discussion.

[Pg 55]

Agueda did not know just where the casa of the light-keeper lay. Seeing that a well-worn path entered the bushes just there, she turned her horse's head and pushed into the tall undergrowth. After a few moments she came out upon a well-defined footway. Her path led her through acres of mompoja trees, whose great spreading spatules shaded her from the scorching sun. She had descended a little below the hill, and once out of the fresh trade breeze, began to feel the heat. She took off her hat as she rode, and fanned herself. Five or six minutes of Casta?o's walking brought her to a hut; this hut was placed at a point where three paths met. It stood in a sort of hollow, where the moisture from the late rains had settled upon the clay soil. The hut was thatched with yagua. It was so small that, Agueda argued, there could be but one room. There was a stone before the doorway sunk deep in the mud. Before the opening, where the door should be, hung a curtain of bull's hide. A long ladder stood against the house. Its topmost rung was at least an entire story in height above the roof, and Agueda wondered why it was needed there. The only signs of life about the place were three or four withered hens, which ran screaming, with wobbling bodies and thin necks stretched forward, at the approach of the stranger. Their screams brought a yellow[Pg 56] woman to the door. If Gremo looked like a withered apple, this was his feminine counterpart. Her one garment appeared to be quite out of place. It seemed as if there could be nothing improper in such a creature going about as she was created. The slits in the faded cotton gown were more suggestive than utter nakedness would have been. This person nodded at the chickens where they were disappearing in the bush.

"They are as good as any watch-dog," said she. "There is no use of thieves coming here."

Agueda rode close.

"I am not a thief," said Agueda. "Can you tell me where is the casa of Gremo, the light-keeper?"

"And where but here in this very spot?" said the piece of parchment, smiling a toothless smile and showing a fine array of gums. "But had you said the casa of Marianna Romando, you would have come nearer the truth."

Agueda had not expected the casa of which Gremo spoke with such pride to look like this, or to belong to some one else.

"Well, then, I have come with a message from your hus—from Gremo."

"The Se?orita will get off her horse and come in? What will the Se?orita have? Some bread, an egg—a little ching-ching?"

[Pg 57]

The woman smiled pleasantly all the time that she was speaking. Agueda had difficulty in understanding her, for the entire absence of teeth caused her lips to cling together, so that she articulated with difficulty. Still she smiled. Agueda shook her head at the hospitable words.

"I have no time, gracias, Se?ora. You will see that I have been wet with the showers," she said; "and I have been delayed twice already. Gremo asked me to tell you that he would come to the Port of Entry too late to return and light the lantern. He asks that you will do it for him."

For answer the woman hurriedly pulled aside the bull's-hide curtain and entered the hut. She reappeared in a moment with an old straw hat on her head. She was lifting up her skirt as she came, and tying round her waist a petticoat of some faded grey stuff. Her face had changed. She smiled no longer.

"It is that fat wife of the inn-keeper at the sign of the 'Navío Mercante.'[4] She it is who takes my Gremo from me." She entered the hut again, and this time reappeared with a coarse pair of native shoes. She seated herself in the doorway, her feet on the damp stone, and busily began to put on the shoes, her tongue keeping her fingers in countenance.

[Pg 58]

"As if I did not know why my Gremo goes to the Port of Entry! He will sit in the doorway all the day! She will give him of the pink rum! He will spend all the pesos he has made! His plants will wither! Oh, yes, it is that fat Posadera who has got hold of my Gremo."

Agueda turned her horse's head.

"How do I go on from here?" she asked.

"Where is the Se?orita going?"

"To San Isidro, but first to El—"

"Aaaaiiiieee!" said the woman, standing in the now laced shoes, arms akimbo. "So this is Don Beltran's little lady?"

Agueda flushed.

"I live with my uncle, the Se?or Adan, at San Isidro." She pushed into the undergrowth.

"The Se?ora is going wrong," said the woman. "Se?orita," said Agueda, sharply, correcting the word. "Which way, then?"

Getting no answer, she turned again. She now saw that the woman had gone to the side of the house and was taking the long ladder from its position against the wall. She bent her back and settled it upon her shoulders. Agueda looked on in astonishment while this frail creature fitted her back to so awkward a burden. Marianna Romando looked up sidewise from under the rungs.

"I go to light the se?ale now," she said. "It[Pg 59] may burn all day, for me. What cares Marianna Romando? Government must pay. Then, when it is lighted I shall hide the ladder among the mompoja trees. He did not dare to tell me that he would remain away. He knows that I do not like that fat wife of the inn-keeper. I shall lead him home by the ear at about four o'clock of the morning. There are ghosts in the mompoja patch, but they will not appear to two."

All through this discourse Marianna Romando had not raised her voice. She smiled as if she considered the weaknesses of Gremo amiable ones. She started after him as a mother would go in search of a straying child; like a guardian who would protect a weak brother from himself.

"I have only this to say to you, Se?orita," she called after Agueda, turning so that the ladder swished through the low bushes, cutting off some of the tops of the tall weeds, both before and behind her. "Keep the Se?or well in hand. When they go away like that, no one knows whom they may be going after."

Agueda closed her ears. She did not wish to hear that which her senses had perforce caught. She pushed along the path that Marianna Romando had indicated, and in twenty minutes saw the white palings of Don Mateo's little plantation, El Cuco.