Kitabı oku: «Real Gold: A Story of Adventure», sayfa 10
Chapter Seventeen
Perry’s Horror
“How do you feel, Cil?” said Perry, in the middle of that same night.
“Horrible. Can’t sleep. I am hot and itchy, and all of a fidget about things.”
“Father said we were to take things coolly, when he said good-night.”
“Didn’t say how, did he?” whispered Cyril. “I shall be so glad when we begin doing something. Anything’s better than this waiting to begin. I say – ”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it near morning?”
“No, it ain’t,” said a gruff voice in an ill-used tone. “How’s a man to get a good sleep before he relieves the colonel, if you two young gents keep on twisting about and talking?”
“All right, we’ll be quiet now.”
“Ay, do, my lads. Get a good sleep, and have a nap or two to-morrow, for we shall be travelling all night.”
There was silence for the rest of the time in the little camp, broken only by a weary sigh or two, for no sleep came to the restless lads; and the next morning found them red-eyed and feverish in spite of the bathe they had in the intensely cold water of the neighbouring mountain rill.
And all that day they were on the strain, and constantly on the watch for the colonel, hoping that he would become communicative. But he was very quiet, and spent the greater part of the day either sleeping or pretending, and lounging about watching the Indians busy cutting down trees, or peeling the boughs and twigs.
John Manning, too, looked wonderfully lazy, and avoided the boys, who at last began to look at each other in despair.
“I can’t make it out,” said Perry at last. “We are not going to-night, or father would have said something – don’t you think so?”
“Don’t know.”
“But you don’t think we can be going?”
“I think we are,” replied Cyril, “and they are doing all this to throw the Indians off their guard.”
Dinner-time came, for which meal John Manning had prepared a very satisfactory dish from some charqui flavoured with fruit and vegetables, and the boys anxiously waited again for some communication from the colonel. But he was still reticent, and after the meal was over, Diego and his companion were summoned and left to clear the tin bowl which did duty as a dish, a duty they always carried out to perfection, never leaving it so long as there was a scrap to finish.
Then came the long, hot, weary afternoon, which the two boys started to pass under the boughs of a sturdy tree, both feeling their irritability increase as they listened to the crackling and breaking of wood near at hand, and the murmur of voices from the Indians, who kept on busily with their work.
There was a humming noise in the air, as the insects darted here and there in the hot afternoon sunshine; and from where the two lads lay, they could see the mountains slope down rapidly into the long deep valley, filled now with a soft golden haze, while the air was delicious with the aromatic perfume shed by the trees around.
Cyril felt hot, feverish, and weary still, but at the same time, as he lay there, it seemed as if that valley at his feet was very beautiful with the sun lighting it up from end to end, and that it would be a pity to start that night, before he had had a good restful sleep, and then – directly after it seemed to him – he felt vexed with Perry for worrying and shaking him. The next moment he started up to find that the valley below looked dark, and the sun was on the other side of the mountains, while the colonel was standing over him, smiling.
“That’s better, boys,” he said. “I’m glad that you have both had a good rest. You will be all the fresher for your walk.”
“Then you are going to-night, sir?”
“Hush! Yes; of course. – Perry.”
“Yes, father.”
“Don’t go away, either of you, and you must not look excited. Come and have supper – it is ready – and then wait about by the hut while the guides have theirs. You will take no notice of anything, but loiter about outside while John Manning and I act. But be ready to help, if I call upon you.”
“We’ll do all you wish, sir,” said Cyril excitedly.
“Then do it calmly,” said the colonel. “Mind this, the Indians must not have a suggestion that shall make them suspicious. To them everything must seem as if we were patiently submitting to our rather easy captivity. Come.”
The colonel led the way back to the fire, close to which their meal was spread by John Manning, and as the boys drew nearer, they saw that Diego and his companion were hanging about as if wondering why they had not been summoned sooner to partake of the meal.
“Yes, we’re late,” said the colonel aloud, and setting the example, he took his place and began to eat as calmly as if nothing important was on the way.
“Come, boys,” he said quietly, “make a good meal, and don’t look anxious; there are some of the Indians coming up. Recollect what I said.”
Cyril tried to act his part, and said something in a laughing way to Perry, but it fell very flat. Still, there was nothing in the scene to attract attention, and though they were all aware that work for the day had long ceased near the huts, and the Indians who were not partaking of their simple meal, were strolling about, and many of them keenly watching the white party, no head was turned. At last the colonel asked if all were done, and then rose and signed to Diego and the other man to come and take their places.
This they did eagerly, and from where Cyril stood now in the semi-darkness, he could see the men’s faces by the light of the fire, and that they were eating hungrily.
“Did you look to the mules?” said the colonel in a low voice.
“Yes, sir, all ready.”
“That’s right. Now, boys, the Indians have strolled back, and I don’t think they have set any watch yet. Keep on walking to and fro as you do sometimes, with your arms on each other’s shoulders. Keep between the fire and the Indians’ clearing, and take no notice of anything you see. We shall not leave you behind.”
Cyril’s heart beat violently, and he heard Perry utter a low sigh as he threw his arm over his companion’s shoulder and they began walking to and fro about twenty yards from their fire, while the low hum of many voices came from the clearing where the Indians were talking together before settling themselves for the night.
Meanwhile Diego and his companion were eating away as if they had suffered a three days’ fast, and showed no sign of leaving off, till all at once, just as the boys turned, they became aware of the fact that the colonel had gone from the spot where they had seen him last, and that he and John Manning had suddenly appeared in front of the guides, where they were eating. By the light of the fire they saw that guns were presented at the men’s heads, with the effect of making them throw out their arms to seize their weapons, but before they could effect anything for their defence, they were thrust backward, and Cyril at the same moment saw by the firelight Diego lying upon his back, with the colonel’s foot upon his chest, and the other man in a similar position, held down by John Manning.
“Keep on walking,” Cyril said aloud to Perry, for the latter had stopped, panting and startled, and Cyril felt him quiver as he half-forced him along.
“What are they going to do? Kill them?” whispered Perry.
“They’re going to master them,” replied Cyril. “Don’t speak like that. Recollect our orders. It is to save them from being seen.”
The boys kept on their walk, watching the proceedings by the fire as much as they could, but in less than five minutes there was nothing to see, for both the guides were bound with a hide rope from the mules’ packages; and urged onward by threats from the colonel’s and John Manning’s pieces, they had passed out of sight among the bushes in an enforced stooping position, a faint crackling telling of the direction in which they had gone, while a louder crackling and snapping told, with the accompanying blaze, that something had been thrown upon the fire.
“The bows and arrows,” whispered Perry, and they kept up their monotonous tramp to and fro.
“What are they doing now?” said Perry suddenly, and then he started, for Cyril burst out into a merry laugh, and gave him a sharp slap on the back, so suddenly, and with such force, that Perry stumbled forward, and nearly fell.
“Are you mad?” cried the boy furiously.
“Not quite,” said Cyril merrily. “Here, give us your hand, old chap: I’ll haul up. That’s your sort. Ahoy! There you are again.”
He said all this boisterously, and then in a low whisper:
“Keep it up. Hit me, or do something. Two Indians have come up close to watch.”
Perry trembled violently, but he tried to follow out his companion’s plan, and turning upon him, engaged in a mock struggle, each making believe to throw the other for a minute or two, and then laughingly resuming their walk to and fro.
Those laughs were very hysterical, though, and Perry’s next words came with gasps as he said:
“See the Indians now?”
“No; they’re either gone back or they’re hiding.”
“Which? Let’s go and see.”
“We can’t,” replied Cyril. “Our orders are to walk up and down here, as if nothing were wrong. Can’t you see it will make them believe we are going on as usual?”
“Yes,” said Perry huskily; “but I wish my father would come now.”
“So do I.”
“Those two may have got the better of them.”
“Not they,” said Cyril stoutly. “It would take three Indians to get rid of your John Manning. Your father will take care they do nothing. Don’t take any notice. Hear that?”
“Yes, some one going away through the bushes. Those two hadn’t gone, and they were hiding.”
“Yes.”
“But are they both gone now?”
“I only heard one,” said Cyril, beginning to whistle a merry tune, but before he had got through the first strain, there was another faint rustling among the trees.
“There goes the other,” said Cyril quietly, and then he broke into a loud yawn. “Heigh – he – ha – hum,” he said. “How dark it has grown.”
“Listen,” whispered Perry.
“I heard it,” said Cyril. “One of the mules squeaking.”
“No, it was a horrible cry. Some one has been killed.”
“There goes another then,” said Cyril, as a peculiar sound came from the forest.
“Yes, they are killing the guides.”
“I tell you, it was the squeaking of the mules. I know the sound well enough.”
“I’m sure you’re wrong,” protested Perry.
“And I’m sure you are. If it was the cry of some one being killed, wouldn’t there be a rush of the Indians, to see what was the matter?”
“If they heard it.”
“And they would. Trust them for that. The mules are excited and calling to one another. I believe they are being loaded.”
“Oh, how can you take it all so coolly?” groaned Perry. “My heart beats as if it would break, and I feel a curious choking sensation at the throat, and all the time you take it as if there was nothing the matter.”
“Do I? You don’t know,” said Cyril. “I believe I’m worse than you are; but never mind, try to laugh.”
“Laugh,” said Perry piteously. “I feel as if I could sit down and cry.”
“Leave that to the girls, lad. We’ve got something else to do. Don’t stop. We must keep on, so as to keep the Indians from thinking there’s anything wrong. There, cheer up. Can you sing any thing?”
“Sing!” cried Perry, in a voice full of reproach.
“Very well, then, I must whistle softly.”
He commenced a tune, and got through a few bare. Then he ceased as suddenly as he had begun, and began talking.
“I say it was very plucky of your father, wasn’t it? The boldness of the plan has made it do. The Indians could not even think we should make such an attempt.”
For a full hour the boys kept up that painful tramp up and down, Perry growing more and more silent, and Cyril bursting out from time to time with a little peal of forced laughter. Twice over, they were conscious of the presence of the watchful Indians creeping furtively among the trees; but the actions of the boys allayed their suspicions, and they went back as softly as they came.
“Was it never to end?” the lads asked themselves, and though neither made any allusion to their thoughts, they were tortured by fancies of what might have happened, till at last Perry was certain that, instead of the colonel and John Manning killing the two guides, these two men had turned upon them and stabbed them to the heart.
At last the boy could bear this thought no longer. He fought hard to keep it to himself, but it would have vent finally, and as they turned to continue their weary tramp, he suddenly caught Cyril fiercely by the arm.
“They won’t come back to us,” he whispered. “They cannot. Diego and the other man turned upon them, killed them, and those were their cries we heard. They’re both dead, Cil – they’re both dead.”
“And your father has come to tell us he has been killed,” said Cyril, with a forced laugh, which was more like a hoarse cry of agony. “At last,” he groaned: “I don’t think I could have borne it any longer.”
“What do you mean?” said Perry.
“There – by the fire. Here they come.”
Perry looked sharply round in the direction pointed out by his companion, and then the pulses of both seemed to stand still, for they heard the approach of Indians from the direction of the clearing. Almost at the same moment, they could plainly see by the faint light of the fire, not the colonel and John Manning coming to fetch them at last, but the figures of the guides bending down, and then beginning to approach, in the soft furtive manner of a couple of wild beasts about to make their fatal spring.
Chapter Eighteen
Adventures of a Night
“He was right,” muttered Cyril, as the blood rushed to his head and made him feel giddy; “and now they mean to have us, but – ”
He stopped short, and his teeth made a grating sound as he seized Perry by the shoulder. “Can you fight?” he whispered. “I – I don’t half know,” groaned Perry. “I’ll try.”
“That’s right. We must,” the boy continued. “They shall find we’re English after all.”
“What are you going to do?” said Perry, holding on by his companion’s arm.
“Get our guns. They’re close by the fire there. What are those two doing?”
“I don’t know,” was the reply, and Perry gazed hard at the two guides, who were stooping about the fire. “Yes, I do; they’re putting on more wood.”
“Then, as soon as they come toward us, we must run round and try to get our guns.”
They stood in the darkness watching for some moments, while the guides still busied themselves about the fire, wandering here and there, as if busy about something; though, after seeing the flames rise, on the first portion of wood being added, their object appeared vague.
All at once the rustling toward the clearing recommenced, and the boys looked sharply in that direction, fully expecting that the first attack would come from there; but the sound grew fainter, and they knew that the Indians must be going back, apparently satisfied with their scrutiny. This meant the danger lessened for the moment by one half; and Cyril now gripped his companion’s shoulder more tightly.
“Now, then,” he said, “let’s get round by the trees to the other side.”
“Too late,” said Perry; “they are coming here.”
Cyril glanced toward the fire, but no one was visible. In the brief moments during which their backs were turned, the guides had disappeared, and all was silent; not a sound suggested the spot from which the enemy would advance.
“We must chance it,” whispered Cyril. “Quick; come along this way. Quiet.”
They started away to their right, so as to get round to the back of the fire; but as fate had it, they went right into the arms of those whom they were seeking to avoid. Not forty steps had been taken cautiously through the dark shadows beneath the trees, before Perry uttered a cry as the two guides sprang up in their path.
“This way, Cil; run,” he whispered.
“Hush! Silence!” came in a familiar voice. “Don’t you know us, boys?”
Both Cyril and Perry were speechless, so great was the emotion caused by the surprise, and they stared at the dimly-seen, bare-headed figures wearing the Indians’ long, loose garments.
“Now, quick,” said the colonel, stripping off the Indian frock, “off with yours, too, Manning.”
The man obeyed with all a well-drilled soldier’s celerity and silence, and, stooping down, the colonel was about to thrust the cotton garments in amongst the undergrowth, when Cyril, who had now recovered himself, whispered a few words to the colonel.
“Good! Capital!” he said. “Only quick, and we’ll wait here.”
Cyril snatched at the two frocks, and, stooping down, laid them, well stretched out, at a short distance from the fire, where, in the dim light, they gave a rough idea of covering a couple of Indians stretched out in sleep.
It was only the work of a minute, and then Cyril was back to where Perry stood excited and nervous, for the feeling was strong upon him that, after all, his father and Manning had slain the two guides.
“Where are the mules?” said Cyril to the colonel.
“Silence! Follow. Stoop till we are well beyond the fire.”
“But our guns, sir?” said Cyril.
“I said silence, boy!” replied the colonel, and they went off in single file for about a couple of hundred yards in and out among the trees, till the colonel stopped short, and the boys made out that they were standing by the mules, which were waiting, all ready laden, and with hanging heads, ready to proceed on their journey. Then, without another word, the colonel took the rein of the old leader, started off, and steadily and quietly the others followed, the unladen last, while John Manning and the two boys followed for some time.
“Here, take your fireworks, my lads,” whispered John Manning at last. “Pouches are fastened to ’em, and well filled with ammunition. I’ll help you to put ’em on as we go.”
All this in a whisper, and then Perry said: “You thought of our wanting them, then?”
“Rum sort of soldier if I hadn’t, my lad,” growled the man. “Steady. Keep on walking. Under your right arm, my lad. That’s it. – Now you, Mr Cyril.”
“Mine’s on all right,” was the reply; and then it was always onward and downward, in and out among the trees, with all around so dark beneath branches, that, but for the steady, slow pace of the mules, which never hesitated for a moment, the journey would have been next to impossible. And all the time, as the rustling, soft, trampling noise made by the animals’ hoofs went on, very few words were spoken, for every ear was attent and strained to catch the first announcement of the pursuit having begun.
The two boys felt no inclination to converse, but tramped on silent enough, while, when anything was said, John Manning was the speaker. He would begin by enjoining silence in the ranks, and the minute after, find he had something he must say.
“Don’t think they’ve took the alarm yet, gentlemen,” he said, after a long time. “That dodge o’ yourn with the Injuns’ frocks was splendid. When they do come, take your word from me, as I command the rearguard; and fire low, for we must give them a volley.”
Perry shrank from their old servant involuntarily, for it seemed to him horrible that John Manning should speak in so cheery a tone from time to time, when, only a short time back, he had imbrued his hand in the blood of their two guides. But at last he felt constrained to speak, the words coming forth unbidden.
“Those two guides,” he said huskily.
“Ay, poor chaps, it seemed hard, sir,” replied the old soldier; “but it was us or them, and, of course, it had to be them. We was obliged to do it, or else how was I to get the mules loaded?”
“But it seems so horrible,” said Cyril.
“Oh, I don’t know, sir. Sort o’ tit for tat. They wouldn’t ha’ been very particular about us, and it was, as you may say, in self-defence. But, I say, Mr Cyril, don’t you think I got all those packs down to the mules pretty quick, and the beasts laden?”
“Wonderfully quickly,” said Cyril.
“It was, sir, though I say it as shouldn’t say it. I did get warm over the job. Thought I should have had no end o’ trouble with ’em, but they took it as quietly as lambs; and as soon as they found out what was going on, the pack-mules all hung together and waited their turns, while the saddle mules seemed to be looking on.”
“Of course that was after the – after Diego and the other man – ”
“Of course, sir. There’d ha’ been no mule packing if we’d left those two chaps to lift up their lovely voices, and shout to their friends for help. That would not have done, eh, Mr Cyril?”
“No; I suppose not, if we were to escape.”
“And that’s what we had to do, sir; for, as the colonel said to me more than once, ‘We’re not safe, John Manning, for sooner or later they’ll find out why I have come, and then I would not answer for our lives.’ But we’re off now in spite of ’em, and well provisioned too. My word, I did get a warming over those mules; but the colonel’s wonderful handy at the loading, and helped me well. You see, he superintended a lot out in India, when we had mules and camels to carry our baggage. And we did it all fine. Listen.”
They paused, but the faint pattering of the mules’ hoofs was the only sound; and they followed on again, John Manning keeping silence for a time, and then bursting out with a chuckle.
“I told you so yes’day, young gentlemen. The colonel ’ll have some dodge to get us off, and there you are! He led, and it was grand the way in which he had worked it out. He didn’t tell me till to-night, and when he had done, I laughed out. ‘Think it will do, John Manning?’ he said. ‘Do, sir?’ I says. ‘Of course it’ll do;’ and it’s done. Don’t suppose those two liked it much, poor fellows, but they had to put up with it.”
“Oh, John Manning,” cried Perry excitedly, unable to bear it any longer, “how can you treat it so lightly? If you had tied and bound the poor wretches, it would have been different, but to drag them away and kill them in cold blood! It is horrible.”
“Well I am blessed!” exclaimed the old soldier, in a tone and with an emphasis that showed how he was startled.
“And I’ll never believe that my father meant it to be so.”
John Manning gave Cyril a dig with his elbow, and he winked one eye, but the act was invisible in the darkness.
“Why, it was him as ’vented the plan, sir. I only helped carry it out.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Perry.
“Hadn’t we got to escape, sir?”
“But in such a way!”
“Why, it was a splendid way, Master Perry. But I say I am ashamed of you to go private court-martialling your own father in that way, and find such fault with him for helping you to get off!”
“I’m not going to judge him,” said Perry. “I only say it was horrible.”
“Well, yes, sir, it was, and is,” said the old soldier, giving Cyril another dig. “Can’t say as I should like to lie all night on my back with my hands tied behind me to a big pole, and my ankles and knees served the same, just as if I was going to be roasted for a cannibal’s dinner, and to make it worse, an old worsted stocking rammed into my mouth, and a cloth tied over it and behind my neck, to make sure I didn’t get it out.”
“What!” cried Perry.
“I said a stocking rammed into my month, sir, so as I shouldn’t holler, only breathe. It is hard on a man, but what was you to do?”
“Then you didn’t kill them,” cried Perry joyfully.
“Kill ’em,” said John Manning, in a tone full of disgust. “Did you ever know a British soldier, as was a soldier, go killing folk in that way, sir, when they’d been made prisoners? Master Perry, sir, I’m ashamed o’ you for thinking such a thing o’ your father, as is as fine an officer as ever stepped.”
“Not so much ashamed of me as I am of myself,” said Perry huskily. “Then Diego and the other man are all right?”
“They don’t think so,” said the old soldier with a chuckle. “They’re precious uncomfortable by this time, for I rammed the stockings pretty far, and I tied them knots with those new hide ropes as tight as they’d draw.”
“Quiet there, quiet,” said the colonel sternly, for he had stopped and let the mules pass him. “No more talking for the present. Can you hear anything?”
“No, sir, not a sound,” said John Manning. But even as he spoke there was a faint cry borne on the night wind from high up the valley, and situated as they were, that sound could only have one meaning – pursuit.
