Джек Лондон - Hearts of Three [С англо-русским словарем]

Their hearts more active than their heads, they were caught in total surprise by the party of haciendados that dashed out upon them with covering rifles from the surrounding jungle. Despite the fact that they had thus captured the runaway peón, whom they proceeded to kick and cuff, all would have been well with Leoncia and the two Morgans had the owner of the peón, the old-time friend of the Solano family, been present. But an attack of the malarial fever, which was his due every third day, had stretched him out in a chill near the burning oilfield.

Nevertheless, though by their blows they reduced the peón to weeping and pleadings on his knees, the haciendados were courteously gentle to Leoncia and quite decent to Francis and Henry, even though they tied the hands of the latter two behind them in preparation for the march up the ravine slope to where the horses had been left. But upon the peón, with Latin-American cruelty, they continued to reiterate their rage.

Yet were they destined to arrive nowhere, by themselves, with their captives. Shouts of joy heralded the debouchment upon the scene of the Jefe’s gendarmes and of the Jefe and Alvarez Torres. Arose at once the rapid-fire, staccato, bastard-Latin of all men of both parties of pursuers, trying to explain and demanding explanation at one and the same time. And while the farrago of all talking simultaneously and of no one winning anywhere in understanding, made anarchy of speech, Torres, with a nod to Francis and a sneer of triumph to Henry, ranged before Leoncia and bowed low to her in true and deep hidalgo courtesy and respect.

‘Listen!’ he said, low-voiced, as she rebuffed him with an arm movement of repulsion. ‘Do not misunderstand me. Do not mistake me. I am here to save you, and, no matter what may happen, to protect you. You are the lady of my dreams. I will die for you yes, and gladly, though far more gladly would I live for you.’

‘I do not understand,’ she replied curtly. ‘I do not see life or death in the issue. We have done no wrong. I have done no wrong, nor has my father. Nor has Francis Morgan, nor has Henry Morgan. Therefore, sir, the matter is not a question of life or death.’

Henry and Francis, shouldering close to Leoncia, on either side, listened and caught through the hubble-bubble of many voices the conversation of Leoncia and Torres.

‘It is a question absolute of certain death by execution for Henry Morgan,’ Torres persisted. ‘Proven beyond doubt is his conviction for the murder of Alfaro Solano, who was your own full-blood uncle and your father’s own full blood brother. There is no chance to save Henry Morgan. But Francis Morgan can I save in all surety, if — ’

‘If?’ Leoncia queried, with almost the snap of jaws of a she-leopard.

‘If… you prove kind to me, and marry me,’ Torres said with magnificent steadiness, although two Gringos, helpless, their hands tied behind their backs, glared at him through their eyes their common desire for his immediate extinction.

Torres, in a genuine outburst of his passion, though his rapid glances had assured him of the helplessness of the two Morgans, seized her hands in his and urged:

‘Leoncia, as your husband I might be able to do something for Henry. Even may it be impossible for me to save his life and his neck, if he will yield to leaving Panama immediately.’

‘You Spanish dog!’ Henry snarled at him, struggling with his tied hands behind his back in an effort to free them.

‘Gringo cur!’ Torres retorted, as, with an open backhanded blow, he struck Henry on the mouth.

On the instant Henry’s foot shot out, and the kick in Torres’ side drove him staggering in the direction of Francis, who was no less quick with a kick of his own. Back and forth like a shuttlecock between the battledores, Torres was kicked from one man to the other, until the gendarmes seized the two Gringos and began to beat them in their helplessness. Torres not only urged the gendarmes on, but himself drew a knife; and a red tragedy might have happened with offended Latin-American blood up and raging, had not a score or more of armed men silently appeared and silently taken charge of the situation. Some of the mysterious newcomers were clad in cotton singlets and trousers, and others were in cowled gabardines of sackcloth.

The gendarmes and haciendados recoiled in fear, crossing themselves, muttering prayers and ejaculating: ‘The Blind Brigand! ‘The Cruel Just One!’ ‘They are his people!’ ‘We are lost.’

But the much-beaten peón sprang forward and fell on his bleeding knees before a stern-faced man who appeared to be the leader of the Blind Brigand’s men. From the mouth of the peón poured forth a stream of loud lamentation and outcry for justice.

‘You know that justice to which you appeal?’ the leader spoke gutturally.

‘Yes, the Cruel Justice,’ the peón replied. ‘I know what it means to appeal to the Cruel Justice, yet do I appeal, for I seek justice and my cause is just.’

‘I, too, demand the Cruel Justice!’ Leoncia cried with flashing eyes, although she added in an undertone to Francis and Henry: ‘Whatever the Cruel Justice is.’

‘It will have to go some to be unfairer than the justice we can expect from Torres and the Jefe,’ Henry replied in similar undertones, then stepped forward boldly before the cowled leader and said loudly: ‘And I demand the Cruel Justice.’

The leader nodded.

‘Me, too,’ Francis murmured low, and then made loud demand.

The gendarmes did not seem to count in the matter, while the haciendados signified their willingness to abide by whatever justice the Blind Brigand might mete out to them. Only the Jefe objected.

‘Maybe you don’t know who I am,’ he blustered. ‘I am Mariano Vercara e Hijos, of long illustrious name and long and honorable career. I am Jefe Politico of San Antonio, the highest friend of the governor, and high in the confidence of the government of the Republic of Panama. I am the law. There is but one law and one justice, which is of Panama and not the Cordilleras. I protest against this mountain law you call the Cruel Justice. I shall send an army against your Blind Brigand, and the buzzards will peck his bones in San Juan.’

‘Remember,’ Torres sarcastically warned the irate Jefe, ‘that this is not San Antonio, but the bush of Juchitan. Also, you have no army.’

‘Have these two men been unjust to any one who has appealed to the Cruel Justice?’ the leader asked abruptly.

‘Yes,’ asseverated the peón. ‘They have beaten me. Everybody has beaten me. They, too, have beaten me and without cause. My hand is bloody. My body is bruised and torn. Again I appeal to the Cruel Justice, and I charge these two men with injustice.’

The leader nodded and to his own men indicated the disarming of the prisoners and the order of the march.

‘Justice! I demand equal justice!’ Henry cried out. ‘My hands are tied behind my back. All hands should be so tied, or no hands be so tied. Besides, it is very difficult to walk when one is so tied.

The shadow of a smile drifted the lips of the leader as he directed his men to cut the lashings that invidiously advertised the inequality complained of.

‘Huh!’ Francis grinned to Leoncia and Henry. ‘I have a vague memory that somewhere around a million years ago I used to live in a quiet little old burg called New York, where we foolishly thought we were the wildest and wickedest that ever cracked at a golf ball, electrocuted an

Inspector of Police, battled with Tammany, [31] Tammany — имеется в виду Таммани-холл, политическое объединение Демократической партии, влиятельная организация, располагавшаяся в Нью-Йорке. or bid four nulls with five sure tricks in one’s own hand. [32] Bid four nulls with five sure tricks in one’s own hand — рискованный ход при игре в бридж. ’