Much to his disappointment, Tim was not a spectator of President Mollendo's triumphal entrance into his capital. He did not hear the eloquent oration delivered from the steps of the court house, nor was he present at the banquet at which the President fell on Mr. O'Hagan's neck, and kissed him amid the frantic plaudits of the company. When Tim saw the troops charging up the defile, he set off to join them, leaving the Japanese in charge of the guns. At some risk to his neck he scrambled down the face of the hill, and came up with the little army in time to take a share in the final scenes. When the victory was assured, Mr. O'Hagan sent him with Romaña and a hundred men back to San Rosario, to report the defeat and death of the Prefect, and keep order in the town.
San Rosario had quietly accepted the new régime. The few well-to-do people, who had suffered from the Prefect's levies, hoped that the system of benevolences was buried, and were prepared to give the new President a chance; the poorer folk cared little who their ruler was, or what the nature of the government, provided they were able to earn their living in peace. Señor Fagasta was perhaps the only unhappy man in the town.
Finding that everything was peaceful and orderly in the town, Tim thought he might venture to visit the hacienda, arrange for the necessary repairs to be made to the house against his father's return, and reopen work on the plantations, which would soon become a wilderness through neglect. Accordingly, on the second evening after his arrival in San Rosario, he rode over on his motor-cycle, accompanied by Romaña on horseback. Biddy Flanagan was still alone in possession of the house. She welcomed Tim heartily, but was less cordial to Romaña: he was one of "them foreigners." Her joy at the approaching return of "the master" was dulled by distress at the bareness of the rooms. The establishment of a republic was to her an insignificant event beside the loss of the best "chainey," and military glory did not compensate the theft of the silver spoons. And when, early next morning, she carried breakfast into the dining-room, she mournfully drew attention to the fact that she had had to make the coffee in a delf jug.
"'Tis because the silver coffee-pot be took, Master Tim," she said. "And there's no silver spoons for the eggs, and what will I say to the mistress when she comes home!"
"We can get some more, Biddy," said Tim. "And really, I always think that coffee tastes better out of a jug."
"'Deed now, that's true, but 'tis not for the likes of me to say so at all. If there was no difference between the kitchen and the dining-room of a gentleman's house, what would the country be after coming to? Sure I hope the villain is killed, and will not be the way of troubling us again."
"I wonder what became of Pardo?" said Tim to Romaña when the old woman was gone.
"You may be sure he is not killed," said Romaña. "Pardo is not the man to risk his skin in the fighting line."
"No, it may give him lumbago," rejoined Tim with a laugh. "I suppose he has gone off with his loot. A good riddance! After breakfast you might look round the house and see what repairs are needed, while I go over to the huts and tell the Jap women that their husbands are on the way home. It's a blessing none of the married men were killed except the one Pierola shot."
Some twenty minutes later Tim set off on foot for the labourers' huts half a mile across the plantation. He followed a path that intersected a field of sugar-cane, which grew so high that he was completely concealed. Presently it crossed a broad stretch of grass land separating the sugar from the coffee, and here Tim was surprised to see recent hoof-marks. None of his father's horses remained on the hacienda, and he wondered who could have ridden in this direction. If the tracks pointed towards the house he might have supposed that Felipe Durand had come over to see him; but they all led away from it, as though the rider had come either from the stables, or from the meadow behind the house.
Curiosity piqued him to follow up the marks. He took no pains to walk quietly, but his footfall was silent on the grass. The tracks led towards the road that ran past Durand's house and ultimately to the Inca ruins. After about a hundred yards the path bent to the right. On arriving at the bend Tim started back. A little ahead a horse was grazing. A bundle was slung from its crupper. Just beyond, there was a disused well, and here Tim saw a man, whose back was towards him, turning the windlass. He stood partially concealed among the plants to watch. Presently a second bundle appeared over the edge of the well. The man untied it from the rope and turned with it in his arms towards the horse. Tim had already suspected his identity, and he now saw without surprise that it was Miguel Pardo.
Acting on impulse, he dashed forward, hoping to reach the thief before he could mount. But Pardo caught sight of him, vaulted into the saddle, and galloped towards the road. It was hopeless to pursue him on foot. Tim had his revolver, but he was not one to use it in cold blood. Instantly he thought of the cycle, which was in its shed at the back of the house. He sprinted back, started the engine, and in a few minutes was dashing in chase.
He knew that Pardo, in spite of his start, must soon be overtaken, and he had little doubt of the direction of his flight. Neither San Juan nor San Rosario would be safe for him; he would almost certainly choose the track to the Inca ruins; trusting in course of time to be able to make his way round over the hills, and seek refuge in another province where he was unknown.
Tim flew along to the track, wheeled into it, and looked ahead. Pardo was not in sight. Suddenly he remembered the broken bridge. It would certainly not have been repaired. Tim wondered whether Pardo had heard of its destruction. In that case he would not have come this way, but would have chosen the western track. If he was in ignorance of what had happened, he would be checked perforce at the ravine, and the chase would soon be over. Even supposing he had followed the other track, Tim thought that the speed of his cycle would allow him to ride to the bridge, make sure, return to the cross-roads, and still overtake the fugitive, who would no doubt slacken his pace when he supposed himself to be unpursued.
As Tim passed Durand's house, Felipe came down the path. Tim afterwards discovered that he had seen the horseman dashing by, and wondered who could be so foolish as to ride along a track which within a few miles was impassable.
"Pardo!" shouted Tim as he flashed past, and Durand ran for his horse to follow the chase.
A mile beyond the house Tim caught sight of his quarry. In another minute or two he must turn at bay. No doubt he was armed, and Tim for the first time realised that he might presently be involved in rather a desperate struggle. While the horse was galloping, Pardo, encumbered as he was with his bundle, would be unable to take steady aim. But as soon as he came within sight of the bridgeless ravine, he would spring from his saddle and fire. Tim had set off in pursuit with the simple idea of capturing Pardo, and handing him over to the civic authorities for trial and punishment as a thief; but he saw now that he was not likely to succeed without a fight.
The distance between horseman and cyclist rapidly diminished. The long hill beyond the ravine came in sight, but the ruins of the bridge were as yet hidden by the short acclivity beyond which the track dipped. Pardo was just reaching the top of this ascent as Tim arrived at the bottom. There were only fifty yards between them. Before Tim was prepared for the movement Pardo suddenly made a half-turn in the saddle and fired. The shot flew wide, and Tim, edging in on the near side of the track, so that Pardo could only use his revolver again if he turned completely round, or twisted to the left and fired over his shoulder, rode relentlessly on up the ascent. In a few seconds he expected the final tussle.
On gaining the brow of the hill Pardo checked, drew his restive horse across the road, and pointing his revolver steadily, fired. Tim had guessed his intention, and his own shot rang out almost simultaneously. Pardo, not allowing for his altitude, fired too high: Tim's aim was spoilt by his bobbing movement on the machine, and his shot wounded the horse instead of the man. Before either could fire again, the situation was changed with a suddenness that for a moment took him aback. The horse, already alarmed by the clatter of the engine and the sound of the shots, was rendered frantic by its wound. Springing round on its hind legs, it took the bit between its teeth and bolted down the slope towards the ravine.
When Tim gained the top, he realised with horror the desperate peril of his enemy, and instantly forced down his brakes and stopped the machine, in the hope that with the cessation of the noise the animal's terror would lessen in time for its career to be checked. Pardo, a moment after the descent had begun, saw the hideous gap in front of him, and made a desperate effort to rein up. But it was too late. The maddened horse galloped on blindly, came to the edge of the chasm, and instinctively made a frantic leap for the opposite bank. It jumped short by several feet. Then, with a scream that rang in Tim's ears for many a day, horse and rider plunged to the bottom.
Tim had already leapt off his machine. He ran forward and at no small risk clambered down the steep side of the ravine. Both horse and horseman were dead, amid a litter of broken pottery and scattered plate, which had burst from the bundles. Tim shrank from touching any of the stolen property. White to the lips, he climbed up to the track, and staggered into the arms of Durand, who had followed on horseback.