Chapter Seventeen.Perry’s Horror.“How do you feel, Cil?” said Perry, in the middle of that same night.“Horrible. Can’t sleep. I am hot and itchy, and all of a fidget about things.”“Father said we were to take things coolly, when he said good-night.”“Didn’t say how, did he?” whispered Cyril. “I shall be so glad when we begin doing something. Anything’s better than this waiting to begin. I say—”“Yes.”“Isn’t it near morning?”“No, it ain’t,” said a gruff voice in an ill-used tone. “How’s a man to get a good sleep before he relieves the colonel, if you two young gents keep on twisting about and talking?”“All right, we’ll be quiet now.”“Ay, do, my lads. Get a good sleep, and have a nap or two to-morrow, for we shall be travelling all night.”There was silence for the rest of the time in the little camp, broken only by a weary sigh or two, for no sleep came to the restless lads; and the next morning found them red-eyed and feverish in spite of the bathe they had in the intensely cold water of the neighbouring mountain rill.And all that day they were on the strain, and constantly on the watch for the colonel, hoping that he would become communicative. But he was very quiet, and spent the greater part of the day either sleeping or pretending, and lounging about watching the Indians busy cutting down trees, or peeling the boughs and twigs.John Manning, too, looked wonderfully lazy, and avoided the boys, who at last began to look at each other in despair.“I can’t make it out,” said Perry at last. “We are not going to-night, or father would have said something—don’t you think so?”“Don’t know.”“But you don’t think we can be going?”“I think we are,” replied Cyril, “and they are doing all this to throw the Indians off their guard.”Dinner-time came, for which meal John Manning had prepared a very satisfactory dish from some charqui flavoured with fruit and vegetables, and the boys anxiously waited again for some communication from the colonel. But he was still reticent, and after the meal was over, Diego and his companion were summoned and left to clear the tin bowl which did duty as a dish, a duty they always carried out to perfection, never leaving it so long as there was a scrap to finish.Then came the long, hot, weary afternoon, which the two boys started to pass under the boughs of a sturdy tree, both feeling their irritability increase as they listened to the crackling and breaking of wood near at hand, and the murmur of voices from the Indians, who kept on busily with their work.There was a humming noise in the air, as the insects darted here and there in the hot afternoon sunshine; and from where the two lads lay, they could see the mountains slope down rapidly into the long deep valley, filled now with a soft golden haze, while the air was delicious with the aromatic perfume shed by the trees around.Cyril felt hot, feverish, and weary still, but at the same time, as he lay there, it seemed as if that valley at his feet was very beautiful with the sun lighting it up from end to end, and that it would be a pity to start that night, before he had had a good restful sleep, and then—directly after it seemed to him—he felt vexed with Perry for worrying and shaking him. The next moment he started up to find that the valley below looked dark, and the sun was on the other side of the mountains, while the colonel was standing over him, smiling.“That’s better, boys,” he said. “I’m glad that you have both had a good rest. You will be all the fresher for your walk.”“Then you are going to-night, sir?”“Hush! Yes; of course.—Perry.”“Yes, father.”“Don’t go away, either of you, and you must not look excited. Come and have supper—it is ready—and then wait about by the hut while the guides have theirs. You will take no notice of anything, but loiter about outside while John Manning and I act. But be ready to help, if I call upon you.”“We’ll do all you wish, sir,” said Cyril excitedly.“Then do it calmly,” said the colonel. “Mind this, the Indians must not have a suggestion that shall make them suspicious. To them everything must seem as if we were patiently submitting to our rather easy captivity. Come.”The colonel led the way back to the fire, close to which their meal was spread by John Manning, and as the boys drew nearer, they saw that Diego and his companion were hanging about as if wondering why they had not been summoned sooner to partake of the meal.“Yes, we’re late,” said the colonel aloud, and setting the example, he took his place and began to eat as calmly as if nothing important was on the way.“Come, boys,” he said quietly, “make a good meal, and don’t look anxious; there are some of the Indians coming up. Recollect what I said.”Cyril tried to act his part, and said something in a laughing way to Perry, but it fell very flat. Still, there was nothing in the scene to attract attention, and though they were all aware that work for the day had long ceased near the huts, and the Indians who were not partaking of their simple meal, were strolling about, and many of them keenly watching the white party, no head was turned. At last the colonel asked if all were done, and then rose and signed to Diego and the other man to come and take their places.This they did eagerly, and from where Cyril stood now in the semi-darkness, he could see the men’s faces by the light of the fire, and that they were eating hungrily.“Did you look to the mules?” said the colonel in a low voice.“Yes, sir, all ready.”“That’s right. Now, boys, the Indians have strolled back, and I don’t think they have set any watch yet. Keep on walking to and fro as you do sometimes, with your arms on each other’s shoulders. Keep between the fire and the Indians’ clearing, and take no notice of anything you see. We shall not leave you behind.”Cyril’s heart beat violently, and he heard Perry utter a low sigh as he threw his arm over his companion’s shoulder and they began walking to and fro about twenty yards from their fire, while the low hum of many voices came from the clearing where the Indians were talking together before settling themselves for the night.Meanwhile Diego and his companion were eating away as if they had suffered a three days’ fast, and showed no sign of leaving off, till all at once, just as the boys turned, they became aware of the fact that the colonel had gone from the spot where they had seen him last, and that he and John Manning had suddenly appeared in front of the guides, where they were eating. By the light of the fire they saw that guns were presented at the men’s heads, with the effect of making them throw out their arms to seize their weapons, but before they could effect anything for their defence, they were thrust backward, and Cyril at the same moment saw by the firelight Diego lying upon his back, with the colonel’s foot upon his chest, and the other man in a similar position, held down by John Manning.“Keep on walking,” Cyril said aloud to Perry, for the latter had stopped, panting and startled, and Cyril felt him quiver as he half-forced him along.“What are they going to do? Kill them?” whispered Perry.“They’re going to master them,” replied Cyril. “Don’t speak like that. Recollect our orders. It is to save them from being seen.”The boys kept on their walk, watching the proceedings by the fire as much as they could, but in less than five minutes there was nothing to see, for both the guides were bound with a hide rope from the mules’ packages; and urged onward by threats from the colonel’s and John Manning’s pieces, they had passed out of sight among the bushes in an enforced stooping position, a faint crackling telling of the direction in which they had gone, while a louder crackling and snapping told, with the accompanying blaze, that something had been thrown upon the fire.“The bows and arrows,” whispered Perry, and they kept up their monotonous tramp to and fro.“What are they doing now?” said Perry suddenly, and then he started, for Cyril burst out into a merry laugh, and gave him a sharp slap on the back, so suddenly, and with such force, that Perry stumbled forward, and nearly fell.“Are you mad?” cried the boy furiously.“Not quite,” said Cyril merrily. “Here, give us your hand, old chap: I’ll haul up. That’s your sort. Ahoy! There you are again.”He said all this boisterously, and then in a low whisper:“Keep it up. Hit me, or do something. Two Indians have come up close to watch.”Perry trembled violently, but he tried to follow out his companion’s plan, and turning upon him, engaged in a mock struggle, each making believe to throw the other for a minute or two, and then laughingly resuming their walk to and fro.Those laughs were very hysterical, though, and Perry’s next words came with gasps as he said:“See the Indians now?”“No; they’re either gone back or they’re hiding.”“Which? Let’s go and see.”“We can’t,” replied Cyril. “Our orders are to walk up and down here, as if nothing were wrong. Can’t you see it will make them believe we are going on as usual?”“Yes,” said Perry huskily; “but I wish my father would come now.”“So do I.”“Those two may have got the better of them.”“Not they,” said Cyril stoutly. “It would take three Indians to get rid of your John Manning. Your father will take care they do nothing. Don’t take any notice. Hear that?”“Yes, some one going away through the bushes. Those two hadn’t gone, and they were hiding.”“Yes.”“But are they both gone now?”“I only heard one,” said Cyril, beginning to whistle a merry tune, but before he had got through the first strain, there was another faint rustling among the trees.“There goes the other,” said Cyril quietly, and then he broke into a loud yawn. “Heigh—he—ha—hum,” he said. “How dark it has grown.”“Listen,” whispered Perry.“I heard it,” said Cyril. “One of the mules squeaking.”“No, it was a horrible cry. Some one has been killed.”“There goes another then,” said Cyril, as a peculiar sound came from the forest.“Yes, they are killing the guides.”“I tell you, it was the squeaking of the mules. I know the sound well enough.”“I’m sure you’re wrong,” protested Perry.“And I’m sureyouare. If it was the cry of some one being killed, wouldn’t there be a rush of the Indians, to see what was the matter?”“If they heard it.”“And they would. Trust them for that. The mules are excited and calling to one another. I believe they are being loaded.”“Oh, how can you take it all so coolly?” groaned Perry. “My heart beats as if it would break, and I feel a curious choking sensation at the throat, and all the time you take it as if there was nothing the matter.”“Do I? You don’t know,” said Cyril. “I believe I’m worse than you are; but never mind, try to laugh.”“Laugh,” said Perry piteously. “I feel as if I could sit down and cry.”“Leave that to the girls, lad. We’ve got something else to do. Don’t stop. We must keep on, so as to keep the Indians from thinking there’s anything wrong. There, cheer up. Can you sing any thing?”“Sing!” cried Perry, in a voice full of reproach.“Very well, then, I must whistle softly.”He commenced a tune, and got through a few bare. Then he ceased as suddenly as he had begun, and began talking.“I say it was very plucky of your father, wasn’t it? The boldness of the plan has made it do. The Indians could not even think we should make such an attempt.”For a full hour the boys kept up that painful tramp up and down, Perry growing more and more silent, and Cyril bursting out from time to time with a little peal of forced laughter. Twice over, they were conscious of the presence of the watchful Indians creeping furtively among the trees; but the actions of the boys allayed their suspicions, and they went back as softly as they came.“Was it never to end?” the lads asked themselves, and though neither made any allusion to their thoughts, they were tortured by fancies of what might have happened, till at last Perry was certain that, instead of the colonel and John Manning killing the two guides, these two men had turned upon them and stabbed them to the heart.At last the boy could bear this thought no longer. He fought hard to keep it to himself, but it would have vent finally, and as they turned to continue their weary tramp, he suddenly caught Cyril fiercely by the arm.“They won’t come back to us,” he whispered. “They cannot. Diego and the other man turned upon them, killed them, and those were their cries we heard. They’re both dead, Cil—they’re both dead.”“And your father has come to tell us he has been killed,” said Cyril, with a forced laugh, which was more like a hoarse cry of agony. “At last,” he groaned: “I don’t think I could have borne it any longer.”“What do you mean?” said Perry.“There—by the fire. Here they come.”Perry looked sharply round in the direction pointed out by his companion, and then the pulses of both seemed to stand still, for they heard the approach of Indians from the direction of the clearing. Almost at the same moment, they could plainly see by the faint light of the fire, not the colonel and John Manning coming to fetch them at last, but the figures of the guides bending down, and then beginning to approach, in the soft furtive manner of a couple of wild beasts about to make their fatal spring.
“How do you feel, Cil?” said Perry, in the middle of that same night.
“Horrible. Can’t sleep. I am hot and itchy, and all of a fidget about things.”
“Father said we were to take things coolly, when he said good-night.”
“Didn’t say how, did he?” whispered Cyril. “I shall be so glad when we begin doing something. Anything’s better than this waiting to begin. I say—”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it near morning?”
“No, it ain’t,” said a gruff voice in an ill-used tone. “How’s a man to get a good sleep before he relieves the colonel, if you two young gents keep on twisting about and talking?”
“All right, we’ll be quiet now.”
“Ay, do, my lads. Get a good sleep, and have a nap or two to-morrow, for we shall be travelling all night.”
There was silence for the rest of the time in the little camp, broken only by a weary sigh or two, for no sleep came to the restless lads; and the next morning found them red-eyed and feverish in spite of the bathe they had in the intensely cold water of the neighbouring mountain rill.
And all that day they were on the strain, and constantly on the watch for the colonel, hoping that he would become communicative. But he was very quiet, and spent the greater part of the day either sleeping or pretending, and lounging about watching the Indians busy cutting down trees, or peeling the boughs and twigs.
John Manning, too, looked wonderfully lazy, and avoided the boys, who at last began to look at each other in despair.
“I can’t make it out,” said Perry at last. “We are not going to-night, or father would have said something—don’t you think so?”
“Don’t know.”
“But you don’t think we can be going?”
“I think we are,” replied Cyril, “and they are doing all this to throw the Indians off their guard.”
Dinner-time came, for which meal John Manning had prepared a very satisfactory dish from some charqui flavoured with fruit and vegetables, and the boys anxiously waited again for some communication from the colonel. But he was still reticent, and after the meal was over, Diego and his companion were summoned and left to clear the tin bowl which did duty as a dish, a duty they always carried out to perfection, never leaving it so long as there was a scrap to finish.
Then came the long, hot, weary afternoon, which the two boys started to pass under the boughs of a sturdy tree, both feeling their irritability increase as they listened to the crackling and breaking of wood near at hand, and the murmur of voices from the Indians, who kept on busily with their work.
There was a humming noise in the air, as the insects darted here and there in the hot afternoon sunshine; and from where the two lads lay, they could see the mountains slope down rapidly into the long deep valley, filled now with a soft golden haze, while the air was delicious with the aromatic perfume shed by the trees around.
Cyril felt hot, feverish, and weary still, but at the same time, as he lay there, it seemed as if that valley at his feet was very beautiful with the sun lighting it up from end to end, and that it would be a pity to start that night, before he had had a good restful sleep, and then—directly after it seemed to him—he felt vexed with Perry for worrying and shaking him. The next moment he started up to find that the valley below looked dark, and the sun was on the other side of the mountains, while the colonel was standing over him, smiling.
“That’s better, boys,” he said. “I’m glad that you have both had a good rest. You will be all the fresher for your walk.”
“Then you are going to-night, sir?”
“Hush! Yes; of course.—Perry.”
“Yes, father.”
“Don’t go away, either of you, and you must not look excited. Come and have supper—it is ready—and then wait about by the hut while the guides have theirs. You will take no notice of anything, but loiter about outside while John Manning and I act. But be ready to help, if I call upon you.”
“We’ll do all you wish, sir,” said Cyril excitedly.
“Then do it calmly,” said the colonel. “Mind this, the Indians must not have a suggestion that shall make them suspicious. To them everything must seem as if we were patiently submitting to our rather easy captivity. Come.”
The colonel led the way back to the fire, close to which their meal was spread by John Manning, and as the boys drew nearer, they saw that Diego and his companion were hanging about as if wondering why they had not been summoned sooner to partake of the meal.
“Yes, we’re late,” said the colonel aloud, and setting the example, he took his place and began to eat as calmly as if nothing important was on the way.
“Come, boys,” he said quietly, “make a good meal, and don’t look anxious; there are some of the Indians coming up. Recollect what I said.”
Cyril tried to act his part, and said something in a laughing way to Perry, but it fell very flat. Still, there was nothing in the scene to attract attention, and though they were all aware that work for the day had long ceased near the huts, and the Indians who were not partaking of their simple meal, were strolling about, and many of them keenly watching the white party, no head was turned. At last the colonel asked if all were done, and then rose and signed to Diego and the other man to come and take their places.
This they did eagerly, and from where Cyril stood now in the semi-darkness, he could see the men’s faces by the light of the fire, and that they were eating hungrily.
“Did you look to the mules?” said the colonel in a low voice.
“Yes, sir, all ready.”
“That’s right. Now, boys, the Indians have strolled back, and I don’t think they have set any watch yet. Keep on walking to and fro as you do sometimes, with your arms on each other’s shoulders. Keep between the fire and the Indians’ clearing, and take no notice of anything you see. We shall not leave you behind.”
Cyril’s heart beat violently, and he heard Perry utter a low sigh as he threw his arm over his companion’s shoulder and they began walking to and fro about twenty yards from their fire, while the low hum of many voices came from the clearing where the Indians were talking together before settling themselves for the night.
Meanwhile Diego and his companion were eating away as if they had suffered a three days’ fast, and showed no sign of leaving off, till all at once, just as the boys turned, they became aware of the fact that the colonel had gone from the spot where they had seen him last, and that he and John Manning had suddenly appeared in front of the guides, where they were eating. By the light of the fire they saw that guns were presented at the men’s heads, with the effect of making them throw out their arms to seize their weapons, but before they could effect anything for their defence, they were thrust backward, and Cyril at the same moment saw by the firelight Diego lying upon his back, with the colonel’s foot upon his chest, and the other man in a similar position, held down by John Manning.
“Keep on walking,” Cyril said aloud to Perry, for the latter had stopped, panting and startled, and Cyril felt him quiver as he half-forced him along.
“What are they going to do? Kill them?” whispered Perry.
“They’re going to master them,” replied Cyril. “Don’t speak like that. Recollect our orders. It is to save them from being seen.”
The boys kept on their walk, watching the proceedings by the fire as much as they could, but in less than five minutes there was nothing to see, for both the guides were bound with a hide rope from the mules’ packages; and urged onward by threats from the colonel’s and John Manning’s pieces, they had passed out of sight among the bushes in an enforced stooping position, a faint crackling telling of the direction in which they had gone, while a louder crackling and snapping told, with the accompanying blaze, that something had been thrown upon the fire.
“The bows and arrows,” whispered Perry, and they kept up their monotonous tramp to and fro.
“What are they doing now?” said Perry suddenly, and then he started, for Cyril burst out into a merry laugh, and gave him a sharp slap on the back, so suddenly, and with such force, that Perry stumbled forward, and nearly fell.
“Are you mad?” cried the boy furiously.
“Not quite,” said Cyril merrily. “Here, give us your hand, old chap: I’ll haul up. That’s your sort. Ahoy! There you are again.”
He said all this boisterously, and then in a low whisper:
“Keep it up. Hit me, or do something. Two Indians have come up close to watch.”
Perry trembled violently, but he tried to follow out his companion’s plan, and turning upon him, engaged in a mock struggle, each making believe to throw the other for a minute or two, and then laughingly resuming their walk to and fro.
Those laughs were very hysterical, though, and Perry’s next words came with gasps as he said:
“See the Indians now?”
“No; they’re either gone back or they’re hiding.”
“Which? Let’s go and see.”
“We can’t,” replied Cyril. “Our orders are to walk up and down here, as if nothing were wrong. Can’t you see it will make them believe we are going on as usual?”
“Yes,” said Perry huskily; “but I wish my father would come now.”
“So do I.”
“Those two may have got the better of them.”
“Not they,” said Cyril stoutly. “It would take three Indians to get rid of your John Manning. Your father will take care they do nothing. Don’t take any notice. Hear that?”
“Yes, some one going away through the bushes. Those two hadn’t gone, and they were hiding.”
“Yes.”
“But are they both gone now?”
“I only heard one,” said Cyril, beginning to whistle a merry tune, but before he had got through the first strain, there was another faint rustling among the trees.
“There goes the other,” said Cyril quietly, and then he broke into a loud yawn. “Heigh—he—ha—hum,” he said. “How dark it has grown.”
“Listen,” whispered Perry.
“I heard it,” said Cyril. “One of the mules squeaking.”
“No, it was a horrible cry. Some one has been killed.”
“There goes another then,” said Cyril, as a peculiar sound came from the forest.
“Yes, they are killing the guides.”
“I tell you, it was the squeaking of the mules. I know the sound well enough.”
“I’m sure you’re wrong,” protested Perry.
“And I’m sureyouare. If it was the cry of some one being killed, wouldn’t there be a rush of the Indians, to see what was the matter?”
“If they heard it.”
“And they would. Trust them for that. The mules are excited and calling to one another. I believe they are being loaded.”
“Oh, how can you take it all so coolly?” groaned Perry. “My heart beats as if it would break, and I feel a curious choking sensation at the throat, and all the time you take it as if there was nothing the matter.”
“Do I? You don’t know,” said Cyril. “I believe I’m worse than you are; but never mind, try to laugh.”
“Laugh,” said Perry piteously. “I feel as if I could sit down and cry.”
“Leave that to the girls, lad. We’ve got something else to do. Don’t stop. We must keep on, so as to keep the Indians from thinking there’s anything wrong. There, cheer up. Can you sing any thing?”
“Sing!” cried Perry, in a voice full of reproach.
“Very well, then, I must whistle softly.”
He commenced a tune, and got through a few bare. Then he ceased as suddenly as he had begun, and began talking.
“I say it was very plucky of your father, wasn’t it? The boldness of the plan has made it do. The Indians could not even think we should make such an attempt.”
For a full hour the boys kept up that painful tramp up and down, Perry growing more and more silent, and Cyril bursting out from time to time with a little peal of forced laughter. Twice over, they were conscious of the presence of the watchful Indians creeping furtively among the trees; but the actions of the boys allayed their suspicions, and they went back as softly as they came.
“Was it never to end?” the lads asked themselves, and though neither made any allusion to their thoughts, they were tortured by fancies of what might have happened, till at last Perry was certain that, instead of the colonel and John Manning killing the two guides, these two men had turned upon them and stabbed them to the heart.
At last the boy could bear this thought no longer. He fought hard to keep it to himself, but it would have vent finally, and as they turned to continue their weary tramp, he suddenly caught Cyril fiercely by the arm.
“They won’t come back to us,” he whispered. “They cannot. Diego and the other man turned upon them, killed them, and those were their cries we heard. They’re both dead, Cil—they’re both dead.”
“And your father has come to tell us he has been killed,” said Cyril, with a forced laugh, which was more like a hoarse cry of agony. “At last,” he groaned: “I don’t think I could have borne it any longer.”
“What do you mean?” said Perry.
“There—by the fire. Here they come.”
Perry looked sharply round in the direction pointed out by his companion, and then the pulses of both seemed to stand still, for they heard the approach of Indians from the direction of the clearing. Almost at the same moment, they could plainly see by the faint light of the fire, not the colonel and John Manning coming to fetch them at last, but the figures of the guides bending down, and then beginning to approach, in the soft furtive manner of a couple of wild beasts about to make their fatal spring.
Chapter Eighteen.Adventures of a Night.“He was right,” muttered Cyril, as the blood rushed to his head and made him feel giddy; “and now they mean to have us, but—”He stopped short, and his teeth made a grating sound as he seized Perry by the shoulder. “Can you fight?” he whispered. “I—I don’t half know,” groaned Perry. “I’ll try.”“That’s right. We must,” the boy continued. “They shall find we’re English after all.”“What are you going to do?” said Perry, holding on by his companion’s arm.“Get our guns. They’re close by the fire there. What are those two doing?”“I don’t know,” was the reply, and Perry gazed hard at the two guides, who were stooping about the fire. “Yes, I do; they’re putting on more wood.”“Then, as soon as they come toward us, we must run round and try to get our guns.”They stood in the darkness watching for some moments, while the guides still busied themselves about the fire, wandering here and there, as if busy about something; though, after seeing the flames rise, on the first portion of wood being added, their object appeared vague.All at once the rustling toward the clearing recommenced, and the boys looked sharply in that direction, fully expecting that the first attack would come from there; but the sound grew fainter, and they knew that the Indians must be going back, apparently satisfied with their scrutiny. This meant the danger lessened for the moment by one half; and Cyril now gripped his companion’s shoulder more tightly.“Now, then,” he said, “let’s get round by the trees to the other side.”“Too late,” said Perry; “they are coming here.”Cyril glanced toward the fire, but no one was visible. In the brief moments during which their backs were turned, the guides had disappeared, and all was silent; not a sound suggested the spot from which the enemy would advance.“We must chance it,” whispered Cyril. “Quick; come along this way. Quiet.”They started away to their right, so as to get round to the back of the fire; but as fate had it, they went right into the arms of those whom they were seeking to avoid. Not forty steps had been taken cautiously through the dark shadows beneath the trees, before Perry uttered a cry as the two guides sprang up in their path.“This way, Cil; run,” he whispered.“Hush! Silence!” came in a familiar voice. “Don’t you know us, boys?”Both Cyril and Perry were speechless, so great was the emotion caused by the surprise, and they stared at the dimly-seen, bare-headed figures wearing the Indians’ long, loose garments.“Now, quick,” said the colonel, stripping off the Indian frock, “off with yours, too, Manning.”The man obeyed with all a well-drilled soldier’s celerity and silence, and, stooping down, the colonel was about to thrust the cotton garments in amongst the undergrowth, when Cyril, who had now recovered himself, whispered a few words to the colonel.“Good! Capital!” he said. “Only quick, and we’ll wait here.”Cyril snatched at the two frocks, and, stooping down, laid them, well stretched out, at a short distance from the fire, where, in the dim light, they gave a rough idea of covering a couple of Indians stretched out in sleep.It was only the work of a minute, and then Cyril was back to where Perry stood excited and nervous, for the feeling was strong upon him that, after all, his father and Manning had slain the two guides.“Where are the mules?” said Cyril to the colonel.“Silence! Follow. Stoop till we are well beyond the fire.”“But our guns, sir?” said Cyril.“I said silence, boy!” replied the colonel, and they went off in single file for about a couple of hundred yards in and out among the trees, till the colonel stopped short, and the boys made out that they were standing by the mules, which were waiting, all ready laden, and with hanging heads, ready to proceed on their journey. Then, without another word, the colonel took the rein of the old leader, started off, and steadily and quietly the others followed, the unladen last, while John Manning and the two boys followed for some time.“Here, take your fireworks, my lads,” whispered John Manning at last. “Pouches are fastened to ’em, and well filled with ammunition. I’ll help you to put ’em on as we go.”All this in a whisper, and then Perry said: “You thought of our wanting them, then?”“Rum sort of soldier if I hadn’t, my lad,” growled the man. “Steady. Keep on walking. Under your right arm, my lad. That’s it.—Now you, Mr Cyril.”“Mine’s on all right,” was the reply; and then it was always onward and downward, in and out among the trees, with all around so dark beneath branches, that, but for the steady, slow pace of the mules, which never hesitated for a moment, the journey would have been next to impossible. And all the time, as the rustling, soft, trampling noise made by the animals’ hoofs went on, very few words were spoken, for every ear was attent and strained to catch the first announcement of the pursuit having begun.The two boys felt no inclination to converse, but tramped on silent enough, while, when anything was said, John Manning was the speaker. He would begin by enjoining silence in the ranks, and the minute after, find he had something he must say.“Don’t think they’ve took the alarm yet, gentlemen,” he said, after a long time. “That dodge o’ yourn with the Injuns’ frocks was splendid. When they do come, take your word from me, as I command the rearguard; and fire low, for we must give them a volley.”Perry shrank from their old servant involuntarily, for it seemed to him horrible that John Manning should speak in so cheery a tone from time to time, when, only a short time back, he had imbrued his hand in the blood of their two guides. But at last he felt constrained to speak, the words coming forth unbidden.“Those two guides,” he said huskily.“Ay, poor chaps, it seemed hard, sir,” replied the old soldier; “but it was us or them, and, of course, it had to be them. We was obliged to do it, or else how was I to get the mules loaded?”“But it seems so horrible,” said Cyril.“Oh, I don’t know, sir. Sort o’ tit for tat. They wouldn’t ha’ been very particular about us, and it was, as you may say, in self-defence. But, I say, Mr Cyril, don’t you think I got all those packs down to the mules pretty quick, and the beasts laden?”“Wonderfully quickly,” said Cyril.“It was, sir, though I say it as shouldn’t say it. I did get warm over the job. Thought I should have had no end o’ trouble with ’em, but they took it as quietly as lambs; and as soon as they found out what was going on, the pack-mules all hung together and waited their turns, while the saddle mules seemed to be looking on.”“Of course that was after the—after Diego and the other man—”“Of course, sir. There’d ha’ been no mule packing if we’d left those two chaps to lift up their lovely voices, and shout to their friends for help. That would not have done, eh, Mr Cyril?”“No; I suppose not, if we were to escape.”“And that’s what we had to do, sir; for, as the colonel said to me more than once, ‘We’re not safe, John Manning, for sooner or later they’ll find out why I have come, and then I would not answer for our lives.’ But we’re off now in spite of ’em, and well provisioned too. My word, I did get a warming over those mules; but the colonel’s wonderful handy at the loading, and helped me well. You see, he superintended a lot out in India, when we had mules and camels to carry our baggage. And we did it all fine. Listen.”They paused, but the faint pattering of the mules’ hoofs was the only sound; and they followed on again, John Manning keeping silence for a time, and then bursting out with a chuckle.“I told you so yes’day, young gentlemen. The colonel ’ll have some dodge to get us off, and there you are! He led, and it was grand the way in which he had worked it out. He didn’t tell me till to-night, and when he had done, I laughed out. ‘Think it will do, John Manning?’ he said. ‘Do, sir?’ I says. ‘Of course it’ll do;’ and it’s done. Don’t suppose those two liked it much, poor fellows, but they had to put up with it.”“Oh, John Manning,” cried Perry excitedly, unable to bear it any longer, “how can you treat it so lightly? If you had tied and bound the poor wretches, it would have been different, but to drag them away and kill them in cold blood! It is horrible.”“Well Iamblessed!” exclaimed the old soldier, in a tone and with an emphasis that showed how he was startled.“And I’ll never believe that my father meant it to be so.”John Manning gave Cyril a dig with his elbow, and he winked one eye, but the act was invisible in the darkness.“Why, it was him as ’vented the plan, sir. I only helped carry it out.”“Oh!” ejaculated Perry.“Hadn’t we got to escape, sir?”“But in such a way!”“Why, it was a splendid way, Master Perry. But I say I am ashamed of you to go private court-martialling your own father in that way, and find such fault with him for helping you to get off!”“I’m not going to judge him,” said Perry. “I only say it was horrible.”“Well, yes, sir, it was, and is,” said the old soldier, giving Cyril another dig. “Can’t say as I should like to lie all night on my back with my hands tied behind me to a big pole, and my ankles and knees served the same, just as if I was going to be roasted for a cannibal’s dinner, and to make it worse, an old worsted stocking rammed into my mouth, and a cloth tied over it and behind my neck, to make sure I didn’t get it out.”“What!” cried Perry.“I said a stocking rammed into my month, sir, so as I shouldn’t holler, only breathe. It is hard on a man, but what was you to do?”“Then you didn’t kill them,” cried Perry joyfully.“Kill ’em,” said John Manning, in a tone full of disgust. “Did you ever know a British soldier, as was a soldier, go killing folk in that way, sir, when they’d been made prisoners? Master Perry, sir, I’m ashamed o’ you for thinking such a thing o’ your father, as is as fine an officer as ever stepped.”“Not so much ashamed of me as I am of myself,” said Perry huskily. “Then Diego and the other man are all right?”“They don’t think so,” said the old soldier with a chuckle. “They’re precious uncomfortable by this time, for I rammed the stockings pretty far, and I tied them knots with those new hide ropes as tight as they’d draw.”“Quiet there, quiet,” said the colonel sternly, for he had stopped and let the mules pass him. “No more talking for the present. Can you hear anything?”“No, sir, not a sound,” said John Manning. But even as he spoke there was a faint cry borne on the night wind from high up the valley, and situated as they were, that sound could only have one meaning—pursuit.
“He was right,” muttered Cyril, as the blood rushed to his head and made him feel giddy; “and now they mean to have us, but—”
He stopped short, and his teeth made a grating sound as he seized Perry by the shoulder. “Can you fight?” he whispered. “I—I don’t half know,” groaned Perry. “I’ll try.”
“That’s right. We must,” the boy continued. “They shall find we’re English after all.”
“What are you going to do?” said Perry, holding on by his companion’s arm.
“Get our guns. They’re close by the fire there. What are those two doing?”
“I don’t know,” was the reply, and Perry gazed hard at the two guides, who were stooping about the fire. “Yes, I do; they’re putting on more wood.”
“Then, as soon as they come toward us, we must run round and try to get our guns.”
They stood in the darkness watching for some moments, while the guides still busied themselves about the fire, wandering here and there, as if busy about something; though, after seeing the flames rise, on the first portion of wood being added, their object appeared vague.
All at once the rustling toward the clearing recommenced, and the boys looked sharply in that direction, fully expecting that the first attack would come from there; but the sound grew fainter, and they knew that the Indians must be going back, apparently satisfied with their scrutiny. This meant the danger lessened for the moment by one half; and Cyril now gripped his companion’s shoulder more tightly.
“Now, then,” he said, “let’s get round by the trees to the other side.”
“Too late,” said Perry; “they are coming here.”
Cyril glanced toward the fire, but no one was visible. In the brief moments during which their backs were turned, the guides had disappeared, and all was silent; not a sound suggested the spot from which the enemy would advance.
“We must chance it,” whispered Cyril. “Quick; come along this way. Quiet.”
They started away to their right, so as to get round to the back of the fire; but as fate had it, they went right into the arms of those whom they were seeking to avoid. Not forty steps had been taken cautiously through the dark shadows beneath the trees, before Perry uttered a cry as the two guides sprang up in their path.
“This way, Cil; run,” he whispered.
“Hush! Silence!” came in a familiar voice. “Don’t you know us, boys?”
Both Cyril and Perry were speechless, so great was the emotion caused by the surprise, and they stared at the dimly-seen, bare-headed figures wearing the Indians’ long, loose garments.
“Now, quick,” said the colonel, stripping off the Indian frock, “off with yours, too, Manning.”
The man obeyed with all a well-drilled soldier’s celerity and silence, and, stooping down, the colonel was about to thrust the cotton garments in amongst the undergrowth, when Cyril, who had now recovered himself, whispered a few words to the colonel.
“Good! Capital!” he said. “Only quick, and we’ll wait here.”
Cyril snatched at the two frocks, and, stooping down, laid them, well stretched out, at a short distance from the fire, where, in the dim light, they gave a rough idea of covering a couple of Indians stretched out in sleep.
It was only the work of a minute, and then Cyril was back to where Perry stood excited and nervous, for the feeling was strong upon him that, after all, his father and Manning had slain the two guides.
“Where are the mules?” said Cyril to the colonel.
“Silence! Follow. Stoop till we are well beyond the fire.”
“But our guns, sir?” said Cyril.
“I said silence, boy!” replied the colonel, and they went off in single file for about a couple of hundred yards in and out among the trees, till the colonel stopped short, and the boys made out that they were standing by the mules, which were waiting, all ready laden, and with hanging heads, ready to proceed on their journey. Then, without another word, the colonel took the rein of the old leader, started off, and steadily and quietly the others followed, the unladen last, while John Manning and the two boys followed for some time.
“Here, take your fireworks, my lads,” whispered John Manning at last. “Pouches are fastened to ’em, and well filled with ammunition. I’ll help you to put ’em on as we go.”
All this in a whisper, and then Perry said: “You thought of our wanting them, then?”
“Rum sort of soldier if I hadn’t, my lad,” growled the man. “Steady. Keep on walking. Under your right arm, my lad. That’s it.—Now you, Mr Cyril.”
“Mine’s on all right,” was the reply; and then it was always onward and downward, in and out among the trees, with all around so dark beneath branches, that, but for the steady, slow pace of the mules, which never hesitated for a moment, the journey would have been next to impossible. And all the time, as the rustling, soft, trampling noise made by the animals’ hoofs went on, very few words were spoken, for every ear was attent and strained to catch the first announcement of the pursuit having begun.
The two boys felt no inclination to converse, but tramped on silent enough, while, when anything was said, John Manning was the speaker. He would begin by enjoining silence in the ranks, and the minute after, find he had something he must say.
“Don’t think they’ve took the alarm yet, gentlemen,” he said, after a long time. “That dodge o’ yourn with the Injuns’ frocks was splendid. When they do come, take your word from me, as I command the rearguard; and fire low, for we must give them a volley.”
Perry shrank from their old servant involuntarily, for it seemed to him horrible that John Manning should speak in so cheery a tone from time to time, when, only a short time back, he had imbrued his hand in the blood of their two guides. But at last he felt constrained to speak, the words coming forth unbidden.
“Those two guides,” he said huskily.
“Ay, poor chaps, it seemed hard, sir,” replied the old soldier; “but it was us or them, and, of course, it had to be them. We was obliged to do it, or else how was I to get the mules loaded?”
“But it seems so horrible,” said Cyril.
“Oh, I don’t know, sir. Sort o’ tit for tat. They wouldn’t ha’ been very particular about us, and it was, as you may say, in self-defence. But, I say, Mr Cyril, don’t you think I got all those packs down to the mules pretty quick, and the beasts laden?”
“Wonderfully quickly,” said Cyril.
“It was, sir, though I say it as shouldn’t say it. I did get warm over the job. Thought I should have had no end o’ trouble with ’em, but they took it as quietly as lambs; and as soon as they found out what was going on, the pack-mules all hung together and waited their turns, while the saddle mules seemed to be looking on.”
“Of course that was after the—after Diego and the other man—”
“Of course, sir. There’d ha’ been no mule packing if we’d left those two chaps to lift up their lovely voices, and shout to their friends for help. That would not have done, eh, Mr Cyril?”
“No; I suppose not, if we were to escape.”
“And that’s what we had to do, sir; for, as the colonel said to me more than once, ‘We’re not safe, John Manning, for sooner or later they’ll find out why I have come, and then I would not answer for our lives.’ But we’re off now in spite of ’em, and well provisioned too. My word, I did get a warming over those mules; but the colonel’s wonderful handy at the loading, and helped me well. You see, he superintended a lot out in India, when we had mules and camels to carry our baggage. And we did it all fine. Listen.”
They paused, but the faint pattering of the mules’ hoofs was the only sound; and they followed on again, John Manning keeping silence for a time, and then bursting out with a chuckle.
“I told you so yes’day, young gentlemen. The colonel ’ll have some dodge to get us off, and there you are! He led, and it was grand the way in which he had worked it out. He didn’t tell me till to-night, and when he had done, I laughed out. ‘Think it will do, John Manning?’ he said. ‘Do, sir?’ I says. ‘Of course it’ll do;’ and it’s done. Don’t suppose those two liked it much, poor fellows, but they had to put up with it.”
“Oh, John Manning,” cried Perry excitedly, unable to bear it any longer, “how can you treat it so lightly? If you had tied and bound the poor wretches, it would have been different, but to drag them away and kill them in cold blood! It is horrible.”
“Well Iamblessed!” exclaimed the old soldier, in a tone and with an emphasis that showed how he was startled.
“And I’ll never believe that my father meant it to be so.”
John Manning gave Cyril a dig with his elbow, and he winked one eye, but the act was invisible in the darkness.
“Why, it was him as ’vented the plan, sir. I only helped carry it out.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Perry.
“Hadn’t we got to escape, sir?”
“But in such a way!”
“Why, it was a splendid way, Master Perry. But I say I am ashamed of you to go private court-martialling your own father in that way, and find such fault with him for helping you to get off!”
“I’m not going to judge him,” said Perry. “I only say it was horrible.”
“Well, yes, sir, it was, and is,” said the old soldier, giving Cyril another dig. “Can’t say as I should like to lie all night on my back with my hands tied behind me to a big pole, and my ankles and knees served the same, just as if I was going to be roasted for a cannibal’s dinner, and to make it worse, an old worsted stocking rammed into my mouth, and a cloth tied over it and behind my neck, to make sure I didn’t get it out.”
“What!” cried Perry.
“I said a stocking rammed into my month, sir, so as I shouldn’t holler, only breathe. It is hard on a man, but what was you to do?”
“Then you didn’t kill them,” cried Perry joyfully.
“Kill ’em,” said John Manning, in a tone full of disgust. “Did you ever know a British soldier, as was a soldier, go killing folk in that way, sir, when they’d been made prisoners? Master Perry, sir, I’m ashamed o’ you for thinking such a thing o’ your father, as is as fine an officer as ever stepped.”
“Not so much ashamed of me as I am of myself,” said Perry huskily. “Then Diego and the other man are all right?”
“They don’t think so,” said the old soldier with a chuckle. “They’re precious uncomfortable by this time, for I rammed the stockings pretty far, and I tied them knots with those new hide ropes as tight as they’d draw.”
“Quiet there, quiet,” said the colonel sternly, for he had stopped and let the mules pass him. “No more talking for the present. Can you hear anything?”
“No, sir, not a sound,” said John Manning. But even as he spoke there was a faint cry borne on the night wind from high up the valley, and situated as they were, that sound could only have one meaning—pursuit.
Chapter Nineteen.The Dark Way.“They’ve missed us,” said Cyril excitedly. “Shall I run to the leader, sir, and hurry him on?”“No, my lad,” said the colonel, “we shall do nothing by hurrying. Our retreat must be carried out slowly. We can get on no faster than the mules will walk. Keep on as we are.”He left them after listening for a few minutes, and hurried forward to reach his place again by the leading mule, for the sagacious beast had gone steadily on, followed by the others, acting as if it knew its duty as well as a human being—that duty being to follow the easiest course offered by the valley, which ran parallel with one of the outer ranges of foot-hills, there being no track whatever to act as guide.“Sounds quite reviving,” said John Manning in a whisper. “We’ve had so much dull do-nothing times, that it quite freshens one up.”“How long will it be before they overtake us?” said Perry anxiously.“How long have we been coming here, sir?” replied the old soldier.“I don’t know—an hour, I suppose.”“Yes, sir, an hour. Well, if they knew the way we came and followed on, it would take them hours more than it has taken us.”“Why?” said Cyril sharply.“Why, sir? because,” said John Manning, with one of his dry chuckles, “they’ll have to come along very slowly, searching among the trees as they come, for fear of overrunning the scent; for as it’s dark, they’ve got nothing to guide ’em, and I hope they won’t find much when it’s light, for the sun will soon dry up the dew which shows the marks made by brushing it off. We’re all right till they hit the track we’ve come, and that won’t be till some time to-morrow, if they hit it then.”“Oh, they’ll know the way we’ve come,” said Perry, who was breathing hard from excitement.“They must be very clever then, sir,” said John Manning drily. “I should say they’ll think we’ve made for the way we came.”“Speak lower,” said Cyril. “Why?”“Because, says they, these white fellows haven’t got any guides now, and they only know one road, so they’re sure to take it.”“Yes, that sounds likely,” said Perry sharply; “but how was it we could hear them shouting?”“I know that,” said Cyril. “The air is so clear right up here in the mountains, and the wind is this way. It’s like seeing. You know how close the peaks seem when they’re twenty miles away.”“Yes, sir, and sounds run along a hollow like this wonderfully. Why, I remember in one of the passes up in India, we in the rearguard could hear the men talking right away in the front as easily as if we were close to them.”“But look here,” said Cyril. “Diego or the other fellow must have seen which way we came.”“They must have been very sharp then, sir, for I took care to tie a little biscuit bag over each of their heads, only I left holes for their noses to come out and breathe. Don’t you fret, young gentlemen; we’ve got the start, and I don’t believe the fight ’ll begin ’fore to-morrow evening, if it do then.”“You know, then, that it will come to a fight,” said Perry.“Well, say a skirmish, sir. We in the rearguard ’ll have to be divided into three companies, and keep on retiring one after the other, and taking up fresh ground to protect the baggage-train. It’s all right, gentlemen, and it’ll be quite a new experience for you both. You’ll like it as soon as the excitement begins.”“Excitement?” cried Perry. “Suppose one of us is shot.”“Ah, we don’t think of that, sir, in the army,” said John Manning. “We think of the enemy getting that. But, if one of us is so unlucky, why, then, he’ll be clapped on a mule’s back and go on with the baggage-train.”The two boys stopped then to listen, but all was silent save the faint rustling made by the mules in front as they went steadily onward in their leader’s track. The night was dark, but the stars glittered brilliantly overhead in a broad strip which showed how deep down the valley had grown, and how wall-like the sides rose in their blackness.“I say,” whispered Perry, stopping short. “Doesn’t it make you feel shivery?”“No,” said Cyril. “Shuddery. We seem to be going on, down and down, as if this were a slope leading right underground. I shall be glad when the daylight comes, so that we can see where we are going.—Hear any one coming?”“No, but let’s go on, or we may be left behind.”“Well, we are left behind now.”“But suppose we missed the others. It would be horrible.”“No fear,” said Cyril; “the valley’s getting narrower and narrower, and if we keep on, we’re sure to overtake the mules.”Cyril was right, for in a few minutes they heard the faint patter of the hoofs again, and were glad to keep close in the rear, for instinctively the patient beasts picked out the easiest way. And now from being a smooth, grassy, park-like, open valley, the route they followed began to contract into a gorge, from whose wall-like sides masses of stone had been tumbled down in the course of ages, till the bottom was growing more difficult to traverse every mile they passed; while, for aught they knew in the darkness, they might be skirting precipice and pitfall of the most dangerous kind, depending, as they were, entirely upon the mules.They had suggestions of there being unknown depths around, for to their left there was the gurgling, rushing sound of water, apparently deep down beneath the fallen stones, sometimes louder, sometimes dying away into a murmur; till all at once, as they turned a corner into sudden, complete darkness—for the long band of starry light overhead was now shut out—they were startled by a deep echoing, booming roar, and a chilling damp air smote them in the face as it came down, evidently from some gorge to their right, which joined the one along which they had travelled.It needed no explanation. Light failed, but they knew as well as if they were in broad sunshine that they were face to face with a huge cascade which came gliding down from far on high into some terrific chasm far below, while the change from the calm silence of the valley they had traversed to the deafening sound which rose from below, was confusing and strange to such a degree, that they came to a stand.It was not that the noise was so great, as that it seemed, paradoxical as it may sound, so huge and soft, and to pervade all space, to the exclusion of everything else. As Cyril said afterwards, it was a noise that did not pierce and ring in your ears, but stopped them up and smothered all speech; while the darkness was so deep, that no one felt the slightest desire to take a step forward.Perry was the first to make any move, for all at once he felt for Cyril, placed his lips close to his ear, and said excitedly:“My father: can you hear him?”“No,” replied his companion, after a pause. “I can only hear the water.”“Then he must have fallen in.—Here, John Manning. Where is the lantern?”“Tied to the first mule’s pack, sir.”“Oh!” exclaimed Perry excitedly, and then he shouted “Father!” as loudly as he could, but the cry seemed to be driven back in his face.“I’ll light a match, sir,” cried Manning, and after a few moments there was a flash, the gleam of a light, and the shape of the old soldier’s hands, with the tiny flame gleaming ruddily between his fingers; but, save that the boys saw the familiar rugged features of the man’s face for a few moments, they saw nothing more, and the darkness grew painful as the match went out.John Manning struck another light, got the splint well in a blaze, and tossed it from him; but there was nothing to be seen but mist. The boys now shouted together, but without result, and a chilling sensation of dread came over them as they grasped each other’s wet cold hand, not daring to stir, and with the horrible feeling increasing upon them that some terrible tragedy must have happened to their leader.Just when the sensation of horror was at its height, John Manning’s voice was heard.“What had we best do, gentlemen—go forward or go back?”“We ought to go forward,” said Cyril.“Yes, that’s what I feel, sir,” shouted the man; “but next step may be down into the pit.”“We must go on,” said Perry excitedly; “my father wants help. He’s in danger, I’m sure, or he would have made some sign.”As he spoke, he snatched his hand from Cyril’s grasp, and took a step or two forward into the black darkness.“Perry!” shouted Cyril, in a voice which sounded like a faint whisper, as he felt himself seized by the shoulder, John Manning’s great hand closing upon it like a vice, and holding it firmly.“Where’s Master Perry?”No answer escaped Cyril’s lips for a minute. He felt suffocated, and it was not until John Manning had shaken him violently and repeated his question twice, that he panted out the single word, “Gone.”“Can you see where—has he fallen in?” was panted in his ear.“No; he stepped from me to help the colonel, and then he was gone.”John Manning groaned, and Cyril felt the strong man’s hand trembling, and the vibration thrilled through the boy’s frame until every nerve quivered with the horrible dread which assailed him.All at once he felt the lips at his ear again.“Let’s shout together, sir,” was whispered, and they tried hard to make their voices heard, calling together with all their strength, but they did not seem to be able to pierce the roar which pressed, as it were, upon them; and though they repeated the cry at intervals and listened for a reply, none came.“It’s no good, Mr Cyril, sir,” groaned John Manning. “I’m ready, sir, to do anything to try and save my poor colonel and Master Perry; what can I do? It’s like chucking away my life and yours, sir, to stir a step.”“Yes, and I’d help you,” said Cyril despairingly; “but we dare not move in this terrible darkness.”“Shall we try to go back, sir?”“No,” shouted Cyril firmly. “We must not do that.”“What then, sir? What can we do?”“Wait for daylight,” Cyril shouted back in the man’s ear. Then softly to himself: “And pray.”
“They’ve missed us,” said Cyril excitedly. “Shall I run to the leader, sir, and hurry him on?”
“No, my lad,” said the colonel, “we shall do nothing by hurrying. Our retreat must be carried out slowly. We can get on no faster than the mules will walk. Keep on as we are.”
He left them after listening for a few minutes, and hurried forward to reach his place again by the leading mule, for the sagacious beast had gone steadily on, followed by the others, acting as if it knew its duty as well as a human being—that duty being to follow the easiest course offered by the valley, which ran parallel with one of the outer ranges of foot-hills, there being no track whatever to act as guide.
“Sounds quite reviving,” said John Manning in a whisper. “We’ve had so much dull do-nothing times, that it quite freshens one up.”
“How long will it be before they overtake us?” said Perry anxiously.
“How long have we been coming here, sir?” replied the old soldier.
“I don’t know—an hour, I suppose.”
“Yes, sir, an hour. Well, if they knew the way we came and followed on, it would take them hours more than it has taken us.”
“Why?” said Cyril sharply.
“Why, sir? because,” said John Manning, with one of his dry chuckles, “they’ll have to come along very slowly, searching among the trees as they come, for fear of overrunning the scent; for as it’s dark, they’ve got nothing to guide ’em, and I hope they won’t find much when it’s light, for the sun will soon dry up the dew which shows the marks made by brushing it off. We’re all right till they hit the track we’ve come, and that won’t be till some time to-morrow, if they hit it then.”
“Oh, they’ll know the way we’ve come,” said Perry, who was breathing hard from excitement.
“They must be very clever then, sir,” said John Manning drily. “I should say they’ll think we’ve made for the way we came.”
“Speak lower,” said Cyril. “Why?”
“Because, says they, these white fellows haven’t got any guides now, and they only know one road, so they’re sure to take it.”
“Yes, that sounds likely,” said Perry sharply; “but how was it we could hear them shouting?”
“I know that,” said Cyril. “The air is so clear right up here in the mountains, and the wind is this way. It’s like seeing. You know how close the peaks seem when they’re twenty miles away.”
“Yes, sir, and sounds run along a hollow like this wonderfully. Why, I remember in one of the passes up in India, we in the rearguard could hear the men talking right away in the front as easily as if we were close to them.”
“But look here,” said Cyril. “Diego or the other fellow must have seen which way we came.”
“They must have been very sharp then, sir, for I took care to tie a little biscuit bag over each of their heads, only I left holes for their noses to come out and breathe. Don’t you fret, young gentlemen; we’ve got the start, and I don’t believe the fight ’ll begin ’fore to-morrow evening, if it do then.”
“You know, then, that it will come to a fight,” said Perry.
“Well, say a skirmish, sir. We in the rearguard ’ll have to be divided into three companies, and keep on retiring one after the other, and taking up fresh ground to protect the baggage-train. It’s all right, gentlemen, and it’ll be quite a new experience for you both. You’ll like it as soon as the excitement begins.”
“Excitement?” cried Perry. “Suppose one of us is shot.”
“Ah, we don’t think of that, sir, in the army,” said John Manning. “We think of the enemy getting that. But, if one of us is so unlucky, why, then, he’ll be clapped on a mule’s back and go on with the baggage-train.”
The two boys stopped then to listen, but all was silent save the faint rustling made by the mules in front as they went steadily onward in their leader’s track. The night was dark, but the stars glittered brilliantly overhead in a broad strip which showed how deep down the valley had grown, and how wall-like the sides rose in their blackness.
“I say,” whispered Perry, stopping short. “Doesn’t it make you feel shivery?”
“No,” said Cyril. “Shuddery. We seem to be going on, down and down, as if this were a slope leading right underground. I shall be glad when the daylight comes, so that we can see where we are going.—Hear any one coming?”
“No, but let’s go on, or we may be left behind.”
“Well, we are left behind now.”
“But suppose we missed the others. It would be horrible.”
“No fear,” said Cyril; “the valley’s getting narrower and narrower, and if we keep on, we’re sure to overtake the mules.”
Cyril was right, for in a few minutes they heard the faint patter of the hoofs again, and were glad to keep close in the rear, for instinctively the patient beasts picked out the easiest way. And now from being a smooth, grassy, park-like, open valley, the route they followed began to contract into a gorge, from whose wall-like sides masses of stone had been tumbled down in the course of ages, till the bottom was growing more difficult to traverse every mile they passed; while, for aught they knew in the darkness, they might be skirting precipice and pitfall of the most dangerous kind, depending, as they were, entirely upon the mules.
They had suggestions of there being unknown depths around, for to their left there was the gurgling, rushing sound of water, apparently deep down beneath the fallen stones, sometimes louder, sometimes dying away into a murmur; till all at once, as they turned a corner into sudden, complete darkness—for the long band of starry light overhead was now shut out—they were startled by a deep echoing, booming roar, and a chilling damp air smote them in the face as it came down, evidently from some gorge to their right, which joined the one along which they had travelled.
It needed no explanation. Light failed, but they knew as well as if they were in broad sunshine that they were face to face with a huge cascade which came gliding down from far on high into some terrific chasm far below, while the change from the calm silence of the valley they had traversed to the deafening sound which rose from below, was confusing and strange to such a degree, that they came to a stand.
It was not that the noise was so great, as that it seemed, paradoxical as it may sound, so huge and soft, and to pervade all space, to the exclusion of everything else. As Cyril said afterwards, it was a noise that did not pierce and ring in your ears, but stopped them up and smothered all speech; while the darkness was so deep, that no one felt the slightest desire to take a step forward.
Perry was the first to make any move, for all at once he felt for Cyril, placed his lips close to his ear, and said excitedly:
“My father: can you hear him?”
“No,” replied his companion, after a pause. “I can only hear the water.”
“Then he must have fallen in.—Here, John Manning. Where is the lantern?”
“Tied to the first mule’s pack, sir.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Perry excitedly, and then he shouted “Father!” as loudly as he could, but the cry seemed to be driven back in his face.
“I’ll light a match, sir,” cried Manning, and after a few moments there was a flash, the gleam of a light, and the shape of the old soldier’s hands, with the tiny flame gleaming ruddily between his fingers; but, save that the boys saw the familiar rugged features of the man’s face for a few moments, they saw nothing more, and the darkness grew painful as the match went out.
John Manning struck another light, got the splint well in a blaze, and tossed it from him; but there was nothing to be seen but mist. The boys now shouted together, but without result, and a chilling sensation of dread came over them as they grasped each other’s wet cold hand, not daring to stir, and with the horrible feeling increasing upon them that some terrible tragedy must have happened to their leader.
Just when the sensation of horror was at its height, John Manning’s voice was heard.
“What had we best do, gentlemen—go forward or go back?”
“We ought to go forward,” said Cyril.
“Yes, that’s what I feel, sir,” shouted the man; “but next step may be down into the pit.”
“We must go on,” said Perry excitedly; “my father wants help. He’s in danger, I’m sure, or he would have made some sign.”
As he spoke, he snatched his hand from Cyril’s grasp, and took a step or two forward into the black darkness.
“Perry!” shouted Cyril, in a voice which sounded like a faint whisper, as he felt himself seized by the shoulder, John Manning’s great hand closing upon it like a vice, and holding it firmly.
“Where’s Master Perry?”
No answer escaped Cyril’s lips for a minute. He felt suffocated, and it was not until John Manning had shaken him violently and repeated his question twice, that he panted out the single word, “Gone.”
“Can you see where—has he fallen in?” was panted in his ear.
“No; he stepped from me to help the colonel, and then he was gone.”
John Manning groaned, and Cyril felt the strong man’s hand trembling, and the vibration thrilled through the boy’s frame until every nerve quivered with the horrible dread which assailed him.
All at once he felt the lips at his ear again.
“Let’s shout together, sir,” was whispered, and they tried hard to make their voices heard, calling together with all their strength, but they did not seem to be able to pierce the roar which pressed, as it were, upon them; and though they repeated the cry at intervals and listened for a reply, none came.
“It’s no good, Mr Cyril, sir,” groaned John Manning. “I’m ready, sir, to do anything to try and save my poor colonel and Master Perry; what can I do? It’s like chucking away my life and yours, sir, to stir a step.”
“Yes, and I’d help you,” said Cyril despairingly; “but we dare not move in this terrible darkness.”
“Shall we try to go back, sir?”
“No,” shouted Cyril firmly. “We must not do that.”
“What then, sir? What can we do?”
“Wait for daylight,” Cyril shouted back in the man’s ear. Then softly to himself: “And pray.”
Chapter Twenty.Waiting for Daylight.As John Manning afterwards said, those were hours to make a man’s hair turn grey, and to Cyril every minute seemed to be indefinitely prolonged, as he stood till he felt his knees begin to give way beneath him, and finally sank cautiously down upon them—John Manning imitating his movement—till they both rested upon wet, slippery rock.There they crouched with strained ears, waiting for the light which seemed as if it would never come, while the noise was crushing them back, as it were, upon themselves, and dulling their brains till all was to Cyril like some terrible dream. There were moments when he felt as if his senses were leaving him, and the sensation was almost welcome, for the agony at last grew greater than he could bear.He had reached this pitch as he crouched there with his arm drawn tightly through John Manning’s, when he felt the man’s grasp upon him loosened, and the next moment he felt a thrust.He knew directly what it meant. Following the movement, he became conscious of some pale, bluish-looking smoke on his left, and as this grew clearer, he realised that it was not smoke, but a thick mist between him and the coming light of day; but for a few minutes there was nothing more.Then by slow degrees this dim, grey appearance grew and expanded, till the boy made out that the mist rose out of the depths before them, and at last that he and John Manning were crouching upon a ledge of rock on one side of a great gulf, down into which the waters thundered from their right, while overhead the wall of rock rose up nearly straight, the light of day being shut out by the dense mist which rose from below.This light increased rapidly now in pale gleams from the left, and a faint, soft diffusion from above, showing that they were where a vast rift in the mountain joined at right angles the valley they had descended, while the rocky sides were so close that they nearly met overhead. But some time elapsed before they could make out more, the steamy mist obscuring everything, and preventing them from seeing anything of Perry or the colonel.They had both risen to their feet, and clasping hands, began, as soon as it was possible to see a step or two, to try to penetrate farther in; but before they had gone half-a-dozen steps, John Manning, who looked misty and unsubstantial to Cyril, stopped short and pointed downward in front of him to where the rock looked slippery as glass.“He went down there, sir,” he shouted, and loosening his grasp, threw himself down upon his chest, and wormed himself forward, so as to get his head over the gulf and look down.Cyril watched the man in agony, fully expecting to see him glide forward out of sight; but in a few minutes he worked himself back, rose, and placed his lips to the boy’s ear again.“Can’t see. All one thick cloud of spray.”Cyril gave a great start, for at that moment, from out of the misty gloom, the colonel strode forward to meet them.“Thank goodness,” he shouted. “I was very nervous about—Where’s Perry?”Cyril and John Manning, whose faces had lit up with pleasure, now gave him a despairing look, which made him seize Cyril by both arms.“My boy!” he gasped. “Where’s my boy?”There was no reply. There was none needed, for the colonel read in their faces what was wrong. He had seen them, too, trying to look down into the misty gulf below, and there was a horrible look of despair in his countenance as he pointed mutely down into the terrible-looking gloom.Then going right to the edge, he tried to look over, but drew back a little and stretched out his hand to John Manning, hooking his fingers the while.The old soldier stepped forward. Long discipline and training had made him ready to grasp his master’s wishes, and planting his right foot against a projecting piece of the rock, he hooked his fingers in the colonel’s, and then hung slightly back, giving a little and a little more, till the latter was able to lean right out and gaze down.It was by this time far lighter, and the mist was here and there transparent, as it came eddying up more and more like the clouds of smoke from a fire, but there was no piercing even the lightest parts; and giving this up in despair, Colonel Campion rose up, made a sign to them to stand firm, and then stepped rapidly in the direction from which they had seen him come.One minute they saw his figure growing fainter along by the side of the rock-wall, the next he had disappeared in the gloom and mist.“Let’s follow,” said Cyril, with his lips to John Manning’s ear.The man shook his head.“Soldier never leaves his post without orders,” he replied. “Better stay, sir.”Cyril hesitated, but stayed; now watching the spot where the colonel had disappeared, now letting his eyes wander round the place, which, as the growing light of day penetrated it more and more, was still awful enough, with its whirling mist, gloom, and deafening roar of invisible water falling behind the pearly veil, but far from being as terrible as when it was all shrouded in deep obscurity.For the light came down softly from high above their heads, showing that though the rocky walls nearly approached, there was a firmly-defined band that would probably be bright and golden when the sun rose, but John Manning’s words were justified as he suddenly leaned forward and said:“What a place, sir! It’s a wonder there ain’t four of us gone for good.”Just then the colonel reappeared with half-a-dozen of the raw hide ropes used about the mules for lassoes, tethering, and binding on their loads.These he threw down, and John Manning followed his example as he began to knot them together.“Bear me?” shouted the colonel to the old soldier.“Two of you, sir,” said the latter; “but you lower, I’ll go.”The colonel shook his head angrily—the task of speaking was too much in his state of anguish—and he went on trying the knots he made, while Cyril picked up one end and examined a couple of the knots before making a strong loop, and passing it over his head and shoulders.His action passed un-noticed for a few moments, for he had drawn back; but when the last rope was joined to the others, the colonel turned and grasped the boy’s intention.“God bless you, my lad,” he cried, “but I cannot let you go.”Cyril hardly heard a word in the midst of that deep-toned, booming thunder, but he grasped their import, and stood firm.“Yes,” he shouted. “I’m light. Lower me down.”A curious sensation attacked him as he spoke, and he knew that he was turning pale, but he faced in the direction of the gulf, and tried hard to pull himself together.“Perry would have gone down after me,” he said to himself, “and it isn’t so very dangerous after all.”But all the while he knew that it was, and also that it was a task calling for nerve, determination, and strength, all three of which he seemed to be wanting in when face to face with the dense, wreathing mist of that terrible gulf.“I don’t care. I’m afraid, horribly afraid,” he muttered between his teeth. “But I’ll go. I’d go if it was twice as dangerous, if it’s only to let father know I’m not all bad.”Meanwhile, a short discussion, painfully hard, went on between the colonel and John Manning, the former hesitating, the latter insisting.“He’s light, and can do it better than you. Perhaps we couldn’t pull you up, nor you me.”Then the colonel held out his hand to Cyril, who grasped it eagerly, but in an instant the colonel’s face began to work, and he drew the lad to his breast, held him there for a brief moment, and then released him.“I’m not afraid now,” shouted Cyril, and he stepped at once to the edge, and, as the line was tightened, went down on his face, passed his legs over, and, grasping the line with both hands, glided down; seeing the faces of the two men who held the rope disappear, then the shelf; and the next minute, as he was lowered, he saw nothing but the light mist which closed him in, and struck dank and chilly to his face and hands.He had expected to swing to and fro in the air, and had prepared himself to grasp at the rock, and try to prevent himself from turning round and round; but to his surprise he found that he was on a sharp incline, down which he was sliding easily, for the rock was covered with a slippery mossy growth, over which his hands glided whenever he tried to check his course; for, in spite of his determination, the desire to do this mastered him. Anything to stop himself from going down into that awful place at some terrible depth below, where the water was churning round and round, and tossing up this mist of spray. To go down into that must mean instant death; and after all, what good was he going to do? Poor Perry had slipped, gone over the edge, and then not fallen headlong, but glided down at a terrible rate, with no power to arrest his course; and, if he were not down there below, he must have been swept out by the stream, and be far away down the river by then.These thoughts came quickly as he slipped gently down, keeping his face toward the roaring water and churning mist, but seeing nothing; for the darkness now, as he was lowered more, began to increase.Down, down, down! Was there no end to the rope? How long it seemed before it was checked. Still Cyril tried hard to make out something of the whereabouts of his friend. But no; if he turned to the right, toward where there was the hissing noise of the falling water, all was black, as black as it was below in the fearful hollow into which it plunged, to send up that deafening, reverberating thunder. At last to the left there, where he knew the chasm must open into the valley by which they came, he could see a faint suggestion of light, such light as one sees when looking towards a candle with the eyes tightly closed, and when trying to peer through the veined lids.Then, to his horror, he was being lowered again, for he had believed that the end of the hide rope was reached.It seemed a great depth down before there was another check, though probably it was not more than a dozen or twenty feet; and once more, as he tried to grasp the slimy rock behind him, he peered about vainly, knowing that if poor Perry had once begun to glide down that horrible slope, he must have gone right on down to the bottom.Then there was a heavier strain upon his chest, and to his intense relief, now that he felt how vain his effort had been, he turned his face toward the rocks, and tried to help by climbing, as he was being drawn up.Vain effort. Hands and feet glided over the slippery moss, and he soon subsided, and waited in increasing agony, while he was steadily hauled up. For, in descending, his senses were hard at work, and he was momentarily hoping to rest upon some shelf where he might come upon Perry. But now he had nothing to do but think of himself and his risks, and, in spite of the effort to be brave, he could not keep his mind from dwelling upon the knots of the several ropes, and wondering whether those John Manning tied were as firm as the colonel’s, and whether the rope itself might not have been frayed by passing over the rocks, and give way just before he reached the shelf.At last, with head burning, hands and feet like ice, and clothes drenched with the spray, he felt himself seized by John Manning’s strong fingers and lifted into safety.It had now become light enough for him to see well around; the mist on high was turning roseate and warm by reflection, for the sun was rising; and the colonel turned from him with a look of agony, and stood with his back to them, while John Manning unloosed the rope.“Nobody could come out of such a place as that, my lad,” he said, “alive.”
As John Manning afterwards said, those were hours to make a man’s hair turn grey, and to Cyril every minute seemed to be indefinitely prolonged, as he stood till he felt his knees begin to give way beneath him, and finally sank cautiously down upon them—John Manning imitating his movement—till they both rested upon wet, slippery rock.
There they crouched with strained ears, waiting for the light which seemed as if it would never come, while the noise was crushing them back, as it were, upon themselves, and dulling their brains till all was to Cyril like some terrible dream. There were moments when he felt as if his senses were leaving him, and the sensation was almost welcome, for the agony at last grew greater than he could bear.
He had reached this pitch as he crouched there with his arm drawn tightly through John Manning’s, when he felt the man’s grasp upon him loosened, and the next moment he felt a thrust.
He knew directly what it meant. Following the movement, he became conscious of some pale, bluish-looking smoke on his left, and as this grew clearer, he realised that it was not smoke, but a thick mist between him and the coming light of day; but for a few minutes there was nothing more.
Then by slow degrees this dim, grey appearance grew and expanded, till the boy made out that the mist rose out of the depths before them, and at last that he and John Manning were crouching upon a ledge of rock on one side of a great gulf, down into which the waters thundered from their right, while overhead the wall of rock rose up nearly straight, the light of day being shut out by the dense mist which rose from below.
This light increased rapidly now in pale gleams from the left, and a faint, soft diffusion from above, showing that they were where a vast rift in the mountain joined at right angles the valley they had descended, while the rocky sides were so close that they nearly met overhead. But some time elapsed before they could make out more, the steamy mist obscuring everything, and preventing them from seeing anything of Perry or the colonel.
They had both risen to their feet, and clasping hands, began, as soon as it was possible to see a step or two, to try to penetrate farther in; but before they had gone half-a-dozen steps, John Manning, who looked misty and unsubstantial to Cyril, stopped short and pointed downward in front of him to where the rock looked slippery as glass.
“He went down there, sir,” he shouted, and loosening his grasp, threw himself down upon his chest, and wormed himself forward, so as to get his head over the gulf and look down.
Cyril watched the man in agony, fully expecting to see him glide forward out of sight; but in a few minutes he worked himself back, rose, and placed his lips to the boy’s ear again.
“Can’t see. All one thick cloud of spray.”
Cyril gave a great start, for at that moment, from out of the misty gloom, the colonel strode forward to meet them.
“Thank goodness,” he shouted. “I was very nervous about—Where’s Perry?”
Cyril and John Manning, whose faces had lit up with pleasure, now gave him a despairing look, which made him seize Cyril by both arms.
“My boy!” he gasped. “Where’s my boy?”
There was no reply. There was none needed, for the colonel read in their faces what was wrong. He had seen them, too, trying to look down into the misty gulf below, and there was a horrible look of despair in his countenance as he pointed mutely down into the terrible-looking gloom.
Then going right to the edge, he tried to look over, but drew back a little and stretched out his hand to John Manning, hooking his fingers the while.
The old soldier stepped forward. Long discipline and training had made him ready to grasp his master’s wishes, and planting his right foot against a projecting piece of the rock, he hooked his fingers in the colonel’s, and then hung slightly back, giving a little and a little more, till the latter was able to lean right out and gaze down.
It was by this time far lighter, and the mist was here and there transparent, as it came eddying up more and more like the clouds of smoke from a fire, but there was no piercing even the lightest parts; and giving this up in despair, Colonel Campion rose up, made a sign to them to stand firm, and then stepped rapidly in the direction from which they had seen him come.
One minute they saw his figure growing fainter along by the side of the rock-wall, the next he had disappeared in the gloom and mist.
“Let’s follow,” said Cyril, with his lips to John Manning’s ear.
The man shook his head.
“Soldier never leaves his post without orders,” he replied. “Better stay, sir.”
Cyril hesitated, but stayed; now watching the spot where the colonel had disappeared, now letting his eyes wander round the place, which, as the growing light of day penetrated it more and more, was still awful enough, with its whirling mist, gloom, and deafening roar of invisible water falling behind the pearly veil, but far from being as terrible as when it was all shrouded in deep obscurity.
For the light came down softly from high above their heads, showing that though the rocky walls nearly approached, there was a firmly-defined band that would probably be bright and golden when the sun rose, but John Manning’s words were justified as he suddenly leaned forward and said:
“What a place, sir! It’s a wonder there ain’t four of us gone for good.”
Just then the colonel reappeared with half-a-dozen of the raw hide ropes used about the mules for lassoes, tethering, and binding on their loads.
These he threw down, and John Manning followed his example as he began to knot them together.
“Bear me?” shouted the colonel to the old soldier.
“Two of you, sir,” said the latter; “but you lower, I’ll go.”
The colonel shook his head angrily—the task of speaking was too much in his state of anguish—and he went on trying the knots he made, while Cyril picked up one end and examined a couple of the knots before making a strong loop, and passing it over his head and shoulders.
His action passed un-noticed for a few moments, for he had drawn back; but when the last rope was joined to the others, the colonel turned and grasped the boy’s intention.
“God bless you, my lad,” he cried, “but I cannot let you go.”
Cyril hardly heard a word in the midst of that deep-toned, booming thunder, but he grasped their import, and stood firm.
“Yes,” he shouted. “I’m light. Lower me down.”
A curious sensation attacked him as he spoke, and he knew that he was turning pale, but he faced in the direction of the gulf, and tried hard to pull himself together.
“Perry would have gone down after me,” he said to himself, “and it isn’t so very dangerous after all.”
But all the while he knew that it was, and also that it was a task calling for nerve, determination, and strength, all three of which he seemed to be wanting in when face to face with the dense, wreathing mist of that terrible gulf.
“I don’t care. I’m afraid, horribly afraid,” he muttered between his teeth. “But I’ll go. I’d go if it was twice as dangerous, if it’s only to let father know I’m not all bad.”
Meanwhile, a short discussion, painfully hard, went on between the colonel and John Manning, the former hesitating, the latter insisting.
“He’s light, and can do it better than you. Perhaps we couldn’t pull you up, nor you me.”
Then the colonel held out his hand to Cyril, who grasped it eagerly, but in an instant the colonel’s face began to work, and he drew the lad to his breast, held him there for a brief moment, and then released him.
“I’m not afraid now,” shouted Cyril, and he stepped at once to the edge, and, as the line was tightened, went down on his face, passed his legs over, and, grasping the line with both hands, glided down; seeing the faces of the two men who held the rope disappear, then the shelf; and the next minute, as he was lowered, he saw nothing but the light mist which closed him in, and struck dank and chilly to his face and hands.
He had expected to swing to and fro in the air, and had prepared himself to grasp at the rock, and try to prevent himself from turning round and round; but to his surprise he found that he was on a sharp incline, down which he was sliding easily, for the rock was covered with a slippery mossy growth, over which his hands glided whenever he tried to check his course; for, in spite of his determination, the desire to do this mastered him. Anything to stop himself from going down into that awful place at some terrible depth below, where the water was churning round and round, and tossing up this mist of spray. To go down into that must mean instant death; and after all, what good was he going to do? Poor Perry had slipped, gone over the edge, and then not fallen headlong, but glided down at a terrible rate, with no power to arrest his course; and, if he were not down there below, he must have been swept out by the stream, and be far away down the river by then.
These thoughts came quickly as he slipped gently down, keeping his face toward the roaring water and churning mist, but seeing nothing; for the darkness now, as he was lowered more, began to increase.
Down, down, down! Was there no end to the rope? How long it seemed before it was checked. Still Cyril tried hard to make out something of the whereabouts of his friend. But no; if he turned to the right, toward where there was the hissing noise of the falling water, all was black, as black as it was below in the fearful hollow into which it plunged, to send up that deafening, reverberating thunder. At last to the left there, where he knew the chasm must open into the valley by which they came, he could see a faint suggestion of light, such light as one sees when looking towards a candle with the eyes tightly closed, and when trying to peer through the veined lids.
Then, to his horror, he was being lowered again, for he had believed that the end of the hide rope was reached.
It seemed a great depth down before there was another check, though probably it was not more than a dozen or twenty feet; and once more, as he tried to grasp the slimy rock behind him, he peered about vainly, knowing that if poor Perry had once begun to glide down that horrible slope, he must have gone right on down to the bottom.
Then there was a heavier strain upon his chest, and to his intense relief, now that he felt how vain his effort had been, he turned his face toward the rocks, and tried to help by climbing, as he was being drawn up.
Vain effort. Hands and feet glided over the slippery moss, and he soon subsided, and waited in increasing agony, while he was steadily hauled up. For, in descending, his senses were hard at work, and he was momentarily hoping to rest upon some shelf where he might come upon Perry. But now he had nothing to do but think of himself and his risks, and, in spite of the effort to be brave, he could not keep his mind from dwelling upon the knots of the several ropes, and wondering whether those John Manning tied were as firm as the colonel’s, and whether the rope itself might not have been frayed by passing over the rocks, and give way just before he reached the shelf.
At last, with head burning, hands and feet like ice, and clothes drenched with the spray, he felt himself seized by John Manning’s strong fingers and lifted into safety.
It had now become light enough for him to see well around; the mist on high was turning roseate and warm by reflection, for the sun was rising; and the colonel turned from him with a look of agony, and stood with his back to them, while John Manning unloosed the rope.
“Nobody could come out of such a place as that, my lad,” he said, “alive.”
Chapter Twenty One.The Pursuit.“I’ll go down again, sir,” said Cyril, when the colonel had turned back, and he had tried to make him understand the nature of the place, as far as he had been able to make out.But the colonel shook his head.“We must go back, and try to reach the stream where it flows out, my boy,” he said. “We can do no good here.—Come, Manning, and fetch the mules.”John Manning stared, and seemed as if he could not understand.“The mules, sir—go back and find the stream? What about the Indians, if they are coming on?” The colonel had forgotten their pursuers. “The mules,” he said then; and he led the way on into the mist, Cyril following him wonderingly along the continuation of the rocky shelf for about a hundred yards, and glancing back from time to time to see that John Manning was close behind, untying the knots of the hide ropes as he came.Every step took them nearer to the great waterfall, and in the dim light Cyril now made out that the path was wider; but all at once it seemed to end in front of a gleaming sheet of water reaching from the thick mist below right up to where the rock-walls appeared to give place to the spray-clouded sky. And there, just before them, all huddled together, stood the mules, ready to turn toward them as they approached.“They brought me as far as this last night,” said the colonel, “and then stopped. No wonder, poor brutes, they would go no farther; and I was lost in the darkness, and dared not turn back. I stood with them till daybreak, hoping you all were safe, and then—”Cyril uttered a wild cry of joy, one which made itself heard by all, for a bare-headed misty figure, whose presence they had not been aware of as it followed them, suddenly caught the colonel’s arm, placed its lips to his ear, and cried:“Quick, father—the Indians; they’re coming down the valley fast.”In the face of such news as Perry bore, there was no time to ask questions about his escape, but as the colonel grasped the boy’s arm, trembling the while with excitement, his heart throbbing with joy, he cried:“How far away?”“Not half a mile. I could see them coming down the valley.”“This way,” said the colonel promptly, and he supplemented his words with gestures, as, still holding his son’s arm tightly, he led them on through the mist of fine spray inward toward where the mules were standing together. And now as they approached the fall, a great deal of the horror caused by the darkness and noise passed away, for the mist grew opalescent from the sunshine far above, and though progress looked terribly perilous, they could see the extent of their danger, and there was no mystery of hidden peril, no constant dread of unknown chasms waiting to engulf them at their next stride.For they knew now that they were in one of Nature’s wildest and grandest rifts, where a goodly-sized river, after tearing its way along the profound depths of a narrow gorge, had reached a spot where by some earthquake convulsion this gorge had suddenly, as it were, broken in two. One part had dropped several hundred feet, forming a profound chasm into which the water from above leaped in one great glistening wave, smooth as so much gleaming glass, to be broken up into spray as it reached the jagged rocks below, and there eddy and foam in what was undoubtedly a huge basin, from which the mist arose, while the broken water swept on down into the valley to join the little stream by whose side they had come.The leading mule threw up its head as the colonel approached, and its parted teeth and drawn-back lips suggested that it was whinnying a welcome or a demand for food. But the great fall before them, and the knowledge that at any time the Indians might appear from out of the dense mist and commence their attack, gave the colonel eyes for only one thing, and that a way out of what seemed to be a perfectcul de sac.The deafening roar, of course, prevented all consultation, and the mist added to the confusion; but these had their advantages for the fugitives, veiling their actions from their pursuers, and preventing any sound made by the mules from being heard.And as Cyril watched their leader’s actions, and then caught an encouraging look from John Manning, who gave his head a jerk in the colonel’s direction, as if to say: “It’s all right, he’ll find his way out,” the boy felt in better spirits. The terrors of the night were gone; they were all there safe, and there was the possibility of the Indians feeling as much in awe of the terrible chasm as they had themselves, and hence shrinking from making their way through the mist, and giving them the credit of going on down the valley by the greater stream which issued from beneath the falls.Cyril’s thoughts were many, and in the reaction from the terrible despair from which he had suffered, he was ready to accept anything short of the marvellous; and consequently he was in nowise surprised on seeing their leader go right on into the darkness, peering here and there, and the leading mule follow him and Perry, the rest getting in motion directly, and going on into the mist till the last had disappeared.Just then John Manning, who had turned to look back, wiping the moisture from his face, clapped Cyril on the shoulder, and placed his lips close to the boy’s ear.“Can’t see ’em coming. This’ll scare ’em from following. They’ll think nobody but mad folk would ever come along here. I say, he’s found a way behind the fall.”But John Manning was wrong.They followed the direction taken by the last mule, together stepping cautiously onward through the mist, for the rugged shelf they were on was dripping with moisture, and felt slippery beneath their feet, while to their left there was the huge body of water always gliding down into the spray which eddied up to meet it. Then, to their intense astonishment, they stepped right out of the dense, clinging mist, which hid everything, into a clear atmosphere. It was quite in twilight that they stood, but the falling water brought with it a cool current of air; and as they both stopped for a moment to gaze and wonder, there to their left was the great fall rushing down clear of the rock behind, and leaving plenty of room for any one to pass through to the other side, beneath the water, had the shelf been continued there; but it passed round to their right, as if Nature had made a natural staircase, zigzagging up the side of the gorge; and there, some distance above them, were the colonel and Perry, mounting slowly after the leading mule, which showed no hesitation about proceeding now that it was day.John Manning nodded, and they followed up and up the giddy path, now leaving the fall some distance behind, now approaching it again, but always near enough to be terribly impressed by the vast curve of gleaming black water, which, as they rose higher, could be plainly seen plunging down into what appeared to them as a dark grey cloud.From time to time the colonel looked back and waved his hand, stopping at last at a spot where the natural track curved suddenly round a sharp point of rock. The mules followed one by one, their heads right down, and their feet carefully planted at every step, till the last had gone round; and then in turn Cyril and John Manning climbed up, and before passing the sharp rock, stopped to gaze down into the vast rift up whose side they had mounted so far.From this point the whole of the wild zigzag was visible right to where the grey veil of mist shut off the level shelf where they had passed the night, and John Manning’s lips had just parted to utter some words about the horrible nature of the place, when Cyril started back and jerked his garment, to make him follow suit.The old soldier was keenly alive to danger, and dropping upon his knees, he joined Cyril in cautiously looking over the edge of the rocks they had just ascended, softly bringing the muzzle of his piece to bear upon what he saw.For, as he gazed down, there in the gloom, not two hundred yards away as an arrow would fly, but at a distance which it had taken them nearly half an hour to climb by the gradual ascent, was the figure of an Indian standing out just clear of the mist, and peering cautiously about, as if searching every rock and crevice around.The next minute another had joined him, coming out of the mist cautiously, and with the tentative motion of one who was on strange ground.Then came another and another, with their figures looking huge and grotesque as they stood in the mist, and then suddenly shrinking into the stature as of dwarfs, as soon as they were clear.One by one they came on, till there were at least thirty collected together, and all gazing about cautiously, as if in dread.As Cyril knew from his own experience, they could only converse with difficulty, so that he was not surprised to see that one of them, who appeared to be the leader, was gesticulating and pointing here and there, and finally upward toward where the two fugitives were watching every act.But, as the boy watched the Indians keenly, it was very evident that they were far from confident, and he soon decided that they were as much panic-stricken by the horror of the place as he and his friends had been overnight. At last, though after a great deal of pointing upward and hesitation, it seemed as if they were all reluctantly about to continue the pursuit, for their leader took a few steps forward and waved them on.But they did not stir, save to crowd together a little more and press toward the wall of rock, away from the fall.“They don’t like it,” whispered John Manning, for it was becoming possible, where they lay, to make a few words audible without shouting. “Strikes me they’re so scared, that if we were to send one of these big pieces of rock rolling down, they’d beat a retreat.”“Look, look!” whispered Cyril.“I am,” said John Manning, for all at once a couple more of the Indians suddenly appeared from out of the mist, in whom they recognised Diego and his fellow-guide, the former holding something in his hand which he was showing to all in turn with a great deal of gesticulation, accompanied by eager pointings down into the depths below the fall, and back through the mist.“What’s he got there?” whispered John Manning. “Something to eat? He wants them to go back.”“I know,” said Cyril so loudly that his companion caught his arm. “It’s Perry’s cap.”“What!” cried the old soldier. “I know how it is. They’ve found it somewhere down the stream, where it had been washed, and he’s saying that we must all have tumbled in there and been swept away.”This appeared to be a very likely interpretation, for, with a great display of eagerness, the men hurried back through the mist till all were gone.“Let’s make haste on and overtake them,” said Cyril eagerly. “I want to ask Perry where he left his cap.”“And he’ll tell you, sir, that he didn’t leave it anywhere, but had it took away by the water.”“Are they in sight?” said the colonel, bending down over them. “You were quite right. This is an excellent place to keep them back. Yes,” he continued, on hearing the surmises of the two watchers, “that must be it, and they have gone back to follow the stream.”He led the way again, and they followed to where Perry was anxiously looking back, as the mules steadily went on higher and higher up the gloomy gorge, where the great stream was hurrying and foaming along toward where it would make its plunge; while the thunderous roar of the fall was rapidly dying away, shut out, as it now was, by curve after curve of the valley.The place was black and forbidding enough, but as they got on another mile or two, their journey was brightened by the glow upon the ridges and slopes on high where the sun reached, and the grassy sides of the lower mountains looked delightful after their long experience of black, dripping stone.Many a look back was given as they went on higher and higher, every step taking them more into the mighty range, and fortunately due west; and, weary as they all were, intense was the longing to hurry their steps. But that last was impossible. They were dependent upon the mules for their supply of food, and the cautious animals only had one pace, and this regulated their masters’.At last, when utterly exhausted, a halt was called just at a sharp turn in the gorge, where water could be reached, and the rocks sheltered them and the mules from pursuers; while they gave them the opportunity of scanning the narrow way for nearly a mile, so that if a watch was kept, it was impossible for them to be taken by surprise.There was some stunted herbage too, here, upon which, as soon as they had drunk, the mules began to browse. But no load was removed, arms were ready for an attack, and the only mule that was lightened was the one that bore the provisions.And now Perry was questioned more closely about his escape, and Cyril heard it from his lips for the first time.
“I’ll go down again, sir,” said Cyril, when the colonel had turned back, and he had tried to make him understand the nature of the place, as far as he had been able to make out.
But the colonel shook his head.
“We must go back, and try to reach the stream where it flows out, my boy,” he said. “We can do no good here.—Come, Manning, and fetch the mules.”
John Manning stared, and seemed as if he could not understand.
“The mules, sir—go back and find the stream? What about the Indians, if they are coming on?” The colonel had forgotten their pursuers. “The mules,” he said then; and he led the way on into the mist, Cyril following him wonderingly along the continuation of the rocky shelf for about a hundred yards, and glancing back from time to time to see that John Manning was close behind, untying the knots of the hide ropes as he came.
Every step took them nearer to the great waterfall, and in the dim light Cyril now made out that the path was wider; but all at once it seemed to end in front of a gleaming sheet of water reaching from the thick mist below right up to where the rock-walls appeared to give place to the spray-clouded sky. And there, just before them, all huddled together, stood the mules, ready to turn toward them as they approached.
“They brought me as far as this last night,” said the colonel, “and then stopped. No wonder, poor brutes, they would go no farther; and I was lost in the darkness, and dared not turn back. I stood with them till daybreak, hoping you all were safe, and then—”
Cyril uttered a wild cry of joy, one which made itself heard by all, for a bare-headed misty figure, whose presence they had not been aware of as it followed them, suddenly caught the colonel’s arm, placed its lips to his ear, and cried:
“Quick, father—the Indians; they’re coming down the valley fast.”
In the face of such news as Perry bore, there was no time to ask questions about his escape, but as the colonel grasped the boy’s arm, trembling the while with excitement, his heart throbbing with joy, he cried:
“How far away?”
“Not half a mile. I could see them coming down the valley.”
“This way,” said the colonel promptly, and he supplemented his words with gestures, as, still holding his son’s arm tightly, he led them on through the mist of fine spray inward toward where the mules were standing together. And now as they approached the fall, a great deal of the horror caused by the darkness and noise passed away, for the mist grew opalescent from the sunshine far above, and though progress looked terribly perilous, they could see the extent of their danger, and there was no mystery of hidden peril, no constant dread of unknown chasms waiting to engulf them at their next stride.
For they knew now that they were in one of Nature’s wildest and grandest rifts, where a goodly-sized river, after tearing its way along the profound depths of a narrow gorge, had reached a spot where by some earthquake convulsion this gorge had suddenly, as it were, broken in two. One part had dropped several hundred feet, forming a profound chasm into which the water from above leaped in one great glistening wave, smooth as so much gleaming glass, to be broken up into spray as it reached the jagged rocks below, and there eddy and foam in what was undoubtedly a huge basin, from which the mist arose, while the broken water swept on down into the valley to join the little stream by whose side they had come.
The leading mule threw up its head as the colonel approached, and its parted teeth and drawn-back lips suggested that it was whinnying a welcome or a demand for food. But the great fall before them, and the knowledge that at any time the Indians might appear from out of the dense mist and commence their attack, gave the colonel eyes for only one thing, and that a way out of what seemed to be a perfectcul de sac.
The deafening roar, of course, prevented all consultation, and the mist added to the confusion; but these had their advantages for the fugitives, veiling their actions from their pursuers, and preventing any sound made by the mules from being heard.
And as Cyril watched their leader’s actions, and then caught an encouraging look from John Manning, who gave his head a jerk in the colonel’s direction, as if to say: “It’s all right, he’ll find his way out,” the boy felt in better spirits. The terrors of the night were gone; they were all there safe, and there was the possibility of the Indians feeling as much in awe of the terrible chasm as they had themselves, and hence shrinking from making their way through the mist, and giving them the credit of going on down the valley by the greater stream which issued from beneath the falls.
Cyril’s thoughts were many, and in the reaction from the terrible despair from which he had suffered, he was ready to accept anything short of the marvellous; and consequently he was in nowise surprised on seeing their leader go right on into the darkness, peering here and there, and the leading mule follow him and Perry, the rest getting in motion directly, and going on into the mist till the last had disappeared.
Just then John Manning, who had turned to look back, wiping the moisture from his face, clapped Cyril on the shoulder, and placed his lips close to the boy’s ear.
“Can’t see ’em coming. This’ll scare ’em from following. They’ll think nobody but mad folk would ever come along here. I say, he’s found a way behind the fall.”
But John Manning was wrong.
They followed the direction taken by the last mule, together stepping cautiously onward through the mist, for the rugged shelf they were on was dripping with moisture, and felt slippery beneath their feet, while to their left there was the huge body of water always gliding down into the spray which eddied up to meet it. Then, to their intense astonishment, they stepped right out of the dense, clinging mist, which hid everything, into a clear atmosphere. It was quite in twilight that they stood, but the falling water brought with it a cool current of air; and as they both stopped for a moment to gaze and wonder, there to their left was the great fall rushing down clear of the rock behind, and leaving plenty of room for any one to pass through to the other side, beneath the water, had the shelf been continued there; but it passed round to their right, as if Nature had made a natural staircase, zigzagging up the side of the gorge; and there, some distance above them, were the colonel and Perry, mounting slowly after the leading mule, which showed no hesitation about proceeding now that it was day.
John Manning nodded, and they followed up and up the giddy path, now leaving the fall some distance behind, now approaching it again, but always near enough to be terribly impressed by the vast curve of gleaming black water, which, as they rose higher, could be plainly seen plunging down into what appeared to them as a dark grey cloud.
From time to time the colonel looked back and waved his hand, stopping at last at a spot where the natural track curved suddenly round a sharp point of rock. The mules followed one by one, their heads right down, and their feet carefully planted at every step, till the last had gone round; and then in turn Cyril and John Manning climbed up, and before passing the sharp rock, stopped to gaze down into the vast rift up whose side they had mounted so far.
From this point the whole of the wild zigzag was visible right to where the grey veil of mist shut off the level shelf where they had passed the night, and John Manning’s lips had just parted to utter some words about the horrible nature of the place, when Cyril started back and jerked his garment, to make him follow suit.
The old soldier was keenly alive to danger, and dropping upon his knees, he joined Cyril in cautiously looking over the edge of the rocks they had just ascended, softly bringing the muzzle of his piece to bear upon what he saw.
For, as he gazed down, there in the gloom, not two hundred yards away as an arrow would fly, but at a distance which it had taken them nearly half an hour to climb by the gradual ascent, was the figure of an Indian standing out just clear of the mist, and peering cautiously about, as if searching every rock and crevice around.
The next minute another had joined him, coming out of the mist cautiously, and with the tentative motion of one who was on strange ground.
Then came another and another, with their figures looking huge and grotesque as they stood in the mist, and then suddenly shrinking into the stature as of dwarfs, as soon as they were clear.
One by one they came on, till there were at least thirty collected together, and all gazing about cautiously, as if in dread.
As Cyril knew from his own experience, they could only converse with difficulty, so that he was not surprised to see that one of them, who appeared to be the leader, was gesticulating and pointing here and there, and finally upward toward where the two fugitives were watching every act.
But, as the boy watched the Indians keenly, it was very evident that they were far from confident, and he soon decided that they were as much panic-stricken by the horror of the place as he and his friends had been overnight. At last, though after a great deal of pointing upward and hesitation, it seemed as if they were all reluctantly about to continue the pursuit, for their leader took a few steps forward and waved them on.
But they did not stir, save to crowd together a little more and press toward the wall of rock, away from the fall.
“They don’t like it,” whispered John Manning, for it was becoming possible, where they lay, to make a few words audible without shouting. “Strikes me they’re so scared, that if we were to send one of these big pieces of rock rolling down, they’d beat a retreat.”
“Look, look!” whispered Cyril.
“I am,” said John Manning, for all at once a couple more of the Indians suddenly appeared from out of the mist, in whom they recognised Diego and his fellow-guide, the former holding something in his hand which he was showing to all in turn with a great deal of gesticulation, accompanied by eager pointings down into the depths below the fall, and back through the mist.
“What’s he got there?” whispered John Manning. “Something to eat? He wants them to go back.”
“I know,” said Cyril so loudly that his companion caught his arm. “It’s Perry’s cap.”
“What!” cried the old soldier. “I know how it is. They’ve found it somewhere down the stream, where it had been washed, and he’s saying that we must all have tumbled in there and been swept away.”
This appeared to be a very likely interpretation, for, with a great display of eagerness, the men hurried back through the mist till all were gone.
“Let’s make haste on and overtake them,” said Cyril eagerly. “I want to ask Perry where he left his cap.”
“And he’ll tell you, sir, that he didn’t leave it anywhere, but had it took away by the water.”
“Are they in sight?” said the colonel, bending down over them. “You were quite right. This is an excellent place to keep them back. Yes,” he continued, on hearing the surmises of the two watchers, “that must be it, and they have gone back to follow the stream.”
He led the way again, and they followed to where Perry was anxiously looking back, as the mules steadily went on higher and higher up the gloomy gorge, where the great stream was hurrying and foaming along toward where it would make its plunge; while the thunderous roar of the fall was rapidly dying away, shut out, as it now was, by curve after curve of the valley.
The place was black and forbidding enough, but as they got on another mile or two, their journey was brightened by the glow upon the ridges and slopes on high where the sun reached, and the grassy sides of the lower mountains looked delightful after their long experience of black, dripping stone.
Many a look back was given as they went on higher and higher, every step taking them more into the mighty range, and fortunately due west; and, weary as they all were, intense was the longing to hurry their steps. But that last was impossible. They were dependent upon the mules for their supply of food, and the cautious animals only had one pace, and this regulated their masters’.
At last, when utterly exhausted, a halt was called just at a sharp turn in the gorge, where water could be reached, and the rocks sheltered them and the mules from pursuers; while they gave them the opportunity of scanning the narrow way for nearly a mile, so that if a watch was kept, it was impossible for them to be taken by surprise.
There was some stunted herbage too, here, upon which, as soon as they had drunk, the mules began to browse. But no load was removed, arms were ready for an attack, and the only mule that was lightened was the one that bore the provisions.
And now Perry was questioned more closely about his escape, and Cyril heard it from his lips for the first time.