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Page 27
It was terrific, to hold in cheek a nature such as his.
"I went into this scheme for--for money. I have it. We have raised
nearly forty thousand dollars. Twenty thousand you have given me as
my share."
She paused. He was paying no attention to her words. His whole self
was centered on her face.
"With me," she continued, half wearily withdrawing her hand as she
assumed the part she had decided on for herself, "with me, Ramon,
love is dead--dead. I have seen too much of the world. Nothing has
any fascination for me now except excitement, money--"
He gently leaned over and recovered the hand that she had withdrawn.
Quickly he raised it to his lips as he had done that first night.
"You are mine," he whispered, "not his."
She did not withdraw the hand this time.
"No--not his--nobody's."
For a moment the adventurers understood each other.
"Not his," he muttered fiercely as he threw his arms about her
wildly, passionately.
"Nobody's," she panted as she gave one answering caress, then
struggled from him.
She had conquered not only Ramon Santos but Constance Dunlap.
Early the next morning he was speeding southward over the clicking
rails.
Every energy must be bent toward keeping the new scheme secret until
it was carried out successfully. Not a hint must get to Drummond
that there was any change in the activities of the Junta. As for the
Junta itself, there was no one of those who believed implicitly in
Santos whom Constance need fear, except Gordon. Gordon was the bete
noire.
Two days passed and she was able to guard the secret, as well as to
act as though nothing had happened. Santos had left a short note for
the Junta telling them that he would be away for a short time
putting the finishing touches on the purchase of the arms. The
arrival of a cartload of cases at the Junta, which Constance
arranged for herself, bore out the letter. Still, she waited
anxiously for word from him.
The day set for the sailing of the Arroyo arrived and with it at
last a telegram: "Buy corn, oats, wheat. Sell cotton."
It was the code, telling of the safe arrival of the rifles,
cartridges and the counterfeiting plant in New Orleans, a little
late, but safe. "Sell cotton," meant "I sail to-night."
On the way over to the Junta, she had noticed one of Drummond's
shadows dogging her. She must do anything to keep the secret until
that night.
She hurried into the dusty ship chandlery. There was Gordon.
"Good morning, Mrs. Dunlap," he cried. "You are just the person I am
looking for. Where is Santos? Has the plan been changed?"
Constance thought she detected a shade of jealousy in the tone. At
any rate, Gordon was more attentive than ever.
"I think he is in Bridgeport," she replied as casually as she could.
"Your ship, you know, sails to-night. He has sent word to me to give
orders that all the goods here at the Junta be ready to cart over by
truck to Brooklyn. There has been no change. The papers are to be
signed during the day and she is to be scheduled to sail late in the
afternoon with the tide. Only, as you know, some pretext must delay
you. You will hold her at the pier for us. He trusts all that to you
as a master hand at framing such excuses that seem plausible."
Gordon leaned over closer to her. He was positively revolting to her
in the role of admirer. But she must not offend him--yet.
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