Rope's End Page #6

"Rope's End" by Rex Ellingwood Beach is a gripping adventure novel set in the rugged landscape of the American West. The story follows the life of a resourceful and determined protagonist as he navigates the challenges of survival and the complexities of human relationships amidst the backdrop of a harsh and unforgiving environment. With themes of resilience, loyalty, and the quest for identity, Beach's vivid prose brings to life the struggles and triumphs of those who inhabit this wild frontier. The novel captures the spirit of adventure and the human condition, making it a compelling read for fans of classic Western literature.

• Short story

								


The mulatto nodded.

"The smoke of a ship."

"Ah! A ship!" Inocencio smiled and the negro recoiled suddenly. All
night long the master of the Stella had sat upon the deck-house,
staring at the sea and smoking. At times he had laughed and whispered to
some one whom the helmsman could not see, but this was the first time he
had smiled at any member of his crew. In fact, it was the first time the
sailor had ever seen him smile. The 'Bajan withdrew and went forward to
consult with his fellows. They eyed their employer curiously, fearfully,
for much had happened to alarm them, not the least of which had been a
furious commotion from below. Frightful curses had issued from the
cabin, threats which had caused their limbs to tremble, but they had
affected the captain like soothing music. It was very strange. It caused
the sailors to look with concern upon that thin, low streamer in the
distance; it led them to go aft in a body finally and speak their minds.

"The smoke is growing larger," they declared, and Inocencio roused
himself sufficiently to look. "It is the war-ship. We are pursued. Who
is this big man below?"

"He is a--friend of mine, Petithomme Laguerre--"

"Laguerre!"

"What did I tell you?" exclaimed the 'Bajan, breathlessly.

"What shall we do?" one of them inquired in a panic. "That smoke! The
wind has forsaken us." He shuffled his bare feet uncomfortably. "We will
be shot for this."

Inocencio tossed away his cigarette and rose; he lifted his eyes aloft.
The slim topmast arrested his attention as it swept across the sky, and
he watched it for a moment; then to the giant sailor he said: "You will
find a new rope forward. Make it fast to the end of this halyard and run
it through yonder block." He slid back the hatch and descended leisurely
into the cabin.

Laguerre was sitting in a chair with his arms and legs securely bound,
but he had succeeded in working considerable havoc with the furnishings
of the place as well as with his splendid uniform. His lips foamed, his
eyes protruded at sight of his captor; a trickle of blood from his scalp
lent him a ferocious appearance.

Inocencio seated himself, and the two men stared at each other across
the bare table.

Laguerre spoke first, his tongue thick, his voice hoarse from yelling.
Inocencio listened with fixed, unwavering gaze.

"You tricked me neatly," the former raved. "You are a government spy, I
presume. The government feared me. Well, then, it was bold work, but you
will listen to what I say now. We will settle this matter quickly, you
and I. I have money. You can name your price."

The hearer curled his thin lips. "So! You have money. You offer to buy
your life. Old Julien had no money; he was poor."

Petithomme did not understand. "I am too powerful to remain in prison,"
he declared. "The President would not dare harm me; no man dares harm
me; but I am willing to pay you--"

"All Hayti could not buy your life, Laguerre!"

Some tone of voice, some haunting familiarity of feature, set the
prisoner's memory to groping blindly. At last he inquired, "Who are
you?"

"I am Floréal."

The name meant nothing. Laguerre's life was black; many Floréals had
figured in it.

"You do not remember me?"

"N-no, and yet--"

"Perhaps you will remember another--a woman. She had a scar, just here."
The speaker laid a tobacco-stained finger upon his left cheek-bone, and
Laguerre noticed for the first time that the wrist beneath it was maimed
as from a burn. "It was a little scar and it was brown, in the
candle-light. She was young and round and her body was soft--" The
mulatto's lean face was suddenly distorted in a horrible grimace which
he intended for a smile. "She was my wife, Laguerre, by the Church, and
you took her. She died, but she had a child--your child."

The huge black figure shrank into its green-and-gold panoply, the
bloodshot eyes rested upon Inocencio with a look of terrified
recognition.

"I have no children, Laguerre; no wife; no home! I am poor and you have
become great. There was an old man whom you stretched by the wrists, in
the moonlight. Do you remember him? And the old woman, my mother, whom
one of your soldiers shot? Maximilien did it, but I killed him and
Congo! And now there is only you."

"That was--long ago." The prisoner rolled his eyes desperately; his
voice was uncertain as he whined, "I am rich--richer than anybody
knows."

"Others had more money than we, eh?"

The general nodded.

"Pierrine is dead, and you would have been the President. It is well
that I came in time." Again Captain Ruiz smiled, and the corpulent
soldier was shaken loosely as by an invisible hand. "Come now! Your
friends are approaching and I must prepare you to greet them."

He untied the knots at Laguerre's ankles, then motioned him toward the
cabin door.

That streamer of smoke had grown; it was a black smudge against the sky
when the two gained the deck, and at sight of it the general shouted:

"My ship! The gunboat! Ho! If harm comes to me--"

Inocencio took one end of the new rope which had been run through the
block at the masthead, and knotted it about his prisoner's wrists, then
with his knife he severed the other bonds.

"Give way!" he ordered.

The crew held back, at which he turned upon them so savagely that they
hastened to obey. They put their weight upon the line; Laguerre's arms
were whisked above his head, he felt his feet leave the deck. He was
dumb with surprise, choked with rage at this indignity, but he did not
understand its significance.

"Up with him! In a rush!" cried the captain, and hand over hand the
sailors hauled in, while upward in a series of jerks went Petithomme
Laguerre. The schooner listed and he swung outward; he tried to entwine
his legs in the shrouds, but failed, and he continued to rise until his
feet had cleared the crosstree.

"Make fast!" Inocencio ordered.

Laguerre was hanging like a huge plumbob now, and as the schooner heeled
to starboard he swung out, farther and farther, until there was nothing
beneath him but the glassy sea. He screamed at this, and kicked and
capered; the slender topmast sprung to his antics. Then the vessel
righted herself, and as she did so the man at the rope's end began a
swift and fearful journey. Not until that instant did his fate become
apparent to him, but when he saw what was in store for him he ceased to
cry out. He fixed his eyes upon the mast toward which the weight of his
body propelled him, he drew himself upward by his arms, he flung out his
legs to break the impact. The Stella lifted by the bow and he cleared
the spar by a few inches. Onward he rushed, to the pause that marked the
limit of his flight to port, then slowly, but with increasing swiftness,
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