CHAPTER IX—The CaptiveHarry was not slow to obey. He fell flat upon his face, whilst a second bullet whistled over his head."Come," said Cortes; "we must escape."As he uttered these words, he turned upon his heel and ran down the hill, followed by the two boys. The man held himself in a crouching position until he was well over the crest-line. Then he stopped and waited for his companions."Who is it?" asked Braid, already out of breath as much from excitement as from running."The Germans. They are on our track.""You are sure of that?" asked Harry."Master," said Cortes, "it is not possible to mistake a German bullet. In this part of the world only those natives carry rifles who are paid by Kaiser Wilhelm."Indeed, for weeks already, they had been in the heart of the enemy's country. The elder guide was some miles away, and, since they could not cross the valley, they would have to make a detour; which meant that they could not possibly rejoin Fernando before nightfall. By then, for all they knew, they might find him lying in his own blood, their provisions and their reserve ammunition stolen.Harry looked at Cortes, who seemed to be thinking, standing at his full height, his fingers playing with his chin."We must not desert your brother," said the boy."I am thinking," said the guide, "it will be easier for him to reach us than for you and your friend to go to him. My brother and I are hunters; we can pass through the bush in silence; we can travel amid the rocks like snakes. I could cross that valley crawling on my face, and the eye of an eagle would not see me. As for you, you are Englishmen; you have not lived your lives in the mountains and the bush; you do not understand these things."He said this with some scorn in his voice. There was something about the man—despite his European clothes—that was fully in keeping with the aspect of their surroundings, which were savage, relentless, and cruel. He went on in a calm voice, speaking very slowly:"In this valley we are safe," said he. "I know the country well. Yonder," and he pointed to the north, "there is a forest that lies upon the hill-side like a mantle. I will guide you. It will take us about two hours to get there. Then I will leave you. You will be quite safe; for many of the trunks of the trees are hollow, and should the Germans come, you can hide. I will go alone to my brother and bring him back with me."They set forward without delay, sometimes climbing, sometimes walking, on the mountain-side. About four o'clock in the afternoon they sighted the forest of which the man had spoken. It opened out into a mangrove swamp, thousands of feet below them, where the heat hung like a fog.Among the trees they found themselves in a kind of twilight. By then the sun was setting; but as the daylight dwindled a great moon arose. Cortes led them to a place, on the verge of a deep ravine, where there was an old tree with a hollow trunk that looked as if it had been struck by lightning."You and your friend will remain here," said the man to Harry. "I will be as quick as I can, but in any case I cannot be back until midnight. If I do not return by then, you will know that I am dead; then—if you are wise—you will go back to Calabar. If the Germans come, you will hide." And he pointed to the hollow tree.Without another word he set forward on his way, gliding down the face of the living rock like some gigantic lizard.The two boys found themselves in a place romantic but terrible. On every side they were surrounded by the impenetrable hills. The trees of the forest stood forth in the semi-darkness like great, ghostly giants. Somewhere near at hand a mountain stream roared and thundered over the rocks. The breeze brought to their nostrils the smell of the swamp lower down the valley. The hollow tree stood on the edge of the bush. A few yards away was the ravine, the bottom of which was wide and bare and stony.Throughout the earlier part of the night they possessed their souls in patience. It was stiflingly hot after the cool mountain air.Harry looked at his watch. It was midnight. There was no sign of the brothers.Suddenly they heard a stone shifted from its place somewhere in the forest to go rolling down into the ravine. Both stood motionless and expectant."I heard something," said Braid."So did I," said Harry.Again a stone was moved, this time nearer than before. Something was approaching through the bush. If this were an enemy they would have small chance of escaping, for the side of the ravine was inaccessible; it was like a precipice.They waited in suspense, and presently to the great gnarled roots of the very tree by which they were standing, there crawled a dying, wounded mountain goat.It died almost as it reached them. Indeed, it was almost a miracle that the animal had lived as long as it had, for Harry's bullet had penetrated its chest.The long night passed in waiting, and still there was no sign of the half-caste brothers. It was then that they fully realized for the first time the extreme danger of their mission, that they were alone in the heart of a country which was almost unexplored, cut off from their friends and civilization, with no chance of succour and little of returning in safety to the coast."Jim," said Harry, and his voice was husky, "I wonder if we shall ever get out of this alive.""I can't say, sir," answered Braid; "but I'm sure of this: if we have to die, we'll make a fight of it, at least."It was then that a sound came to their ears that caused them to hold their breath. It was a loud word of command in the German language, and which, moreover, came from not far away.They lay down flat upon their faces. Screened by a clump of long grass, they were able to look down into the ravine, where they beheld a company of German native troops with whom were two or three European officers and several German noncommissioned officers. The men marched well in step, keeping their dressing and acting promptly and smartly at each word of command. Except for their black skins and coarse negro features they might have learned their drill on the parade-grounds of Potsdam and Berlin.The two boys regarded them in consternation, mingled with amazement—due to the fact that in the centre of the company was a European whose hands were bound behind his back and around whose neck was a kind of halter.Jim Braid recognized this man at once. It was Peter Klein, the spy.
Harry was not slow to obey. He fell flat upon his face, whilst a second bullet whistled over his head.
"Come," said Cortes; "we must escape."
As he uttered these words, he turned upon his heel and ran down the hill, followed by the two boys. The man held himself in a crouching position until he was well over the crest-line. Then he stopped and waited for his companions.
"Who is it?" asked Braid, already out of breath as much from excitement as from running.
"The Germans. They are on our track."
"You are sure of that?" asked Harry.
"Master," said Cortes, "it is not possible to mistake a German bullet. In this part of the world only those natives carry rifles who are paid by Kaiser Wilhelm."
Indeed, for weeks already, they had been in the heart of the enemy's country. The elder guide was some miles away, and, since they could not cross the valley, they would have to make a detour; which meant that they could not possibly rejoin Fernando before nightfall. By then, for all they knew, they might find him lying in his own blood, their provisions and their reserve ammunition stolen.
Harry looked at Cortes, who seemed to be thinking, standing at his full height, his fingers playing with his chin.
"We must not desert your brother," said the boy.
"I am thinking," said the guide, "it will be easier for him to reach us than for you and your friend to go to him. My brother and I are hunters; we can pass through the bush in silence; we can travel amid the rocks like snakes. I could cross that valley crawling on my face, and the eye of an eagle would not see me. As for you, you are Englishmen; you have not lived your lives in the mountains and the bush; you do not understand these things."
He said this with some scorn in his voice. There was something about the man—despite his European clothes—that was fully in keeping with the aspect of their surroundings, which were savage, relentless, and cruel. He went on in a calm voice, speaking very slowly:
"In this valley we are safe," said he. "I know the country well. Yonder," and he pointed to the north, "there is a forest that lies upon the hill-side like a mantle. I will guide you. It will take us about two hours to get there. Then I will leave you. You will be quite safe; for many of the trunks of the trees are hollow, and should the Germans come, you can hide. I will go alone to my brother and bring him back with me."
They set forward without delay, sometimes climbing, sometimes walking, on the mountain-side. About four o'clock in the afternoon they sighted the forest of which the man had spoken. It opened out into a mangrove swamp, thousands of feet below them, where the heat hung like a fog.
Among the trees they found themselves in a kind of twilight. By then the sun was setting; but as the daylight dwindled a great moon arose. Cortes led them to a place, on the verge of a deep ravine, where there was an old tree with a hollow trunk that looked as if it had been struck by lightning.
"You and your friend will remain here," said the man to Harry. "I will be as quick as I can, but in any case I cannot be back until midnight. If I do not return by then, you will know that I am dead; then—if you are wise—you will go back to Calabar. If the Germans come, you will hide." And he pointed to the hollow tree.
Without another word he set forward on his way, gliding down the face of the living rock like some gigantic lizard.
The two boys found themselves in a place romantic but terrible. On every side they were surrounded by the impenetrable hills. The trees of the forest stood forth in the semi-darkness like great, ghostly giants. Somewhere near at hand a mountain stream roared and thundered over the rocks. The breeze brought to their nostrils the smell of the swamp lower down the valley. The hollow tree stood on the edge of the bush. A few yards away was the ravine, the bottom of which was wide and bare and stony.
Throughout the earlier part of the night they possessed their souls in patience. It was stiflingly hot after the cool mountain air.
Harry looked at his watch. It was midnight. There was no sign of the brothers.
Suddenly they heard a stone shifted from its place somewhere in the forest to go rolling down into the ravine. Both stood motionless and expectant.
"I heard something," said Braid.
"So did I," said Harry.
Again a stone was moved, this time nearer than before. Something was approaching through the bush. If this were an enemy they would have small chance of escaping, for the side of the ravine was inaccessible; it was like a precipice.
They waited in suspense, and presently to the great gnarled roots of the very tree by which they were standing, there crawled a dying, wounded mountain goat.
It died almost as it reached them. Indeed, it was almost a miracle that the animal had lived as long as it had, for Harry's bullet had penetrated its chest.
The long night passed in waiting, and still there was no sign of the half-caste brothers. It was then that they fully realized for the first time the extreme danger of their mission, that they were alone in the heart of a country which was almost unexplored, cut off from their friends and civilization, with no chance of succour and little of returning in safety to the coast.
"Jim," said Harry, and his voice was husky, "I wonder if we shall ever get out of this alive."
"I can't say, sir," answered Braid; "but I'm sure of this: if we have to die, we'll make a fight of it, at least."
It was then that a sound came to their ears that caused them to hold their breath. It was a loud word of command in the German language, and which, moreover, came from not far away.
They lay down flat upon their faces. Screened by a clump of long grass, they were able to look down into the ravine, where they beheld a company of German native troops with whom were two or three European officers and several German noncommissioned officers. The men marched well in step, keeping their dressing and acting promptly and smartly at each word of command. Except for their black skins and coarse negro features they might have learned their drill on the parade-grounds of Potsdam and Berlin.
The two boys regarded them in consternation, mingled with amazement—due to the fact that in the centre of the company was a European whose hands were bound behind his back and around whose neck was a kind of halter.
Jim Braid recognized this man at once. It was Peter Klein, the spy.