CHAPTER XXXIV
THE LAST DEBT
It was Aikens, the wireless-operator, who brought McKinnon and Alicia back to the world of reality.
"I've got 'em! he called excitedly, from his little station door shadowed by its awning of faded striped canvas. "I've picked something up!"
He disappeared from sight, and McKinnon could hear the crackle and spit of his "spark" across the "spark-gap."
Then the youth reappeared under the faded striped awning. He held a much-worn Panama hat in his hand, and he approached the older man with some hesitation.
"Could you help me out for a few minutes?" he asked, with a hand-wave towards his "station."
"What's wrong?"
"I've got to get somebody from the War Office. I ought to have the President here, now.”
"What is it?" asked Alicia, as they crossed to the "station" door.
"It's Boracao calling the Princeton. It's going to be the last rocket-fizz of this fireworks exhibition."
He flung on a coat and turned to McKinnon.
"But please watch that responder until I get back!"
And he was off before McKinnon could adjust the phones and take his seat before the instrument.
But as the newcomer pressed the receiver against his ear, he could hear a sound, faint and small, like the tick of a wood-beetle. This sound translated itself into a coherent sequence of dots and dashes, spelling out the call for "Cruiser Princeton" and repeating it, impatiently, with a strangely human note of complaint in the petulance of the wood-beetle tickings.
"Princeton—Princeton," the call was repeated, almost frantically, it seemed to McKinnon, as he caught up the operator's pencil and began to write on the paper before him. Then came the break and the answer of the far-off cruiser. Something in the crisply stiff "send" of the navy operator reminded the listener of the tightly jacketed midshipmen in the Plaza below him. Then came the hurrying dots and dashes of the Boracao operator:
Detachment of Morazan's Scouts captured American named Ganley this morning at daybreak. Ganley held here in guartel—condemned to death by fusilado after drumhead court-martial by Morazan. He claims to be American citizen and wants protection of his government. I cannot get Guariqui—station there dead for seven days past. Hurry in relief on receipt of this or will be too late. If possible land marines at San Antonio Inlet and push overland to Boracao by way of Agira River Trail. I have done everything in my power, but am helpless. You must hurry—is to be shot at sunset. Adolph Klauser,
American Consul, Boracao.
McKinnon handed the written sheet to Alicia without speaking.
She read it and handed it back to him. Her hand was shaking a little.
"What can we do?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
"There's nothing we can do," was McKinnon's answer. "Our coils are still out of order. They're still too weak to send!"
"But we can't stand here and see the man die—now—in that way!"
McKinnon suddenly held up a hand for silence, for the Princeton was sending again:
Cannot land men before communicating with Guariqui. Ask suspension of execution of American named Ganley for day or two until Guariqui conference. Lieutenant Verdu
Can do nothing. Morazan claims acting for General Ulloa under President Duran's orders. But whole thing terrible mistake. We must have help at once, or innocent and law-abiding citizens will be murdered. Send men and heliograph advance from San Antonio Hill. Klauser
Aiken's hurried return with two orderlies and an officer in full uniform kept McKinnon from intercepting the Princeton's reply. The little station had suddenly become close and stifling. He felt weak and unstrung, and was glad to gain the open air and find the quiet sunlight and the slowly waving palms about him once more. He was glad to know that the woman he loved stood at his side, and that their future life was to be a life far from such scenes.
They were still there, side by side above the embrasure, when the hurrying Aikens, as he darted below-stairs, thrust a sheet of carbon copy into their hands as he passed. McKinnon held it up and read it aloud:
American named Ganley just shot down by quartel guards as he broke jail here—body surrendered to me by alcalde—am holding it awaiting instructions. Klauser
The sheet fluttered to the ground.
"It's over," said the woman, covering her face with her hands, while a movement that was almost a shiver crept through her stooping body.
"Yes, it's over now," echoed McKinnon, absently, as his arm went out to sustain her. And they sat there, alone with their thoughts, for many minutes.
THE END