Chapter Five.Perry is Startled.The guide came to the colonel smiling as soon as he saw him seated, and pointed to; the other side of the fire, as he spoke words which evidently announced the coming of the promised assistant.The colonel replied in Spanish, and the Indian went back to his companions. Soon after, the smell from John Manning’s pipe rose on the cool night-air, and Perry sat talking to his father in a questioning mood.“When are we going over the top of one of the snow-mountains, father?” he said.“I have no intention of going over the top of either of the mountains,” replied the colonel. “We have nothing to gain but hard labour up there. We want to get through the first ridge, and on to the rich tablelands, or among the beautiful valleys.”Perry said “Oh!” in a tone of voice which suggested “Do we? I did not know.” Then aloud: “How high up are we now?”“About eight thousand feet, I should say; perhaps a little more, for it is rather cold. There, let’s get to sleep; I want to start early and be well on our way soon after sunrise.”The colonel had his desire, for, long before the lower part of the ridge was quite light, the mules were all loaded, and the party made their start, with Diego the Indian leading, the new arrival second, and the other man right in the rear as before.Perry had one glance at the new-comer, and made out that he was a more stunted fellow than the others. In other respects he seemed to be similar in aspect, but wore a good deal of radiating paint upon his cheeks, from which it was drawn along in lines right up to his brows, and downward toward the jaws. He wore the same loose, many-folded gown, reaching just to his knees, and carried a bow, arrows, and a long blowpipe, but he was wanting in his friends’ plumpness and breadth of shoulder.“Looking at the new mule-driver, Perry?” said the colonel. “Yes? Seems to be quite a stripling. But so long as he does his work well enough, it does not matter.”He did do his work and well, as it proved, trudging along by the mules, helping to unload and load again, managing those under his charge admirably, and proving to be most industrious in fetching water. But he was timid and distant to a degree, shrinking away when either of the English party approached him, and on one occasion showing so evident an intention to hurry away into the mountains, that the colonel checked his son when next he saw him making for the Indian lad.“Let him be,” said the colonel; “he’s wild as a hawk, and he doesn’t look particularly clean.”“No,” said Perry, laughing, “he is a grub. Those fellows don’t wash, I suppose, for fear of spoiling their paint.”They ceased then to take much notice of their fresh follower all through that day and the next; and the Indian trudged on beside the luggage mules, with his shoulders up and his head bent, as if he were carefully watching where he should next place his feet, speaking to nobody but Diego, when the guide left the leading mule for a few minutes to stop and look right along the line, inspecting the loads as the mules passed him, smiling at the colonel and Perry, and exchanging rather a fierce look with John Manning; for, somehow, these two did not seem to be the best of friends. Then he would let his companion who guarded the rear come right up, walk beside him, talking for a few minutes, and then start forward again at a trot, passing them once more till he had reached the leading mule.There was little change that day, always a constant succession of precipitous walls to right and left, their way being along a narrow shelf, with the stream they followed thundering beneath them, sometimes a hundred feet beneath, at others perhaps a thousand, and quite invisible, but making itself evident by the echoing roar of the rushing waters.They passed nobody, neither did they see a single animal to tempt them to use rifle or gun that hung by its sling across their backs, till late in the afternoon, when, just as they turned the corner of a great buttress of rock, a huge bird suddenly swept by, gazing wonderingly at them. By one consent, father and son paused to watch the ease with which the great-winged creature glided along the gorge, half-way between the top and the stream below, turned suddenly and came back, as if to renew their acquaintance, and then curved round again, sweeping along for a short distance, and again wheeling round, not in a series of circles, but ellipses, each turn sending it almost without effort higher and higher, till it had reached a sufficient elevation, when it passed out of sight over the wall on their left.“Eagle?” said Perry.“Vulture,” replied the colonel. “There you have seen one of the biggest birds that fly. Didn’t you notice its naked head?”“Yes; and it had quite a comb over the top, and a ruff round its neck. I thought it was an eagle from its great hooked beak.”“The featherless head is a general mark of the vultures,” said the colonel. “I wish I had had a shot at it; but I don’t know: I don’t want to be burdened with bird-skins, especially of such a size as that.”“What a monster to skin!” said Perry thoughtfully. “Why, its wings must have been six or seven feet from point to point.”“Double the length—say fourteen or fifteen, my boy,” replied the colonel. “It must have been that. Old travellers used to make them out to be twenty-five or thirty feet from wing-tip to wing-tip; but they do reach the size I say. Hallo! what are we stopping for?”“Why, there’s a bridge,” cried Perry; “and the path goes along on the other side of the gorge.”“And what a bridge,” muttered the colonel.He might well exclaim, for it was formed in the narrowest part of the gloomy gorge, and though not more than five-and-thirty feet in length, it looked perilous in the extreme, being formed merely of a couple of thick ropes of twisted fibre, secured at either side round masses of rock, and with a roadway made by rough pieces of wood laid across and firmly bound to the ropes.“A suspension bridge with a vengeance,” continued the colonel. “We shall never get the mules to cross that.”And he had perfect warrant for his words. For some forty yards below, the water foamed along in a perfect torrent, falling heavily from a shelf above, and sending up quite a thick mist, which magnified the surrounding objects and added to the gloom of the place.Perry felt appalled, but the halt was of short duration, for after turning to them and shouting something which was almost inaudible in the roar of the torrent, the Indian stepped on to the bridge, and walked coolly across, half hidden by the mist; while the mule which played the part of leader bent its head, sniffed at the stout boards which formed the flooring, stepped on and walked carefully across, with the bridge swaying heavily beneath its weight.“Not so bad as it looked, my lad,” said the colonel, as the next mule followed without hesitation. Then, after a pause, their new Indian crossed, followed with the mule by which he had walked, and then the rest, including those from which the travellers had dismounted, for no one thought of venturing to ride across the chasm.“Our turns now, Perry,” said the colonel. “How do you feel?”“Don’t like it,” said Perry huskily.“Summon up your nerve, my lad; forget that there is any torrent beneath you, and walk boldly across. Here, I’ll go first.”“No, no, please don’t,” cried Perry, setting his teeth. “I’ll go.”“Go on, then,” said the colonel.The boy descended from the few yards of loose stony way to where the wet rough-hewn boards began, drew a deep breath, and stepped on to the bridge, conscious that the guide was looking back, and that the new Indian was at the other end, watching him earnestly, with his lips slightly parted and his teeth bared.To Perry it was a sign that their attendant felt the danger of the place, and was watching to see him fall. And if he did, he felt nothing could save him, for he would be swept away in an instant down that narrow chasm full of rushing water, where it was impossible for any one to climb down and stretch out a helping hand.One step, two steps, three steps, all descending, for the middle of the bridge hung far lower than the ends, and Perry could feel it vibrato beneath him, and his nervous dread increased. And yet it was so short a distance to where the Indians were waiting, as he stepped cautiously on till he was well past the middle, when all at once the sky above him seemed to be darkened over his head, there was a peculiar, whistling, rushing sound, and looking up sharply, Perry saw that the huge bird which had passed out of sight had wheeled round and was flying so close above him, that it seemed as if its object were to strike at him with its powerful talons.As a matter of fact, the bird swept by five-and-twenty feet above his head, but it was near enough to destroy the lad’s balance as he started and bent down to avoid the fancied blow. The colonel uttered a loud cry of warning, and Perry made an effort to recover himself, but this stagger caused the bridge to sway, and in another moment or two he would have been over into the torrent had not the bridge vibrated more heavily as a guttural voice whispered to him:“Quick!mano—hand!”It was accompanied by a sharp drag as his own was seized, and, recovering his balance, he half ran—was half pulled—up the slope into safety on the other side.Perry felt giddy and dazed as the Indian loosed his hold and hurried away among the mules, while before he had half recovered himself, his father had crossed and was at his side.“Perry, my lad, you sent my heart into my mouth.”“Yes,” faltered the boy. “It was very horrid. That bird.”“It was startling, my lad, but you ought to be able to walk boldly across a place like that.”“Ahoy! colonel!” came from the other side, as John Manning hailed them.“What is it?” shouted back the colonel.“Hadn’t I better go back, sir?”“Back? No. Come over!”John Manning took off his hat and scratched his head, looking down at the hanging bridge and then up at his master.Just then there was a shout from Diego and some words in the Indian tongue, which resulted in the other Indian offering his hand to the colonel’s servant, who resented it directly.“No,” he growled; “I’ll do it alone. One must be safer by one’s self;” and stretching out his arms like a tight-rope dancer, he came down cautiously, stepped on to the bridge and slowly walked across, the Indian following at a trot, as if astonished at any body finding so good a pathway difficult.“I hope there ain’t many more o’ them spring playthings, sir,” said John Manning gruffly. “I thought Master Perry was gone.”“Nonsense!” said the colonel shortly. “That great bird startled him. Forward again; the men are going on.—Perry, my boy, you must give that Indian lad a knife, or something as a present: he saved your life.”“Yes, father,” said the boy, looking dazed and strange. “I—I’m better now.”“Yes, of course you are. Pish! we mustn’t dwell upon every slip we have. There, think no more about it,” he continued, as he noticed the boy’s blank, pale face. “Go on, and mount your mule.”“I think I would rather walk,” said Perry.“Walk, then,” said the colonel shortly, and he went on and mounted his mule.“Quick!mano—hand!” buzzed in Perry’s ear, and at the same time he seemed to hear the booming roar of the torrent beneath his feet, and the rush of the huge bird’s wings just above his head—“Quick!mano—hand!”“I say, Master Perry, sir, don’t look that how,” said John Manning in a low voice; “you’re as white as taller candle. You’re all right now.”“Yes,” said Perry, trying hard to recover his natural balance. “I’m all right now.”“You’ve made the colonel look as black as thunder, and it wasn’t our fault. They’ve no business to have such bridges in a Christian country. But it was enough to scare any one, my lad. I thought that there bird meant to have you.”“That was fancy,” said Perry hastily. “I ought to have known better.”“No, it wasn’t fancy, my lad. I think he’d have had you, only seeing us all about made him give you up. But it’s all right.”“All right?”“Yes, sir, we’re on the c’rect track.”“Of course we are,” said Perry, as they marched on once more behind the mules, followed by the Indian.“You dunno what I mean, sir,” said John Manning testily. “I meant on the track for one o’ them di’mond valleys. Know what that bird was?”“Yes; a condor.”“Con grandmother, sir. It was a roc, one o’ them birds as carried Sindbad out o’ the valley. This was only a chicken, I should say; but it was a roc, all the same.”“What nonsense!” said Perry. “That was all fancy tale and romance.”“Not it, sir. I might have thought so once, but I don’t now. Let me ask you this, sir,” said Manning: “suppose there was no way out or no way into the valleys we’ve come along, could you climb up the sides?”“No, of course not.”“And if you’d heard tell of birds with wings thirty foot across before you’d seen ’em, would you have believed in them?”“No, and I don’t now.”“What! after one of ’em come down to attack you, and we scared it away.”“That was only about half the size.”“Oh, come, Master Perry, sir, don’t get a haggling about trifles; there ain’t much difference between fifteen foot and thirty. You mark my words, sir, the colonel’s been studying up his’Rabian Nights, and he’s on the right track now for one of them valleys, and we shall go back to San-what’s-its-name with these ugly-looking donkey mules loaded up with all kinds of precious stones. You’re a lucky one, Master Perry, sir, and your fortune’s about made.”“Think so?” said Perry, for the sake of speaking, for he was very thoughtful.“Yes, sir, I just do; and as for me, I hope it’s going to be my luck to get just a few nubbly bits for myself, so as I can buy myself a cottage and a bit o’ garden, and keep a pig, so as to live retired. You’ll come and see me, Master Perry, then, won’t you?”“Of course,” said the boy, and then, making a trivial excuse to get away, he hurried along the line of slow-going mules to see that his father was right in front before their guide, who walked by the first mule; then there were three more plodding along, just far enough behind each other to be safe from any playful kick. By the head of the third mule their new Indian driver was walking with his bow over his shoulder, a handful of long arrows tucked under his arm, and his head bent down watching his footsteps.Perry kept behind at some distance, watching the Indian’s every gesture, till he saw his father returning, for the track had become wider, and the boy watched intently; for he saw the colonel bend down from his mule and tap the Indian on the shoulders as he said a few words in Spanish. But what they were Perry was too far off to hear, the mules too making a good deal of clattering on the rocky track, which noise was echoed all around in a wonderful way.“It must have been my fancy, but I could have been sure he said something to me in English,” muttered Perry. “I was so excited, I suppose.”
The guide came to the colonel smiling as soon as he saw him seated, and pointed to; the other side of the fire, as he spoke words which evidently announced the coming of the promised assistant.
The colonel replied in Spanish, and the Indian went back to his companions. Soon after, the smell from John Manning’s pipe rose on the cool night-air, and Perry sat talking to his father in a questioning mood.
“When are we going over the top of one of the snow-mountains, father?” he said.
“I have no intention of going over the top of either of the mountains,” replied the colonel. “We have nothing to gain but hard labour up there. We want to get through the first ridge, and on to the rich tablelands, or among the beautiful valleys.”
Perry said “Oh!” in a tone of voice which suggested “Do we? I did not know.” Then aloud: “How high up are we now?”
“About eight thousand feet, I should say; perhaps a little more, for it is rather cold. There, let’s get to sleep; I want to start early and be well on our way soon after sunrise.”
The colonel had his desire, for, long before the lower part of the ridge was quite light, the mules were all loaded, and the party made their start, with Diego the Indian leading, the new arrival second, and the other man right in the rear as before.
Perry had one glance at the new-comer, and made out that he was a more stunted fellow than the others. In other respects he seemed to be similar in aspect, but wore a good deal of radiating paint upon his cheeks, from which it was drawn along in lines right up to his brows, and downward toward the jaws. He wore the same loose, many-folded gown, reaching just to his knees, and carried a bow, arrows, and a long blowpipe, but he was wanting in his friends’ plumpness and breadth of shoulder.
“Looking at the new mule-driver, Perry?” said the colonel. “Yes? Seems to be quite a stripling. But so long as he does his work well enough, it does not matter.”
He did do his work and well, as it proved, trudging along by the mules, helping to unload and load again, managing those under his charge admirably, and proving to be most industrious in fetching water. But he was timid and distant to a degree, shrinking away when either of the English party approached him, and on one occasion showing so evident an intention to hurry away into the mountains, that the colonel checked his son when next he saw him making for the Indian lad.
“Let him be,” said the colonel; “he’s wild as a hawk, and he doesn’t look particularly clean.”
“No,” said Perry, laughing, “he is a grub. Those fellows don’t wash, I suppose, for fear of spoiling their paint.”
They ceased then to take much notice of their fresh follower all through that day and the next; and the Indian trudged on beside the luggage mules, with his shoulders up and his head bent, as if he were carefully watching where he should next place his feet, speaking to nobody but Diego, when the guide left the leading mule for a few minutes to stop and look right along the line, inspecting the loads as the mules passed him, smiling at the colonel and Perry, and exchanging rather a fierce look with John Manning; for, somehow, these two did not seem to be the best of friends. Then he would let his companion who guarded the rear come right up, walk beside him, talking for a few minutes, and then start forward again at a trot, passing them once more till he had reached the leading mule.
There was little change that day, always a constant succession of precipitous walls to right and left, their way being along a narrow shelf, with the stream they followed thundering beneath them, sometimes a hundred feet beneath, at others perhaps a thousand, and quite invisible, but making itself evident by the echoing roar of the rushing waters.
They passed nobody, neither did they see a single animal to tempt them to use rifle or gun that hung by its sling across their backs, till late in the afternoon, when, just as they turned the corner of a great buttress of rock, a huge bird suddenly swept by, gazing wonderingly at them. By one consent, father and son paused to watch the ease with which the great-winged creature glided along the gorge, half-way between the top and the stream below, turned suddenly and came back, as if to renew their acquaintance, and then curved round again, sweeping along for a short distance, and again wheeling round, not in a series of circles, but ellipses, each turn sending it almost without effort higher and higher, till it had reached a sufficient elevation, when it passed out of sight over the wall on their left.
“Eagle?” said Perry.
“Vulture,” replied the colonel. “There you have seen one of the biggest birds that fly. Didn’t you notice its naked head?”
“Yes; and it had quite a comb over the top, and a ruff round its neck. I thought it was an eagle from its great hooked beak.”
“The featherless head is a general mark of the vultures,” said the colonel. “I wish I had had a shot at it; but I don’t know: I don’t want to be burdened with bird-skins, especially of such a size as that.”
“What a monster to skin!” said Perry thoughtfully. “Why, its wings must have been six or seven feet from point to point.”
“Double the length—say fourteen or fifteen, my boy,” replied the colonel. “It must have been that. Old travellers used to make them out to be twenty-five or thirty feet from wing-tip to wing-tip; but they do reach the size I say. Hallo! what are we stopping for?”
“Why, there’s a bridge,” cried Perry; “and the path goes along on the other side of the gorge.”
“And what a bridge,” muttered the colonel.
He might well exclaim, for it was formed in the narrowest part of the gloomy gorge, and though not more than five-and-thirty feet in length, it looked perilous in the extreme, being formed merely of a couple of thick ropes of twisted fibre, secured at either side round masses of rock, and with a roadway made by rough pieces of wood laid across and firmly bound to the ropes.
“A suspension bridge with a vengeance,” continued the colonel. “We shall never get the mules to cross that.”
And he had perfect warrant for his words. For some forty yards below, the water foamed along in a perfect torrent, falling heavily from a shelf above, and sending up quite a thick mist, which magnified the surrounding objects and added to the gloom of the place.
Perry felt appalled, but the halt was of short duration, for after turning to them and shouting something which was almost inaudible in the roar of the torrent, the Indian stepped on to the bridge, and walked coolly across, half hidden by the mist; while the mule which played the part of leader bent its head, sniffed at the stout boards which formed the flooring, stepped on and walked carefully across, with the bridge swaying heavily beneath its weight.
“Not so bad as it looked, my lad,” said the colonel, as the next mule followed without hesitation. Then, after a pause, their new Indian crossed, followed with the mule by which he had walked, and then the rest, including those from which the travellers had dismounted, for no one thought of venturing to ride across the chasm.
“Our turns now, Perry,” said the colonel. “How do you feel?”
“Don’t like it,” said Perry huskily.
“Summon up your nerve, my lad; forget that there is any torrent beneath you, and walk boldly across. Here, I’ll go first.”
“No, no, please don’t,” cried Perry, setting his teeth. “I’ll go.”
“Go on, then,” said the colonel.
The boy descended from the few yards of loose stony way to where the wet rough-hewn boards began, drew a deep breath, and stepped on to the bridge, conscious that the guide was looking back, and that the new Indian was at the other end, watching him earnestly, with his lips slightly parted and his teeth bared.
To Perry it was a sign that their attendant felt the danger of the place, and was watching to see him fall. And if he did, he felt nothing could save him, for he would be swept away in an instant down that narrow chasm full of rushing water, where it was impossible for any one to climb down and stretch out a helping hand.
One step, two steps, three steps, all descending, for the middle of the bridge hung far lower than the ends, and Perry could feel it vibrato beneath him, and his nervous dread increased. And yet it was so short a distance to where the Indians were waiting, as he stepped cautiously on till he was well past the middle, when all at once the sky above him seemed to be darkened over his head, there was a peculiar, whistling, rushing sound, and looking up sharply, Perry saw that the huge bird which had passed out of sight had wheeled round and was flying so close above him, that it seemed as if its object were to strike at him with its powerful talons.
As a matter of fact, the bird swept by five-and-twenty feet above his head, but it was near enough to destroy the lad’s balance as he started and bent down to avoid the fancied blow. The colonel uttered a loud cry of warning, and Perry made an effort to recover himself, but this stagger caused the bridge to sway, and in another moment or two he would have been over into the torrent had not the bridge vibrated more heavily as a guttural voice whispered to him:
“Quick!mano—hand!”
It was accompanied by a sharp drag as his own was seized, and, recovering his balance, he half ran—was half pulled—up the slope into safety on the other side.
Perry felt giddy and dazed as the Indian loosed his hold and hurried away among the mules, while before he had half recovered himself, his father had crossed and was at his side.
“Perry, my lad, you sent my heart into my mouth.”
“Yes,” faltered the boy. “It was very horrid. That bird.”
“It was startling, my lad, but you ought to be able to walk boldly across a place like that.”
“Ahoy! colonel!” came from the other side, as John Manning hailed them.
“What is it?” shouted back the colonel.
“Hadn’t I better go back, sir?”
“Back? No. Come over!”
John Manning took off his hat and scratched his head, looking down at the hanging bridge and then up at his master.
Just then there was a shout from Diego and some words in the Indian tongue, which resulted in the other Indian offering his hand to the colonel’s servant, who resented it directly.
“No,” he growled; “I’ll do it alone. One must be safer by one’s self;” and stretching out his arms like a tight-rope dancer, he came down cautiously, stepped on to the bridge and slowly walked across, the Indian following at a trot, as if astonished at any body finding so good a pathway difficult.
“I hope there ain’t many more o’ them spring playthings, sir,” said John Manning gruffly. “I thought Master Perry was gone.”
“Nonsense!” said the colonel shortly. “That great bird startled him. Forward again; the men are going on.—Perry, my boy, you must give that Indian lad a knife, or something as a present: he saved your life.”
“Yes, father,” said the boy, looking dazed and strange. “I—I’m better now.”
“Yes, of course you are. Pish! we mustn’t dwell upon every slip we have. There, think no more about it,” he continued, as he noticed the boy’s blank, pale face. “Go on, and mount your mule.”
“I think I would rather walk,” said Perry.
“Walk, then,” said the colonel shortly, and he went on and mounted his mule.
“Quick!mano—hand!” buzzed in Perry’s ear, and at the same time he seemed to hear the booming roar of the torrent beneath his feet, and the rush of the huge bird’s wings just above his head—“Quick!mano—hand!”
“I say, Master Perry, sir, don’t look that how,” said John Manning in a low voice; “you’re as white as taller candle. You’re all right now.”
“Yes,” said Perry, trying hard to recover his natural balance. “I’m all right now.”
“You’ve made the colonel look as black as thunder, and it wasn’t our fault. They’ve no business to have such bridges in a Christian country. But it was enough to scare any one, my lad. I thought that there bird meant to have you.”
“That was fancy,” said Perry hastily. “I ought to have known better.”
“No, it wasn’t fancy, my lad. I think he’d have had you, only seeing us all about made him give you up. But it’s all right.”
“All right?”
“Yes, sir, we’re on the c’rect track.”
“Of course we are,” said Perry, as they marched on once more behind the mules, followed by the Indian.
“You dunno what I mean, sir,” said John Manning testily. “I meant on the track for one o’ them di’mond valleys. Know what that bird was?”
“Yes; a condor.”
“Con grandmother, sir. It was a roc, one o’ them birds as carried Sindbad out o’ the valley. This was only a chicken, I should say; but it was a roc, all the same.”
“What nonsense!” said Perry. “That was all fancy tale and romance.”
“Not it, sir. I might have thought so once, but I don’t now. Let me ask you this, sir,” said Manning: “suppose there was no way out or no way into the valleys we’ve come along, could you climb up the sides?”
“No, of course not.”
“And if you’d heard tell of birds with wings thirty foot across before you’d seen ’em, would you have believed in them?”
“No, and I don’t now.”
“What! after one of ’em come down to attack you, and we scared it away.”
“That was only about half the size.”
“Oh, come, Master Perry, sir, don’t get a haggling about trifles; there ain’t much difference between fifteen foot and thirty. You mark my words, sir, the colonel’s been studying up his’Rabian Nights, and he’s on the right track now for one of them valleys, and we shall go back to San-what’s-its-name with these ugly-looking donkey mules loaded up with all kinds of precious stones. You’re a lucky one, Master Perry, sir, and your fortune’s about made.”
“Think so?” said Perry, for the sake of speaking, for he was very thoughtful.
“Yes, sir, I just do; and as for me, I hope it’s going to be my luck to get just a few nubbly bits for myself, so as I can buy myself a cottage and a bit o’ garden, and keep a pig, so as to live retired. You’ll come and see me, Master Perry, then, won’t you?”
“Of course,” said the boy, and then, making a trivial excuse to get away, he hurried along the line of slow-going mules to see that his father was right in front before their guide, who walked by the first mule; then there were three more plodding along, just far enough behind each other to be safe from any playful kick. By the head of the third mule their new Indian driver was walking with his bow over his shoulder, a handful of long arrows tucked under his arm, and his head bent down watching his footsteps.
Perry kept behind at some distance, watching the Indian’s every gesture, till he saw his father returning, for the track had become wider, and the boy watched intently; for he saw the colonel bend down from his mule and tap the Indian on the shoulders as he said a few words in Spanish. But what they were Perry was too far off to hear, the mules too making a good deal of clattering on the rocky track, which noise was echoed all around in a wonderful way.
“It must have been my fancy, but I could have been sure he said something to me in English,” muttered Perry. “I was so excited, I suppose.”
Chapter Six.A Night Alarm.“Did you give the Indian lad the knife?” said the colonel as they came abreast.“No, father.”“Go and do it at once, and mind how you give it; the fellow’s as wild as a hawk. I thought he was going to spring over the precipice as soon as I touched him.”Perry took out the pocket-knife he had with him, and stepped forward; but a word from his father checked him.“I don’t want to make too much fuss over this, Perry, my lad,” he said, “but you displayed a great want of nerve. You did not act like a healthy, sturdy, English boy, and but for that Indian’s quick decision, you would have lost your life.”“Yes, father, I’m afraid so.”“Then, for goodness’ sake, my lad, try to shake off this girlish cowardice, or you’ll make me regret bringing you.”“I’ll try, father,” said the boy, his face flushing hotly.“That’s right. I’m sure Captain Norton’s son would have cut a better figure.”Perry’s face grew hotter, and he felt a bitter feeling of annoyance at being compared so unfavourably with the lad who had been his companion.The feeling was only momentary, though, and he went on and overtook the Indian, with the knife in his hand.He was going to give it without a word, but the idea that, perhaps, after all, the half-savage being might understand a few words of English, flashed into his mind, and he said:“This is not worth much, but I hope you’ll keep it in memory of my gratitude for your bravery to-day.”To his disgust, the Indian paid not the slightest attention, but trudged on barefooted beside the mule, as if perfectly unconscious of any one beside him, and Perry’s nerves being all on the jar, he felt irritated at giving, un-noticed, a pretty speech.“Here, catch hold,” he said. “This is for you.”He thrust the knife into the Indian’s grimy hand as he spoke, and then walked on to where Diego received him with a smile of welcome, and began talking directly in his mongrel tongue, perfectly content if the boy seemed to understand a word here and there, when he pointed to cavernous-looking holes in the cliff face opposite to him, to some brighter and greener spot in the gorge, or to some distant fall which glittered in the sunshine which came obliquely down into the narrow vale.All at once there was a beating of wings, and one of the huge condors, startled from the eyrie it occupied high up above their heads, suddenly threw itself off, and began to fly round, rising higher and higher, while the Indian rapidly fitted one of the long feathered arrows be carried to the string of his bow, waited till the great bird was gliding by, and then loosed the shaft. The arrow struck the condor in the wing, and made the huge bird give itself an angry jerk, as if it were disposed to turn upon its aggressor; but as Perry watched, the bird gave a few rapid beats with its pinions, shooting upwards rapidly, and though it was some distance away, the air was so clear that Perry distinctly saw the long feathered arrow shaken out of the condor’s white wing, and fall slowly down into the depths of the gorge, while the great bird literally shot up for some distance, and then glided over a shoulder of the mountain they were flanking, and disappeared.The Indian looked at Perry and shook his head, as he muttered some words which were easily interpreted.“Lost my arrow, and did not get my bird.”“And a good thing too,” said Perry. “It would have been of no use, and only wanton destruction.”The man nodded and smiled as if Perry’s words were full of sympathy for his loss. But they fell upon other ears as well, for the colonel was close behind.“Rather misdirected sympathy, I’m afraid, Perry, my lad,” he said. “The bird would have been no use to us, but I dare say its death would have saved the lives of a good many young vicunas and llamas.”Perry stared for a moment or two, and then: “Oh yes, I know. Do they live up in these mountains?”“Yes, you’ll see plenty by-and-by.”“Sort of goats, aren’t they, father?”“Well, my boy, they partake more of the nature of a camel or sheep, as you’ll say whenever you see the long-necked, flat-backed creatures. But it’s getting time for camping. The mules are growing sluggish, and sniffing about for food.”“I hope we shan’t camp here,” said Perry with a shiver.“Not an attractive place, but I daresay Diego has some spot marked out in his eye, for he has evidently been along here a good many times before.”Ten minutes later, as the snowy peaks which came into view began to grow of a bright orange in the western sunshine, one of the mules in front uttered a whinnying squeal, and the rest pricked up their ears and increased their pace.“Steady there! Wo-ho!” shouted John Manning. “Hadn’t we better sound a halt, sir, or some of ’em ’ll be over the side of the path.”“I think we may trust them; they smell grass or something ahead, and know it is their halting-place.”“But look at that brown ’un, sir; he’s walking right out from under his load.”A few hitches, though, and a tightening of the hide ropes, kept the loosened pack in its place; and soon after, to Perry’s great delight, the gorge opened out into a bright green valley, where, a snug, well-sheltered nook being selected, the mules were once more unloaded, and a fire lit. Then, thanks to John Manning’s campaigning cleverness, before the light on the mountain tops quite died out, they were seated at a comfortable meal, with a good fire crackling and burning between them and the Indians, wood for once in a way being fairly plentiful, there being a little forest of dense scrubby trees low down by the stream which coursed through the bottom of the valley.“Not quite such a savage-looking place, Master Perry,” said John Manning, when the colonel had taken his gun and gone for a final look round before they retired to their blankets on the hard ground.“Savage! Why, it’s beautiful,” cried Perry, who had been watching the colours die out on one snowy peak.“Yes, sir, I suppose it is,” said the man, shaking his head; “but we didn’t take all the trouble to see things look beautiful. We can do that at home. What I’m thinking is that the place don’t look healthy.”“Not healthy? Up here in the mountains?”“Tchah! I don’t mean that way, sir; I mean healthy for your pocket. This looks like a place where you might have a farm and gardens, and keep sheep. You’d never come here to search for di’monds, and sapphires, and things.”“N-no,” assented Perry.“O’ course not. We want good wild broken stone muddle over rocky places, where you have to let yourselves down with ropes.”“Or ride down on rocs’ backs, eh, John?”“Yes, sir, that’s your sort. We’ve passed several good wholesome-looking places that I should have liked to have hunted over; but of course the colonel knows best, and he is leading us somewhere for us to have a regular good haul. Tired, sir?”“Yes, pretty well, but one feels as if one could go on walking a long way up in these mountains.”“Well, sir, we’ve got every chance, and I’d just as soon walk as get across one of these mules, with your legs swinging, and the thin, wiry-boned crittur wriggling about under you. I always feel as if my one was groaning to himself, and looking out for a good place where he could thrust his hind-legs up and send me flying over his head into the air, where he could watch me turn somersaults till I got to the bottom.”“Oh, they’re quiet enough,” said Perry.“Oh, are they, sir? Don’t you tell me. My one never misses a chance of rubbing my leg up against a corner, and when he has done there, he goes to the other extreme and walks right along the edge, so that my other leg is hanging over the side; and if I look down, I get giddy, and expect that every moment over we shall both go.”“I tell you, they don’t mean anything,” cried Perry.“Then why does my one, as soon as he knows he has frightened me, begin to show his teeth, and laugh and wriggle his ears about, as if he were enjoying himself right down to the roots. I don’t believe these mules are any good, Master Perry, that I don’t, and as aforesaid, I always feel as if I’d rather walk.”Further conversation was put an end to by the return of the colonel, and soon after, leaving the Indians crouching near the fire, which they seemed reluctant to leave, the English party sought the corner which had been selected for their sleeping-place, rolled themselves in their blankets, and with valises for pillows, and their stores piled up for a shelter from the wind, they were not long in dropping off to sleep.Perry’s was sound enough at first, but after a time he began to dream and go through the troubles connected with crossing the swinging bridge again. He found himself half-way across, and then he could go no farther in spite of all his efforts, till, just as the condor was about to take advantage of his helplessness, and descend to fix its talons in the sides of his head and pick out his eyes, the Indian made a snatch at him, and dragged him across for him to awake with a start.It was all so real that his brow was wet with perspiration, but he settled what was the cause, and changed his position peevishly.“That comes of eating charqui late at night, and then lying on one’s back,” he muttered, and dropped off to sleep again directly.But only to begin dreaming again of the condor, which was floating overhead, spreading its wings quite thirty feet now; and there was the scene of the day repeated with exaggerations. For the Indian guide bent an immense bow, and sent an arrow as big as a spear whizzing through the air, to strike the huge bird, which swooped down close by, and looked at him reproachfully, as it said in a whisper: “I only came to bring back your knife.”Perry lay bound in the fetters of sleep, but all the same, his ears seemed to be open to outer impressions, for the words were repeated close to him, and he started up on to his elbow.“Who’s there? who spoke?” said a low firm voice close to him. “That you, Perry?”“Yes, father,” replied the boy, as he heard the ominousclick-clickof the double gun that lay by the colonel’s side.“What were you doing?”“Nothing, father. I just woke up and fancied I heard some one speak.”“There was a whisper, and some one brushed against me just before. Did you move from your place?”“No, father,” said Perry, feeling startled now.“Manning!”“Sir!”“Have you been moving?”“No, sir; fast asleep till you woke me, talking.”“Then some one has been visiting us,” whispered the colonel. “Hah! what’s that?”“Something rustling along yonder, sir.”Bang! bang! Both barrels were discharged with a noise which seemed to have awakened all the sleeping echoes of the mountains around their camp.Then, as the colonel hastily reloaded his piece, Perry and John Manning sprang up, each seizing his gun, and waited.“I missed him; but, whoever it is, he won’t come prowling about again. Follow me quickly. Stoop.”Bending down, they hurried across the few yards which intervened between them and the smouldering ashes of the fire, which, fanned now and then by the breeze sweeping along the valley, gave forth a faint phosphorescent-looking light, by which they could just make out the figures of the three Indians standing with their bows and arrows ready, as if about to shoot.“Which of you came over to us?” said the colonel in Spanish; but there was no reply, and the speaker stamped his foot in anger. “What folly,” he cried, “not to be able to communicate with one’s guide!”“Could it have been some one from the valley lower down?” whispered Perry, who then felt a curious startled sensation, for he recalled perfectly the words he had heard while asleep, or nearly so: “I only came to bring back your knife.”“Then it must have been the little Indian, and he could speak English after all.”Accusatory words rose to Perry’s lips, but he did not speak them. A strange reluctance came over him, and he shrank from getting the poor fellow into trouble, knowing, as he did, that his father would be very severe on the intruder upon their little camp. For it was a fact that the little Indian had crept up to where they slept and spoken to him. The excitement had prevented him from noticing it before, but he held in his hand the proof of the visit, tightly, nervously clutched: the knife was in his left hand, just as it had been thrust there while he slept.“Attend here,” said the colonel. Then very sternly: “You cannot understand my words, perhaps, but you know what I mean by my actions. One of you came for some dishonest purpose to where we lay sleeping, and I wonder I did not hit whoever it was as he ran.—Give me your hand, sir,” he cried; and he seized and held Diego’s right hand for a few moments.Then dropping it, he held out his hand to the other Indian, who eagerly placed his in the colonel’s palm.“An outside enemy, I’m afraid,” muttered the colonel; “they are both perfectly calm.—Now you, sir,” he continued, turning to the last comer, who hesitated for a moment, and then held out his hand.This was all in the dim starlight, the figures of the men being made plainer from time to time by the faint glow from the fire; but their faces were quite in the shade as the colonel took the last comer’s hand and grasped it tightly, while Perry’s heart began to beat, for he felt that the discovery was coming; and hence he was not surprised at the colonel’s fierce and decided action.“Your pulse galloping,” he cried angrily, as he dragged the dimly-seen figure forward. “Perry, Manning, cover those two men, and if they make a gesture to draw their bows, fire at once.—Now, you scoundrel, it was you, and you had come to steal.”“No, he had not, father; he came to give me back my knife.”“What!” cried the colonel angrily.“It’s a fact; he put it in my hand while I slept; and here it is.”“Then—”“It’s quite true, sir, and no good to keep it up any longer.”“Cil!” cried Perry in astonishment.“Yes. Don’t be very angry with me, Colonel Campion. I felt obliged to come; I couldn’t stop away.”“Why, you treacherous young rascal,” cried the colonel, shaking him violently.“Don’t, sir, please; you hurt!” cried Cyril half angrily.“How dare you mutiny against your father’s commands, and come after us like—?”“I dunno,” said Cyril mournfully. “I felt obliged; I wanted to be with Perry there.”“But to come masquerading like this, sir! How dare you?”“I dunno, I tell you,” said the boy petulantly. “It isn’t so very nice to come over the stones without shoes or stockings, and only in this thing. It’s as cold as cold, besides being painted and dirtied up as I am. My feet are as sore as sore.”“And serve you right, you young dog. What will your father say?”“I don’t know what he’d have said if you’d shot me,” grumbled Cyril.The colonel coughed.“You precious nearly did, you know,” continued Cyril querulously. “I heard the shots go crashing in among the bushes as I ran.”“Then you shouldn’t have come prowling about the camp in the middle of the night,” cried the colonel. “Of course, sir, I took you for some wild beast or marauding Indian.”“Well,” said Cyril, “now you know, sir, and I suppose I can go back and try to sleep.”“Go back? Yes, sir, first thing—to your father,” cried the colonel fiercely. “I suppose he does not know you have come?”“No, sir.”“Of course not. A pretty disgraceful escapade, upon my word, sir! I only wish I were back in my regiment, and you were one of my subalterns. I’d punish you pretty severely for this, I promise you.”“Would you, sir?” said Cyril drearily. “I thought I was getting punished enough. I’m sorry I disturbed you, sir; I only wanted to get close up, and touch Perry’s hand.”“Bah!” cried the colonel. “Why did you want to touch Perry’s hand?”“Because I was so lonely and miserable, lying there with my feet sore. I couldn’t sleep, sir. The stones have cut them, and I was afraid to wash them, for fear you should see how white my legs were.”The colonel coughed.“Here; stop a moment, sir,” he said, in rather a different tone. “You see, I might have shot you.”“Yes, sir,” said Cyril dolefully. “And it did seem hard to be shot at, because I felt glad the poor fellow didn’t go off the bridge.”The colonel coughed again.“Hum, ha, yes,” he said, a little huskily. “It was a very narrow escape, of course, and you behaved very well. You—er—yes, of course, you quite saved his life. But I shall say no more about that now.—Here, Manning, get Mr Cyril Norton a couple of blankets.—And you’ll come and lie down by us, sir; and mind this: no more evasions, no attempts to escape.”“I shan’t try to escape in the dark,” said Cyril drearily. “Where should I escape to, sir?”“Ah! of course. Where to, indeed! So recollect you are a prisoner, till I place you back safely in your father’s hands.—Stop! Halt! What are you doing, Perry?”“Only shaking hands with him, father,” said the lad.“Then don’t shake hands with him, sir. Shake hands with gentlemen, and not with lads who disgrace themselves by disobeying their father’s orders, and satisfying their own selfishness by causing others intense anxiety.”Perry drew in a long, deep breath, which did not go down into his lungs properly, but seemed to catch here and there.“One moment,” said the colonel; “can you make that man Diego understand?”“Yes, sir.”“Then tell him and his companion to go to sleep again.”Cyril said a few words to the guide, and the two Indians dropped down at once, close to the warm ashes.“I suppose, then, he knew all about your escapade, sir, eh?” cried the colonel. “Of course, he must have got you the Indian clothes and paint.”“It was all my fault, sir; don’t blame him,” said Cyril humbly. “I’m very sorry I did it now. It seemed—”“Seemed? Well, what did it seem, eh? There, hold your tongue now, and go and lie down by Perry. Recollect you are in an old soldier’s camp, and I forbid all talking now. Stop!—er—are you hungry?”“No, sir; I can’t eat,” said Cyril bitterly.“Humph! There, go and lie down, both of you, and get to sleep.—Once more, no talking, Perry; not till to-morrow morning.—Good-night, both of you.”By this time John Manning had taken two soft blankets out of one of the packs, and handed them to the prisoner with a very unmilitary whisper.“My!” he said, “what a game, Mr Cyril.”But neither of the boys smiled. They lay down in Perry’s old place, and Cyril uttered a sigh of content, and then a stifled sob, as he felt Perry’s hand seeking for his to hold it tightly.“Good-night,” he whispered, as Perry bent over him, and then there was another whisper.“Can father send you back, Cil?” and the answer came:“It’s too late now. No.”Just then the colonel lay down again in his old place, and another rustling told that John Manning was curling up in his.“Good-night, Perry, my boy,” said the colonel.“Good-night, father,” replied Perry, and then to himself, “Oh, I hope he’ll say good-night to poor old Cil.”He had his wish.“Good-night, Cyril,” came rather huskily.“Good-night, sir,” said the boy, in a voice he could hardly keep steady.And then came:“Thank God I did not hit you when I fired, my lad.”Then there was nothing heard but the whispering of the wind below them among the trees.
“Did you give the Indian lad the knife?” said the colonel as they came abreast.
“No, father.”
“Go and do it at once, and mind how you give it; the fellow’s as wild as a hawk. I thought he was going to spring over the precipice as soon as I touched him.”
Perry took out the pocket-knife he had with him, and stepped forward; but a word from his father checked him.
“I don’t want to make too much fuss over this, Perry, my lad,” he said, “but you displayed a great want of nerve. You did not act like a healthy, sturdy, English boy, and but for that Indian’s quick decision, you would have lost your life.”
“Yes, father, I’m afraid so.”
“Then, for goodness’ sake, my lad, try to shake off this girlish cowardice, or you’ll make me regret bringing you.”
“I’ll try, father,” said the boy, his face flushing hotly.
“That’s right. I’m sure Captain Norton’s son would have cut a better figure.”
Perry’s face grew hotter, and he felt a bitter feeling of annoyance at being compared so unfavourably with the lad who had been his companion.
The feeling was only momentary, though, and he went on and overtook the Indian, with the knife in his hand.
He was going to give it without a word, but the idea that, perhaps, after all, the half-savage being might understand a few words of English, flashed into his mind, and he said:
“This is not worth much, but I hope you’ll keep it in memory of my gratitude for your bravery to-day.”
To his disgust, the Indian paid not the slightest attention, but trudged on barefooted beside the mule, as if perfectly unconscious of any one beside him, and Perry’s nerves being all on the jar, he felt irritated at giving, un-noticed, a pretty speech.
“Here, catch hold,” he said. “This is for you.”
He thrust the knife into the Indian’s grimy hand as he spoke, and then walked on to where Diego received him with a smile of welcome, and began talking directly in his mongrel tongue, perfectly content if the boy seemed to understand a word here and there, when he pointed to cavernous-looking holes in the cliff face opposite to him, to some brighter and greener spot in the gorge, or to some distant fall which glittered in the sunshine which came obliquely down into the narrow vale.
All at once there was a beating of wings, and one of the huge condors, startled from the eyrie it occupied high up above their heads, suddenly threw itself off, and began to fly round, rising higher and higher, while the Indian rapidly fitted one of the long feathered arrows be carried to the string of his bow, waited till the great bird was gliding by, and then loosed the shaft. The arrow struck the condor in the wing, and made the huge bird give itself an angry jerk, as if it were disposed to turn upon its aggressor; but as Perry watched, the bird gave a few rapid beats with its pinions, shooting upwards rapidly, and though it was some distance away, the air was so clear that Perry distinctly saw the long feathered arrow shaken out of the condor’s white wing, and fall slowly down into the depths of the gorge, while the great bird literally shot up for some distance, and then glided over a shoulder of the mountain they were flanking, and disappeared.
The Indian looked at Perry and shook his head, as he muttered some words which were easily interpreted.
“Lost my arrow, and did not get my bird.”
“And a good thing too,” said Perry. “It would have been of no use, and only wanton destruction.”
The man nodded and smiled as if Perry’s words were full of sympathy for his loss. But they fell upon other ears as well, for the colonel was close behind.
“Rather misdirected sympathy, I’m afraid, Perry, my lad,” he said. “The bird would have been no use to us, but I dare say its death would have saved the lives of a good many young vicunas and llamas.”
Perry stared for a moment or two, and then: “Oh yes, I know. Do they live up in these mountains?”
“Yes, you’ll see plenty by-and-by.”
“Sort of goats, aren’t they, father?”
“Well, my boy, they partake more of the nature of a camel or sheep, as you’ll say whenever you see the long-necked, flat-backed creatures. But it’s getting time for camping. The mules are growing sluggish, and sniffing about for food.”
“I hope we shan’t camp here,” said Perry with a shiver.
“Not an attractive place, but I daresay Diego has some spot marked out in his eye, for he has evidently been along here a good many times before.”
Ten minutes later, as the snowy peaks which came into view began to grow of a bright orange in the western sunshine, one of the mules in front uttered a whinnying squeal, and the rest pricked up their ears and increased their pace.
“Steady there! Wo-ho!” shouted John Manning. “Hadn’t we better sound a halt, sir, or some of ’em ’ll be over the side of the path.”
“I think we may trust them; they smell grass or something ahead, and know it is their halting-place.”
“But look at that brown ’un, sir; he’s walking right out from under his load.”
A few hitches, though, and a tightening of the hide ropes, kept the loosened pack in its place; and soon after, to Perry’s great delight, the gorge opened out into a bright green valley, where, a snug, well-sheltered nook being selected, the mules were once more unloaded, and a fire lit. Then, thanks to John Manning’s campaigning cleverness, before the light on the mountain tops quite died out, they were seated at a comfortable meal, with a good fire crackling and burning between them and the Indians, wood for once in a way being fairly plentiful, there being a little forest of dense scrubby trees low down by the stream which coursed through the bottom of the valley.
“Not quite such a savage-looking place, Master Perry,” said John Manning, when the colonel had taken his gun and gone for a final look round before they retired to their blankets on the hard ground.
“Savage! Why, it’s beautiful,” cried Perry, who had been watching the colours die out on one snowy peak.
“Yes, sir, I suppose it is,” said the man, shaking his head; “but we didn’t take all the trouble to see things look beautiful. We can do that at home. What I’m thinking is that the place don’t look healthy.”
“Not healthy? Up here in the mountains?”
“Tchah! I don’t mean that way, sir; I mean healthy for your pocket. This looks like a place where you might have a farm and gardens, and keep sheep. You’d never come here to search for di’monds, and sapphires, and things.”
“N-no,” assented Perry.
“O’ course not. We want good wild broken stone muddle over rocky places, where you have to let yourselves down with ropes.”
“Or ride down on rocs’ backs, eh, John?”
“Yes, sir, that’s your sort. We’ve passed several good wholesome-looking places that I should have liked to have hunted over; but of course the colonel knows best, and he is leading us somewhere for us to have a regular good haul. Tired, sir?”
“Yes, pretty well, but one feels as if one could go on walking a long way up in these mountains.”
“Well, sir, we’ve got every chance, and I’d just as soon walk as get across one of these mules, with your legs swinging, and the thin, wiry-boned crittur wriggling about under you. I always feel as if my one was groaning to himself, and looking out for a good place where he could thrust his hind-legs up and send me flying over his head into the air, where he could watch me turn somersaults till I got to the bottom.”
“Oh, they’re quiet enough,” said Perry.
“Oh, are they, sir? Don’t you tell me. My one never misses a chance of rubbing my leg up against a corner, and when he has done there, he goes to the other extreme and walks right along the edge, so that my other leg is hanging over the side; and if I look down, I get giddy, and expect that every moment over we shall both go.”
“I tell you, they don’t mean anything,” cried Perry.
“Then why does my one, as soon as he knows he has frightened me, begin to show his teeth, and laugh and wriggle his ears about, as if he were enjoying himself right down to the roots. I don’t believe these mules are any good, Master Perry, that I don’t, and as aforesaid, I always feel as if I’d rather walk.”
Further conversation was put an end to by the return of the colonel, and soon after, leaving the Indians crouching near the fire, which they seemed reluctant to leave, the English party sought the corner which had been selected for their sleeping-place, rolled themselves in their blankets, and with valises for pillows, and their stores piled up for a shelter from the wind, they were not long in dropping off to sleep.
Perry’s was sound enough at first, but after a time he began to dream and go through the troubles connected with crossing the swinging bridge again. He found himself half-way across, and then he could go no farther in spite of all his efforts, till, just as the condor was about to take advantage of his helplessness, and descend to fix its talons in the sides of his head and pick out his eyes, the Indian made a snatch at him, and dragged him across for him to awake with a start.
It was all so real that his brow was wet with perspiration, but he settled what was the cause, and changed his position peevishly.
“That comes of eating charqui late at night, and then lying on one’s back,” he muttered, and dropped off to sleep again directly.
But only to begin dreaming again of the condor, which was floating overhead, spreading its wings quite thirty feet now; and there was the scene of the day repeated with exaggerations. For the Indian guide bent an immense bow, and sent an arrow as big as a spear whizzing through the air, to strike the huge bird, which swooped down close by, and looked at him reproachfully, as it said in a whisper: “I only came to bring back your knife.”
Perry lay bound in the fetters of sleep, but all the same, his ears seemed to be open to outer impressions, for the words were repeated close to him, and he started up on to his elbow.
“Who’s there? who spoke?” said a low firm voice close to him. “That you, Perry?”
“Yes, father,” replied the boy, as he heard the ominousclick-clickof the double gun that lay by the colonel’s side.
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing, father. I just woke up and fancied I heard some one speak.”
“There was a whisper, and some one brushed against me just before. Did you move from your place?”
“No, father,” said Perry, feeling startled now.
“Manning!”
“Sir!”
“Have you been moving?”
“No, sir; fast asleep till you woke me, talking.”
“Then some one has been visiting us,” whispered the colonel. “Hah! what’s that?”
“Something rustling along yonder, sir.”
Bang! bang! Both barrels were discharged with a noise which seemed to have awakened all the sleeping echoes of the mountains around their camp.
Then, as the colonel hastily reloaded his piece, Perry and John Manning sprang up, each seizing his gun, and waited.
“I missed him; but, whoever it is, he won’t come prowling about again. Follow me quickly. Stoop.”
Bending down, they hurried across the few yards which intervened between them and the smouldering ashes of the fire, which, fanned now and then by the breeze sweeping along the valley, gave forth a faint phosphorescent-looking light, by which they could just make out the figures of the three Indians standing with their bows and arrows ready, as if about to shoot.
“Which of you came over to us?” said the colonel in Spanish; but there was no reply, and the speaker stamped his foot in anger. “What folly,” he cried, “not to be able to communicate with one’s guide!”
“Could it have been some one from the valley lower down?” whispered Perry, who then felt a curious startled sensation, for he recalled perfectly the words he had heard while asleep, or nearly so: “I only came to bring back your knife.”
“Then it must have been the little Indian, and he could speak English after all.”
Accusatory words rose to Perry’s lips, but he did not speak them. A strange reluctance came over him, and he shrank from getting the poor fellow into trouble, knowing, as he did, that his father would be very severe on the intruder upon their little camp. For it was a fact that the little Indian had crept up to where they slept and spoken to him. The excitement had prevented him from noticing it before, but he held in his hand the proof of the visit, tightly, nervously clutched: the knife was in his left hand, just as it had been thrust there while he slept.
“Attend here,” said the colonel. Then very sternly: “You cannot understand my words, perhaps, but you know what I mean by my actions. One of you came for some dishonest purpose to where we lay sleeping, and I wonder I did not hit whoever it was as he ran.—Give me your hand, sir,” he cried; and he seized and held Diego’s right hand for a few moments.
Then dropping it, he held out his hand to the other Indian, who eagerly placed his in the colonel’s palm.
“An outside enemy, I’m afraid,” muttered the colonel; “they are both perfectly calm.—Now you, sir,” he continued, turning to the last comer, who hesitated for a moment, and then held out his hand.
This was all in the dim starlight, the figures of the men being made plainer from time to time by the faint glow from the fire; but their faces were quite in the shade as the colonel took the last comer’s hand and grasped it tightly, while Perry’s heart began to beat, for he felt that the discovery was coming; and hence he was not surprised at the colonel’s fierce and decided action.
“Your pulse galloping,” he cried angrily, as he dragged the dimly-seen figure forward. “Perry, Manning, cover those two men, and if they make a gesture to draw their bows, fire at once.—Now, you scoundrel, it was you, and you had come to steal.”
“No, he had not, father; he came to give me back my knife.”
“What!” cried the colonel angrily.
“It’s a fact; he put it in my hand while I slept; and here it is.”
“Then—”
“It’s quite true, sir, and no good to keep it up any longer.”
“Cil!” cried Perry in astonishment.
“Yes. Don’t be very angry with me, Colonel Campion. I felt obliged to come; I couldn’t stop away.”
“Why, you treacherous young rascal,” cried the colonel, shaking him violently.
“Don’t, sir, please; you hurt!” cried Cyril half angrily.
“How dare you mutiny against your father’s commands, and come after us like—?”
“I dunno,” said Cyril mournfully. “I felt obliged; I wanted to be with Perry there.”
“But to come masquerading like this, sir! How dare you?”
“I dunno, I tell you,” said the boy petulantly. “It isn’t so very nice to come over the stones without shoes or stockings, and only in this thing. It’s as cold as cold, besides being painted and dirtied up as I am. My feet are as sore as sore.”
“And serve you right, you young dog. What will your father say?”
“I don’t know what he’d have said if you’d shot me,” grumbled Cyril.
The colonel coughed.
“You precious nearly did, you know,” continued Cyril querulously. “I heard the shots go crashing in among the bushes as I ran.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come prowling about the camp in the middle of the night,” cried the colonel. “Of course, sir, I took you for some wild beast or marauding Indian.”
“Well,” said Cyril, “now you know, sir, and I suppose I can go back and try to sleep.”
“Go back? Yes, sir, first thing—to your father,” cried the colonel fiercely. “I suppose he does not know you have come?”
“No, sir.”
“Of course not. A pretty disgraceful escapade, upon my word, sir! I only wish I were back in my regiment, and you were one of my subalterns. I’d punish you pretty severely for this, I promise you.”
“Would you, sir?” said Cyril drearily. “I thought I was getting punished enough. I’m sorry I disturbed you, sir; I only wanted to get close up, and touch Perry’s hand.”
“Bah!” cried the colonel. “Why did you want to touch Perry’s hand?”
“Because I was so lonely and miserable, lying there with my feet sore. I couldn’t sleep, sir. The stones have cut them, and I was afraid to wash them, for fear you should see how white my legs were.”
The colonel coughed.
“Here; stop a moment, sir,” he said, in rather a different tone. “You see, I might have shot you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cyril dolefully. “And it did seem hard to be shot at, because I felt glad the poor fellow didn’t go off the bridge.”
The colonel coughed again.
“Hum, ha, yes,” he said, a little huskily. “It was a very narrow escape, of course, and you behaved very well. You—er—yes, of course, you quite saved his life. But I shall say no more about that now.—Here, Manning, get Mr Cyril Norton a couple of blankets.—And you’ll come and lie down by us, sir; and mind this: no more evasions, no attempts to escape.”
“I shan’t try to escape in the dark,” said Cyril drearily. “Where should I escape to, sir?”
“Ah! of course. Where to, indeed! So recollect you are a prisoner, till I place you back safely in your father’s hands.—Stop! Halt! What are you doing, Perry?”
“Only shaking hands with him, father,” said the lad.
“Then don’t shake hands with him, sir. Shake hands with gentlemen, and not with lads who disgrace themselves by disobeying their father’s orders, and satisfying their own selfishness by causing others intense anxiety.”
Perry drew in a long, deep breath, which did not go down into his lungs properly, but seemed to catch here and there.
“One moment,” said the colonel; “can you make that man Diego understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then tell him and his companion to go to sleep again.”
Cyril said a few words to the guide, and the two Indians dropped down at once, close to the warm ashes.
“I suppose, then, he knew all about your escapade, sir, eh?” cried the colonel. “Of course, he must have got you the Indian clothes and paint.”
“It was all my fault, sir; don’t blame him,” said Cyril humbly. “I’m very sorry I did it now. It seemed—”
“Seemed? Well, what did it seem, eh? There, hold your tongue now, and go and lie down by Perry. Recollect you are in an old soldier’s camp, and I forbid all talking now. Stop!—er—are you hungry?”
“No, sir; I can’t eat,” said Cyril bitterly.
“Humph! There, go and lie down, both of you, and get to sleep.—Once more, no talking, Perry; not till to-morrow morning.—Good-night, both of you.”
By this time John Manning had taken two soft blankets out of one of the packs, and handed them to the prisoner with a very unmilitary whisper.
“My!” he said, “what a game, Mr Cyril.”
But neither of the boys smiled. They lay down in Perry’s old place, and Cyril uttered a sigh of content, and then a stifled sob, as he felt Perry’s hand seeking for his to hold it tightly.
“Good-night,” he whispered, as Perry bent over him, and then there was another whisper.
“Can father send you back, Cil?” and the answer came:
“It’s too late now. No.”
Just then the colonel lay down again in his old place, and another rustling told that John Manning was curling up in his.
“Good-night, Perry, my boy,” said the colonel.
“Good-night, father,” replied Perry, and then to himself, “Oh, I hope he’ll say good-night to poor old Cil.”
He had his wish.
“Good-night, Cyril,” came rather huskily.
“Good-night, sir,” said the boy, in a voice he could hardly keep steady.
And then came:
“Thank God I did not hit you when I fired, my lad.”
Then there was nothing heard but the whispering of the wind below them among the trees.
Chapter Seven.The Slippery Way.“Awake, Cil?” whispered Perry, just as daylight was making its way down into the depths of the valley, and a faint glow became visible on one of the snow peaks.“Yes,” was whispered back, “these two hours.”“Couldn’t you sleep?”“No; not for thinking. It’s all very well for you, but I’ve got to hear what your fathersaysthis morning.”This was unanswerable, and Perry remained silent for a few minutes, wondering what he had better say next.Then the inspiration came.“Look here, Cil,” he said; “you won’t get on any the better for having a painted and dirty face. I’ll get a bit of soap, and we’ll go down and have a good wash.”“What’s the good?” said Cyril. “Dirty painted face goes best with things like this.”“Yes, but you’re not going like this,” said Perry. “You must put on decent clothes.”“Haven’t got any,” said Cyril sourly.“No, but I have—two spare suits, and you shall have one.”Cyril gave a start.“I say, Per,” he whispered excitedly, “do you mean that?”“Of course I do. My things will fit you, and you can have a regular rig-out.”“Oh!” ejaculated Cyril. “Come on then, quick.”They stole out of their corner to the baggage pile, where Perry pointed to the portmanteau containing his kit, signing to Cyril to take one end and help him to bear it a dozen yards away to where a huge mass of rock had fallen from above.“Here we are,” cried Perry, dragging out one of the suits that had been made expressly for the journey. “They’ll fit you, I know.”“Fit!” cried Cyril excitedly; “of course they will. Once get myself decent, I shan’t so much mind what the colonel says—I mean, I can bear it better. I did feel such a poor miserable wretch when he was talking to me in the night. It all seemed so easy just to dress like one of the Indians; but as soon as I was in that long shirt thing, with my bare legs and feet, I felt as if I’d suddenly turned into a savage, and daren’t look any one in the face.”“And I don’t wonder at it,” growled a deep voice. “Here, what game’s this, young gents?”The boys looked up to see that John Manning was peering over the rock, and they were so startled for a few moments that neither spoke.“Going off again, and you with him, Master Perry? Well, you don’t do that while I’m here.”“Don’t be so stupid, John,” cried Perry, recovering himself. “Can’t you see what we’re doing?”“Yes, that’s what I can see, making of yourselves a little kit apiece, ready to desert, both of you.”“Rubbish!” cried Perry.—“That’s all, isn’t it, Cyril?”“Boots!” said Cyril dolefully; “but I don’t know how I am going to get them on.”“Oh, a good bathing will do that. Here you are.—Now, John Manning, fasten this up again, and take it back.”“Honour, Master Perry?”“Honour what?”“You’re not going to desert?”“You go and light a good fire and get breakfast ready; we’re going down to have a bathe.”“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said the old soldier, chuckling. “Well, a bath would improve Master Cyril. Shall I bring you down a tin of hot water, gentlemen.”“You be off, and hold your tongue. I don’t want my father to know until we get back.”“All right, gentlemen,” said John Manning, grinning; “but I say, Master Cyril, there’ll be court-martial on you arter breakfast.”“Come along, and don’t mind him,” whispered Perry, and they hurried down to the side of the torrent, where they had to spend some time before a suitable place was found where they could bathe without being washed away, for the water ran with tremendous force. But at length a safe spot was hit upon, where the stream eddied round and round; and here Perry’s tin of soap was brought into play with plenty of vigour, there being no temptation to prolong their stay in water which had come freshly down from the snow, and which turned their skins of a bluish scarlet by the time they were dressed.“Shall I pitch this smock-frock thing into the stream?” said Perry, with a look of satisfaction at his companion.“Throw it away? No. Perhaps your father will order me to keep it to wear, and make me give back your clothes.”“I know my father better than that,” cried Perry warmly.“But see how he went on at me last night, and how he’ll go on at me again to-day. I wish I hadn’t done it.”“I’m glad you are come, Cil,” said Perry; “but it does seem a pity. Whatever made you do it?”“I hardly know,” said the boy sadly. “I was so down in the dumps because I couldn’t come with you, and I did so long, for it seemed as if you were going to have all the fun, and I was to be left drudging away at home, where it was going to be as dull as dull without you. And then I got talking to Diego, and when he heard that I was not coming too, he said he should give it up. He wasn’t coming with three strangers, he said, for how did he know how people with plenty of guns and powder and shot would behave to him.”“He said that?” cried Perry.“Yes, and a lot more about it, and he wanted me to ask father again to let me come.”“And did you?”“No; where would have been the use? When father says a thing, he means it. Then Diego turned quite sulky, and I thought he was going to give up altogether. That was two days before you were going to start, and I begged him not to throw you over, and he said he wouldn’t if I came too; and when I told him my father wouldn’t let me, he said why not come without leave? And after a great deal of talking, in which he always had the best of me, because I wanted to do as he proposed, at last I said I would, and he got me the Indian dress and the bow and arrows.”“And when did you start?”“That same night, after they’d gone to bed at home. I’d got the things all ready, and I soon dressed and locked up the clothes I took off in a drawer they weren’t likely to look into, so that they might keep on expecting to see me back, thinking I’d gone out next morning early, and that would give me a start of all that night and all next day.”“What a thing to do!” said Perry.“Yes; wasn’t it? Didn’t seem so bad in the hurry and worry of getting off I didn’t think about anything but hurrying on after you, and then I got very tired and hot, and that kept me too from thinking about anything but catching up to you.”“But how did you know the way?” said Perry.“Oh, that was easy enough. Diego told me which road he should take, and I’d been along there before as far as the place where he said he would wait for me.”“Yes, he said when you would come.”“And when at last I was getting nearer to you, I began to lose heart altogether, and I’d eaten all the food I brought with me; and I’d had so little sleep, because I was obliged to overtake you before you started. If I had not—”He stopped short, and Perry stared at him.“Go on,” he said at last. “If you hadn’t what?”“If I hadn’t caught up to you, it would have been all over.”“Nonsense! Why? You’d have gone back.”“No. I’d been one whole day without anything to eat, and I couldn’t have got back, tired as I was, in less than four days. I should have lain down and died.”“But you’d have met somebody,” said Perry.“Up here? No. There’s a caravan of llamas comes down about twice a year, and now and then a traveller comes along, but very seldom. How many people did you meet?”“Not one.”“No, and you were not likely to. I knew this, and it made me keep on walking to overtake you, for it was my only chance.”“But did you think about what a risky thing you were going to do before you started?”“No,” said Cyril sadly; “all that came after, and there was no going back.”“But what a way your father and mother must be in. What will they think?”“Oh, don’t, don’t, don’t!” groaned Cyril. “Think I haven’t gone over it all, times enough? I never thought how much there was in it, or what trouble it would make till it was too late. Do you think I’d have come to be near you for a minute last night, if I’d known that the colonel was going to shoot at me?”“Of course not.”“And that’s the way with lots of things: one don’t think about them till it’s too late. Hush, here he comes.”For while the boys were busy talking, they had climbed up the side of the valley, and come close up to the fire before they were aware of it.“Humph!” ejaculated the colonel sternly. “So you’ve given up being a savage then, young fellow, eh?”“Yes, sir,” said Cyril humbly.“You’ll join us at breakfast, then, eh?”“I don’t feel as if I could eat anything, thank you, sir.”“No, I shouldn’t think you did; I don’t think I should have much of an appetite if I had behaved to my father and mother as you have behaved to yours. But there, you are my friend’s son, and I must be hospitable, I suppose. Come and have breakfast, and then the sooner you are off back, the better.”Perry stared at his father so hard that the colonel noticed it.“Well, boy,” he said, “what is it?”“I was thinking about what you said, father.”“About his going back? Well, what about it?”“How is he to go all the way back by himself?”“The same way as he came, sir, of course.”“He couldn’t do it, father. His feet are sore, and he’d have to carry all the provisions he’d want on the way.”“Provisions! To carry? Why, he hasn’t got any.—Have you, sir?” Cyril shook his head. “Then how do you expect to get back?”“I don’t know,” said the boy sadly. “No!” thundered the colonel. “Of course you don’t know. Nice sort of a young scoundrel you’ve proved yourself. Scoundrel? No: lunatic. You can’t go on with us, because, out of respect for your father, I won’t have you; and you can’t go back alone, because you have no stores. What do you mean to do—lie down and die?”“Perhaps I’d better,” said Cyril bitterly; “there seems to be nothing else I can do.”“Well, don’t lie down and die anywhere near where I’m camping, sir, because it would be very unpleasant, and spoil my journey. What time do you start back, now you can go decently?”“Now, sir,” said Cyril, and he turned sharply and took a step to go, but the colonel caught him by the shoulder.“Come and have your breakfast first, sir. If you can behave badly to your father and mother, I cannot, by ill-treating their son. No nonsense: come and sit down, and I’m very glad to see that you are beginning to realise what a mad trick it is of which you have been guilty.—Ready, Manning?”“Yes, sir,” came back from the fire, and a minute later they were all seated in silence, partaking of the hot coffee and fried bacon made ready for them by Manning, who gave Cyril a bit of a grin as he saw the change in his appearance.The colonel ate heartily, but Perry’s appetite was very poor; and Cyril could hardly master a morsel, in spite of the colonel’s manner becoming less harsh.“Come, boy,” he said, “eat. You’ve a long journey back, and you’d better make much of the provisions, now you have a chance. I’ll send your father a line in pencil for you to bear, and to exonerate me from causing him so much uneasiness. By the way, how many days do you think it will take you to get back?”Cyril tried to answer indignantly, but the words seemed to stick in his throat; and Perry’s face grew red at what he considered to be his father’s harsh treatment of the lad whom he looked upon as his friend. There was a painful silence, then, for some minutes, during which the colonel went on with his breakfast, and Perry sat with his eyes dropped, unable to get any farther.All at once, Cyril spoke out in a half-suffocated voice, as he looked up indignantly at the colonel. “Isn’t it too hard upon me, sir,” he cried, “to keep on punishing me like this? You know I cannot go back, or I should have gone long ago.”“I want to punish you, sir, because I want to make you feel what a mad thing you have done, and how bitterly cruel you have been to a father who trusted in your honour as a gentleman, and a mother whose affection for you was without bounds.”“But, don’t I know all that?” cried Cyril, springing up and speaking passionately now. “Hasn’t it been torturing me for days past; and wouldn’t I have gone back if I could, and owned how wrong I had been?”“Only you had found that, when once you had foolishly put your foot on the slippery decline, you could not get back to the starting-point, and have gone on gliding down ever since,” said the colonel, speaking quietly. “Yes, my lad, I believe you have been bitterly sorry for your foolish escapade since you started, and you have been severely punished. There, I will say no more about it.”“And you will help me to get back, sir?”“If an opportunity occurs. As soon as we meet an Indian who can be trusted, you can take two of the mules, and a sufficiency of provisions to last till you get back. I am a man short now, or one of these should return with you at once. I am sorry for your people, but I cannot turn back now, and I’m sure your father would not ask it of me.”“Thank you, sir,” said Cyril humbly.“There,” cried the colonel, “I have done my duty by you, boy. You have had your punishment, and you have taken it bravely. I have no more to say, especially as you are not yet out of the wood, but have your father to meet.”“Yes, sir, I have my father to meet,” said Cyril.“Then, now eat your breakfast, and let’s get on again. Take off that miserable face, for I shall not refer to the trouble again.”He held out his hand. Something very like a sob escaped from Cyril’s lips, as the boy made a quick snatch at his hand, and held it in his for a moment or two.Then the breakfast went on in silence, and Perry’s appetite suddenly returned; while Cyril did not do so very badly after all.
“Awake, Cil?” whispered Perry, just as daylight was making its way down into the depths of the valley, and a faint glow became visible on one of the snow peaks.
“Yes,” was whispered back, “these two hours.”
“Couldn’t you sleep?”
“No; not for thinking. It’s all very well for you, but I’ve got to hear what your fathersaysthis morning.”
This was unanswerable, and Perry remained silent for a few minutes, wondering what he had better say next.
Then the inspiration came.
“Look here, Cil,” he said; “you won’t get on any the better for having a painted and dirty face. I’ll get a bit of soap, and we’ll go down and have a good wash.”
“What’s the good?” said Cyril. “Dirty painted face goes best with things like this.”
“Yes, but you’re not going like this,” said Perry. “You must put on decent clothes.”
“Haven’t got any,” said Cyril sourly.
“No, but I have—two spare suits, and you shall have one.”
Cyril gave a start.
“I say, Per,” he whispered excitedly, “do you mean that?”
“Of course I do. My things will fit you, and you can have a regular rig-out.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Cyril. “Come on then, quick.”
They stole out of their corner to the baggage pile, where Perry pointed to the portmanteau containing his kit, signing to Cyril to take one end and help him to bear it a dozen yards away to where a huge mass of rock had fallen from above.
“Here we are,” cried Perry, dragging out one of the suits that had been made expressly for the journey. “They’ll fit you, I know.”
“Fit!” cried Cyril excitedly; “of course they will. Once get myself decent, I shan’t so much mind what the colonel says—I mean, I can bear it better. I did feel such a poor miserable wretch when he was talking to me in the night. It all seemed so easy just to dress like one of the Indians; but as soon as I was in that long shirt thing, with my bare legs and feet, I felt as if I’d suddenly turned into a savage, and daren’t look any one in the face.”
“And I don’t wonder at it,” growled a deep voice. “Here, what game’s this, young gents?”
The boys looked up to see that John Manning was peering over the rock, and they were so startled for a few moments that neither spoke.
“Going off again, and you with him, Master Perry? Well, you don’t do that while I’m here.”
“Don’t be so stupid, John,” cried Perry, recovering himself. “Can’t you see what we’re doing?”
“Yes, that’s what I can see, making of yourselves a little kit apiece, ready to desert, both of you.”
“Rubbish!” cried Perry.—“That’s all, isn’t it, Cyril?”
“Boots!” said Cyril dolefully; “but I don’t know how I am going to get them on.”
“Oh, a good bathing will do that. Here you are.—Now, John Manning, fasten this up again, and take it back.”
“Honour, Master Perry?”
“Honour what?”
“You’re not going to desert?”
“You go and light a good fire and get breakfast ready; we’re going down to have a bathe.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said the old soldier, chuckling. “Well, a bath would improve Master Cyril. Shall I bring you down a tin of hot water, gentlemen.”
“You be off, and hold your tongue. I don’t want my father to know until we get back.”
“All right, gentlemen,” said John Manning, grinning; “but I say, Master Cyril, there’ll be court-martial on you arter breakfast.”
“Come along, and don’t mind him,” whispered Perry, and they hurried down to the side of the torrent, where they had to spend some time before a suitable place was found where they could bathe without being washed away, for the water ran with tremendous force. But at length a safe spot was hit upon, where the stream eddied round and round; and here Perry’s tin of soap was brought into play with plenty of vigour, there being no temptation to prolong their stay in water which had come freshly down from the snow, and which turned their skins of a bluish scarlet by the time they were dressed.
“Shall I pitch this smock-frock thing into the stream?” said Perry, with a look of satisfaction at his companion.
“Throw it away? No. Perhaps your father will order me to keep it to wear, and make me give back your clothes.”
“I know my father better than that,” cried Perry warmly.
“But see how he went on at me last night, and how he’ll go on at me again to-day. I wish I hadn’t done it.”
“I’m glad you are come, Cil,” said Perry; “but it does seem a pity. Whatever made you do it?”
“I hardly know,” said the boy sadly. “I was so down in the dumps because I couldn’t come with you, and I did so long, for it seemed as if you were going to have all the fun, and I was to be left drudging away at home, where it was going to be as dull as dull without you. And then I got talking to Diego, and when he heard that I was not coming too, he said he should give it up. He wasn’t coming with three strangers, he said, for how did he know how people with plenty of guns and powder and shot would behave to him.”
“He said that?” cried Perry.
“Yes, and a lot more about it, and he wanted me to ask father again to let me come.”
“And did you?”
“No; where would have been the use? When father says a thing, he means it. Then Diego turned quite sulky, and I thought he was going to give up altogether. That was two days before you were going to start, and I begged him not to throw you over, and he said he wouldn’t if I came too; and when I told him my father wouldn’t let me, he said why not come without leave? And after a great deal of talking, in which he always had the best of me, because I wanted to do as he proposed, at last I said I would, and he got me the Indian dress and the bow and arrows.”
“And when did you start?”
“That same night, after they’d gone to bed at home. I’d got the things all ready, and I soon dressed and locked up the clothes I took off in a drawer they weren’t likely to look into, so that they might keep on expecting to see me back, thinking I’d gone out next morning early, and that would give me a start of all that night and all next day.”
“What a thing to do!” said Perry.
“Yes; wasn’t it? Didn’t seem so bad in the hurry and worry of getting off I didn’t think about anything but hurrying on after you, and then I got very tired and hot, and that kept me too from thinking about anything but catching up to you.”
“But how did you know the way?” said Perry.
“Oh, that was easy enough. Diego told me which road he should take, and I’d been along there before as far as the place where he said he would wait for me.”
“Yes, he said when you would come.”
“And when at last I was getting nearer to you, I began to lose heart altogether, and I’d eaten all the food I brought with me; and I’d had so little sleep, because I was obliged to overtake you before you started. If I had not—”
He stopped short, and Perry stared at him.
“Go on,” he said at last. “If you hadn’t what?”
“If I hadn’t caught up to you, it would have been all over.”
“Nonsense! Why? You’d have gone back.”
“No. I’d been one whole day without anything to eat, and I couldn’t have got back, tired as I was, in less than four days. I should have lain down and died.”
“But you’d have met somebody,” said Perry.
“Up here? No. There’s a caravan of llamas comes down about twice a year, and now and then a traveller comes along, but very seldom. How many people did you meet?”
“Not one.”
“No, and you were not likely to. I knew this, and it made me keep on walking to overtake you, for it was my only chance.”
“But did you think about what a risky thing you were going to do before you started?”
“No,” said Cyril sadly; “all that came after, and there was no going back.”
“But what a way your father and mother must be in. What will they think?”
“Oh, don’t, don’t, don’t!” groaned Cyril. “Think I haven’t gone over it all, times enough? I never thought how much there was in it, or what trouble it would make till it was too late. Do you think I’d have come to be near you for a minute last night, if I’d known that the colonel was going to shoot at me?”
“Of course not.”
“And that’s the way with lots of things: one don’t think about them till it’s too late. Hush, here he comes.”
For while the boys were busy talking, they had climbed up the side of the valley, and come close up to the fire before they were aware of it.
“Humph!” ejaculated the colonel sternly. “So you’ve given up being a savage then, young fellow, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” said Cyril humbly.
“You’ll join us at breakfast, then, eh?”
“I don’t feel as if I could eat anything, thank you, sir.”
“No, I shouldn’t think you did; I don’t think I should have much of an appetite if I had behaved to my father and mother as you have behaved to yours. But there, you are my friend’s son, and I must be hospitable, I suppose. Come and have breakfast, and then the sooner you are off back, the better.”
Perry stared at his father so hard that the colonel noticed it.
“Well, boy,” he said, “what is it?”
“I was thinking about what you said, father.”
“About his going back? Well, what about it?”
“How is he to go all the way back by himself?”
“The same way as he came, sir, of course.”
“He couldn’t do it, father. His feet are sore, and he’d have to carry all the provisions he’d want on the way.”
“Provisions! To carry? Why, he hasn’t got any.—Have you, sir?” Cyril shook his head. “Then how do you expect to get back?”
“I don’t know,” said the boy sadly. “No!” thundered the colonel. “Of course you don’t know. Nice sort of a young scoundrel you’ve proved yourself. Scoundrel? No: lunatic. You can’t go on with us, because, out of respect for your father, I won’t have you; and you can’t go back alone, because you have no stores. What do you mean to do—lie down and die?”
“Perhaps I’d better,” said Cyril bitterly; “there seems to be nothing else I can do.”
“Well, don’t lie down and die anywhere near where I’m camping, sir, because it would be very unpleasant, and spoil my journey. What time do you start back, now you can go decently?”
“Now, sir,” said Cyril, and he turned sharply and took a step to go, but the colonel caught him by the shoulder.
“Come and have your breakfast first, sir. If you can behave badly to your father and mother, I cannot, by ill-treating their son. No nonsense: come and sit down, and I’m very glad to see that you are beginning to realise what a mad trick it is of which you have been guilty.—Ready, Manning?”
“Yes, sir,” came back from the fire, and a minute later they were all seated in silence, partaking of the hot coffee and fried bacon made ready for them by Manning, who gave Cyril a bit of a grin as he saw the change in his appearance.
The colonel ate heartily, but Perry’s appetite was very poor; and Cyril could hardly master a morsel, in spite of the colonel’s manner becoming less harsh.
“Come, boy,” he said, “eat. You’ve a long journey back, and you’d better make much of the provisions, now you have a chance. I’ll send your father a line in pencil for you to bear, and to exonerate me from causing him so much uneasiness. By the way, how many days do you think it will take you to get back?”
Cyril tried to answer indignantly, but the words seemed to stick in his throat; and Perry’s face grew red at what he considered to be his father’s harsh treatment of the lad whom he looked upon as his friend. There was a painful silence, then, for some minutes, during which the colonel went on with his breakfast, and Perry sat with his eyes dropped, unable to get any farther.
All at once, Cyril spoke out in a half-suffocated voice, as he looked up indignantly at the colonel. “Isn’t it too hard upon me, sir,” he cried, “to keep on punishing me like this? You know I cannot go back, or I should have gone long ago.”
“I want to punish you, sir, because I want to make you feel what a mad thing you have done, and how bitterly cruel you have been to a father who trusted in your honour as a gentleman, and a mother whose affection for you was without bounds.”
“But, don’t I know all that?” cried Cyril, springing up and speaking passionately now. “Hasn’t it been torturing me for days past; and wouldn’t I have gone back if I could, and owned how wrong I had been?”
“Only you had found that, when once you had foolishly put your foot on the slippery decline, you could not get back to the starting-point, and have gone on gliding down ever since,” said the colonel, speaking quietly. “Yes, my lad, I believe you have been bitterly sorry for your foolish escapade since you started, and you have been severely punished. There, I will say no more about it.”
“And you will help me to get back, sir?”
“If an opportunity occurs. As soon as we meet an Indian who can be trusted, you can take two of the mules, and a sufficiency of provisions to last till you get back. I am a man short now, or one of these should return with you at once. I am sorry for your people, but I cannot turn back now, and I’m sure your father would not ask it of me.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Cyril humbly.
“There,” cried the colonel, “I have done my duty by you, boy. You have had your punishment, and you have taken it bravely. I have no more to say, especially as you are not yet out of the wood, but have your father to meet.”
“Yes, sir, I have my father to meet,” said Cyril.
“Then, now eat your breakfast, and let’s get on again. Take off that miserable face, for I shall not refer to the trouble again.”
He held out his hand. Something very like a sob escaped from Cyril’s lips, as the boy made a quick snatch at his hand, and held it in his for a moment or two.
Then the breakfast went on in silence, and Perry’s appetite suddenly returned; while Cyril did not do so very badly after all.