SEÑOR,I have the honour to report that the enemy has made no movement. A reconnaissance has been admirably carried out by Lieutenant O'Hagan alone, and I hope to report to you to-morrow the measures which I propose to take for our greater security.I have the honour to be, señor,Yours in the service of the Republic,ZEGARRA,Colonel.And there was a postscript in Tim's hand:Pardo has been playing tricks. Will write to-morrow, as I'm very tired. All well.TIM,Lieutenant and chief of staff.At the second reading Mr. O'Hagan could smile at the odd subscription. He saw Tim's eyes twinkling as he wrote.Unknown equally to Tim and to Pardo, the house was not deserted, as they supposed. Biddy Flanagan, the old Irish maid-servant, had stuck to it when all the other domestics fled, just as Puss will linger forlorn in an empty house. She shut herself in her room, and only ventured out to forage. She had thus sallied forth to make a cup of tea when she saw Pardo and his companion coming from the direction of the town. She at once slipped out at the back, locking the kitchen door and taking the key with her, and hid herself in the shrubbery. Thus she did not see Tim's arrival, though she heard the hoof-beats, and supposed that Pardo had been joined by another friend. When, after some time, she heard the thud of hoofs again, and guessed that the intruders had gone away, she let herself into the house, put the kettle on, and while she waited for the water to boil, went through the house to see what the spalpeens had been after."They've took the gold clock," she muttered, standing with arms folded at the drawing-room door; "and I wouldn't wonder if it did be after striking in the bundle, and maybe get them rogues into trouble. And the mistress's best chainey: faith, 'tis a mercy she took all her jools along with her, or there'd be none of um left at all." She went on to the dining-room. "The like of it! Sorra a silver spoon to be seen, nor the silver jug; I never heard tell of the way them villains have the place stripped, and that Pardo the master's man and all."She made a mental inventory of the missing articles and proceeded to the office."What did they be after doing here?" she grunted, as she noticed, with the quick eye of one accustomed to superintend the cleaning operations, signs of disturbance about the matting. She stooped to straighten it, and discovered the loosened boards. "I wouldn't wonder but they did be hiding the things," she said, raising the planks one after another; "and mighty foolish will they look when they come back, if so be I can get myself down through the hole and back again. There! the kettle's on the boil; I'll just be wetting the tea, and fetch a candle for this same."The daylight streaming in through the gap had roused Tim from his stupor, and seeing Biddy above he tried to shout, but could not utter a sound through the gag. Biddy soon returned with a candle and a kitchen chair. The latter she lowered into the hole, stepped on to it, carrying the candle, and so reached the ground. She stooped, to search for the stolen articles, and started back in a hurry."Holy St. Patrick!" she exclaimed; "but 'tis a man, sure. Is it murder they were after?"Recovering herself, she held the candle lower."Mercy! 'Tis master Tim!" she cried, "and beasties crawling all over on the poor face of um. The like of it! Divil such a state ever I seen as the poor boy do be in."She bent over him, whipped out a pair of scissors and snapped the cords, and whisked the insects from his spotted and swollen face with her apron."The poor lamb!" she said, lifting him. "Sure the life's fair bitten out of um."Tim could neither speak nor use his numbed limbs. The old woman took him in her arms, climbed up through the hole, and carried him to the kitchen, where she made him swallow a cup of tea, and bathed his face with warm water, speaking her mind freely on the iniquities of Pardo.He told her what had happened, and what Pardo had said."And is it pay that the master will be giving for a prisoner that is free!" cried the old woman. "Sure now, cannot ye telegraph to um?""I wish I could; we ought to have repaired the wire. But the Colonel will be sending a despatch to Father, and his courier will get there before Pardo.""He might," said Biddy. "Faith, I hope the master will shoot the wretch; he has all the silver stolen, and I don't know what all. And what did ye be after, coming into this den of lions?""Just a change of clothes, Biddy. I suppose they haven't taken them.""Not them. They're not clean inside or out. I will get ye the bits of things, my dear, and do ye rub this butter on your face. 'Tis the good thing for them bites."In an hour or so Tim felt able to return to the camp."You had better go into the town, Biddy," he said as he set off."What for would I be doing that?" she rejoined. "I do not be in dread of the likes of them villains, and if so be they come back, I wouldn't say but I tell um what I think of um."CHAPTER XXIRUN TO EARTHYoung Tim was at an age when boys are a trifle sensitive about their personal appearance. He was glad that on returning to camp his ravaged complexion was obscured in the dark. Nobody seemed at all concerned about his protracted absence. Colonel Zegarra was playing at cards with a friend from the town; the other officers and the men were amusing themselves after their fancy. Tim made a round of the camp, and was almost surprised to find that sentries were properly posted. The vedettes along the roads had been changed at the intervals arranged; military routine had been observed. The only departure from custom, perhaps, was Colonel Zegarra's allowing Tim to append a postscript to his nightly despatch. Tim had intended to say nothing of his recent adventure; but reflecting that Pardo might visit his father for the purpose of extorting a ransom, he thought it just as well to certify his safety.During the night, when his turn for guard duty came, he pondered the general situation. With a zeal natural in a young officer, he wanted to "do something": inactivity was boring; he wished the sluggish enemy would wake up. He wondered by which route they would march when the movement did at last begin: by the eastern track or by the western? In thinking over the probabilities, it suddenly struck him that by destroying the wooden bridge a few miles beyond Durand's house he could render the eastern road--the more likely one--impassable. The ravine was about thirty feet wide. The one other spot at which it could be crossed was several miles to the east, approachable only over very rough country. By preventing the passage of the enemy by the bridge he would compel them to return to the cross-track and come by the western route, at a loss of many hours.To destroy the bridge would be a very simple matter. It wanted only a good charge of powder. But Tim reflected that it would be a pity to blow it up prematurely, in case the enemy elected to come by the other route after all. The bridge might be useful to his own side. So he decided to ask Colonel Zegarra's permission to mine it, to clear of all cover a space on each side of the ravine, and to leave a small detachment of his own Japanese at some distance on the south side with orders to fire the mine at the critical moment. One of the mounted vedettes might be posted at the top of the long incline beyond, to ride at full speed to the bridge as soon as he should discover signs of an approach in force. Such a headlong gallop would be dangerous in the dark, so Tim thought of replacing him at night by an infantry outpost of four men. He would station them say a hundred yards north of the bridge, and theirs would be the duty to fall back and blow it up if danger threatened.He was explaining the scheme next morning to his complacent colonel when news arrived through his chain of vedettes that small parties of the enemy had been seen moving down from the Inca camp towards the upper junction of the paths. There was no indication of a general forward movement. They were merely feeling their way, having apparently discovered, perhaps by the want of news from the town, that something unusual was afoot. The wooden bridge being only a little more than five miles from Colonel Zegarra's position, there would probably be time to make all preparations for the explosion before the real advance of the enemy began. The colonel agreed to the suggestion. Tim was surprised at his extraordinary complaisance, his perfect contentment with the state of figure-head. Afterwards, with more knowledge, he felt considerable respect for President Mollendo's tact. Zegarra had been appointed to the command merely for the sake of appearances--to avoid any discontent among the Peruvians at being led by a foreigner. His compliance with every proposal of Tim's had been prearranged.Tim chose the men for the work, took them out, and explained to them on the spot what he wished them to do. Then he left them. He had resolved to ride up the western road again, and see for himself what the enemy were about. Being convinced that their advance would be made along the eastern road, he intended to scout as far as the cross-track, and perhaps to ride some distance along it, till he came to a spot where any movement from the Inca camp would be visible to him.His cycle had been well cleaned by one of the Japanese. He overhauled it finally himself, tested the sparking and the brakes, assured himself that the engine worked with the least possible noise, and that there was plenty of petrol. Having filled the chambers of his revolver, and put on a well-stocked bandolier, he took leave of the colonel and set off.He felt safe for at least a dozen miles. There were four mounted vedettes along the track, the last of them being posted about a mile beyond Romaña's cave. If the enemy was moving on this route also, the fact would already have been reported.The day was still young, and Tim, none the worse for his trouble of the previous afternoon, rode on in high spirits. Though continually rising, the track was not really steep for the first fifteen or twenty miles. He kept up a good speed, stopping every three miles to exchange a word with the vedettes, and had just reached the spot where he expected to find the last of them, when he was startled at seeing a man lying in a curiously huddled fashion at the side of the track a few yards ahead. He was slowing down, intending to stop and look more closely at the prone form; but suddenly there was a shot, and a bullet whistled past his head.Instantly he clapped on the brakes, brought the cycle to a standstill, sprang off--for the track was too narrow to turn while riding--and wheeling it round, ran a few yards, remounted, and set off at full speed down the incline, bending over the handle-bar. There was a volley behind him: the bullets pattered on the cliff at his right hand; and as he wondered whether his pace would carry him out of danger, he heard the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of men at his back.He had no doubt of being able to distance the pursuers. The cycle could leave the swiftest horse standing. They had ceased to fire, which he thought foolish. But his assurance was rudely dashed in a few seconds. A few hundred yards below the stream that crossed the track near Romaña's cavern, three men stood with levelled rifles, covering him. They were plainly waiting for him to come close enough to make certain of their aim.It was a desperate situation. On the one side a high cliff; on the other a steep precipice; behind, an unknown number of galloping horsemen; before, the waiting marksmen. If he dashed on, the three men could scarcely fail to hit him; if he stopped, he would be quickly overtaken by the men behind.In that critical dilemma, when a moment's hesitation would have been fatal, he remembered the cave, some little distance on his right towards the waterfall. He brought his machine up with a jerk, sprang off, pushed it into a bush--there was no time to attempt to hide it, still less to haul it with him--and dived among the scrub and saplings that fringed the banks of the little stream. Bending double he raced up the watercourse towards the beacon tree, tore aside the leafy screen at the entrance to the cave, and plunged breathless into the darkness. He was like a fox that has run to earth.The cave must be discovered in a few minutes. He had no protection but the darkness and his weapons. Could he block up the entrance? Hurrying to the wall, he dragged the box-beds over the floor, and placed them across the gap, just within the threshold. The legs of the table were so deeply imbedded in the ground that he could not move that; but he set the stools on the boxes, thus forming a rough and very insecure barricade. It was the best that he could devise; and, posting himself in the dark a little to the left of the entrance, he hoped to be able to hold the enemy at bay for some time with his revolver.But it was a ticklish situation. As yet he did not know with how many men he had to deal; there were probably enough to block up the track completely in either direction. The vedettes whom he had passed did not expect him to return by the same route; he would not be missed for a considerable time, unless they should have happened to hear the shots. This was unlikely. The wind was blowing from them to him; the windings of the track and the height of the hills did not favour the travel of sound. It seemed that the utmost he could hope was to be able to keep the enemy off until nightfall, and then try to steal past them in the darkness. They were probably, he thought, merely a scouting party, not an advanced guard of the main body. Evidently they had fallen upon his vedette unawares, killed him, and then divided. Seeing the motor bicycle approach, the three men scouting down the track had hidden until he had passed, knowing that he would be trapped between them and their comrades higher up.When he had made his flimsy barricade, Tim stole to the entrance, pulled the foliage aside, and looked out. On the track he saw eleven men gathered, holding their horses. They were talking excitedly; one man pointed to the motor-bicycle, another in the direction of the cave. They must have realised that they had their quarry safe, if they could get at him. There was no way up the hill-side. He must be concealed somewhere in the patch of scrub between them and the hill. To escape he would have to come down to the track within a space of about a hundred yards above and below the stream. By thoroughly beating the scrub they supposed they could drive him out.The discussion soon came to an end. They tied up their horses; then, leaving one man to guard the motor-cycle, so that if Tim ran from cover he could not escape them, they scattered, and began to advance. They might have been hunters stalking a tiger through jungle. They moved warily, and only now and then were visible to the anxious watcher at the cave. With a rifle he could have picked them off; the revolver was useless until they came to close quarters. He had a fleeting hope that they might pass the entrance to the cave without discovering it, and as they drew nearer he slipped back out of sight. His nerves tingled; minute after minute went by, and he had almost concluded that the men must have overshot the hiding-place when the curtain of foliage was bent aside, letting in a gleam of light. The entrance was discovered!The screen was dropped again. No doubt the men were discussing what they should do. The opening was narrow. To attempt to carry such a place by assault might give the boldest pause. Some one must go first, and that man, if the defender was resolved to fight, was certain to be shot. The men were not particularly courageous; but there was a price on the Inglés boy, and even timorous folk will pluck up their courage when there is a reward in view.[image]A CHECK AT THE CAVEWhen some minutes had elapsed, Tim ventured to draw near to the entrance and peep out through the leaves. The men were grouped some little distance away at the brink of the stream; he heard the murmur of their voices. In a few moments they separated, and spread out to right and left of the cave, keeping as much as possible under cover. One climbed into the tree, and concealed himself amid the foliage. Tim guessed what was coming, and slipped away to the side of the cave. He was not a moment too soon. The enemy opened fire, and their shots, coming in different directions, flew criss-cross into the entrance. Fortunately the walls were soft, and the bullets dug into them instead of ricochetting or splintering. One fragment grazed Tim's wrist, a warning to retreat still farther.After two or three volleys the firing ceased. The enemy supposed, no doubt, that some of their shots had taken effect, or had at any rate driven their quarry from the entrance. Tim rushed back to his former post, just in time to fire his revolver as the assailants, shouting to encourage one another, came with a dash through the foliage. At the threshold they were checked by the unexpected obstacle of Tim's barrier. For a few moments they stood there, trying to throw it down, cursing, yelling with pain as Tim, invisible in the inner darkness, slowly and deliberately emptied his revolver. This was too hot for them. They broke away, and Tim, running to the entrance, saw them hurrying down the slope to find cover. They were carrying one of their comrades; another lay across the threshold.They returned to the track. There was another consultation among them; then four of them leapt on their horses and rode away northward. Three went on foot down the track, doubtless to guard against surprise in that direction; one man still remained in charge of the bicycle, the last held the horses. Clearly they had not abandoned their purpose. Tim wondered what their next move was to be. Surely the horsemen had not ridden back to the Inca camp for help! It was more than twenty miles distant. There and back the journey would take several hours. They would hardly spend so much time with the risk of assistance coming up from the Mollendists. The vedette who had been killed must be relieved ere long, and for all they knew there might be a numerous detachment of their enemy within reach.Tim was not long left in doubt. In half an hour he saw the mounted men returning, and recognised the explanation of their absence. One of them carried an oblong object which revealed itself in a few moments as a sheet of corrugated iron. Tim wondered where they could have got it, until he remembered that some distance up the hill there was a deserted hut, which had probably been at some time occupied by a Cholo shepherd. He jumped to the use to which the iron was to be put. It was to serve as a shield against his bullets.The riders dismounted at the stream, gave their horses to the man guarding the cycle, and disappeared into the scrub. Some time passed. When they emerged again Tim saw that they had surrounded the iron with a kind of wicker cage. It could now be carried in front of the bearer without his exposing himself in any way to Tim's fire. Wicker and iron together would be impervious to a revolver bullet.Tim had a few moments to make up his mind how to meet this ingenious device. He slipped across the cave to the opposite side to that at which he had formerly been posted. The enemy would probably expect attack from the same quarter as before, and would turn their shield in that direction. He had just taken up his new position when bullets began to fly crosswise through the entrance. After this preparatory move the enemy made a determined rush. The first man, bearing the shield, came in and faced to the right, turning his back upon Tim, who had a momentary qualm about firing from the rear. That moment allowed the two next men time to pull away the stools. He felt that hesitation would be fatal, and fired. The first man dropped with a groan, and the shield fell clattering upon the long box. Before Tim could fire a second shot, two men had scrambled across on all fours, and the entrance was darkened by their comrades pressing behind.One of those who had entered sprang to his feet and discharged his revolver at random in the direction of Tim, whom he was as yet unable to see, having come suddenly out of brilliant sunshine into gloom. Tim slipped back quickly along the wall until he was in complete darkness, then ran on tiptoe across the cave. Turning when he reached the wall, he fired his barrels one after another, slipped more cartridges into the chambers, and crossed again. By this manoeuvre he bewildered the enemy, who were now, however, all in the cave, and protected almost as much as himself by the darkness.He did not fire again, lest the flashes revealed his whereabouts. All that he could hope to do was to find some defensible position in the interior and sell his life dearly. There was not even a chance of dodging his enemy and slipping out, for one man had been left near the entrance. He was determined not to surrender. Even if the men now hunting him did not butcher him on the spot to avenge their fallen comrades, the Prefect would have no mercy on his prisoner. He must defend himself to the last. Perhaps when it came to the final stand he might have an opportunity of dealing with the four men singly.He retreated slowly along the wall, listening for the enemy, whom he was quite unable to see. All at once he remembered the opening at the farther end which Romaña had shown him. A last hope flashed into his mind. If he could slip out there, replace the turning stone before his exit was discovered, and pass through the waterfall into the open, there was a bare chance of escape. It was true that he might be discovered by the man with the cycle, or by the others on the watch down the track. But it was better to be killed in a dash for liberty than cooped up and slaughtered like a badger in a hole.Now he hastened his steps, creeping as fast as possible along the curving wall. His hunters were no doubt feeling their way, on their guard against an ambuscade. Everything depended upon his gaining the exit before they came to a spot where the removal of the stone would let a little daylight upon the scene. He ran along on tip-toe, bruising his arms now and then when he encountered projections from the wall, and almost dashing his head against the stone when he suddenly stumbled upon it. Pressing the top, as he had seen Romaña do, he turned the stone, clambered through the gap on to a ledge, and in ten seconds restored the strange gate to its place. He reflected that the enemy, if they had seen the fleeting gleam of light, would take some time to find the stone and discover its manipulation, or, on the other hand, make their way back through the cave to the opening by which they had entered. Whatever they did, he had gained at least a few minutes.From the ledge on which he now stood he looked eagerly about him. In front of him was the waterfall, forming a filmy screen. He could see through it and around it. There was the man on the track a hundred and fifty yards away. Farther down the three men were still posted: they were now on horseback. Tim hoped that they could not see him. He was, in fact, quite invisible to them, as a person behind a curtain in a room is invisible to those without; though it is difficult for the one within to realise this: he feels that, being himself able to see, he must himself be seen.The rough ground and scrub in front of the cave was deserted. The solitary figure at the end of the watercourse was in charge of the horses of the men in the cave, and of the three who had fallen to Tim's shots. Near him, at the edge of the track, lay the man who had been carried away wounded after the first attack. Tim could not see the cycle, but he had no doubt that it was there.What should he do? The men in the cave must soon discover that he was gone. If one had the courage to strike a match the discovery must be made almost at once. There was very little time. The obvious course was to steal along the watercourse, and gain possession either of a horse or of the cycle. Escape on foot was impossible. He could not go otherwise than by the track, and as soon as he appeared there he would be pursued by the horsemen and overtaken in a few minutes. He resolved to creep down to the man who stood alone, try to secure the cycle, or, if not that, a horse, and ride away.To reach the watercourse he had to pass through the waterfall, or skirt it and appear within full view from the track. He decided on the former course. The magnified shower bath was shattering. Though it was soon over, he was almost stunned by the pelting water, and emerged breathless and wet to the skin. Pausing for a moment to recover breath, he crept down the watercourse. The channel was shallow; he had very little cover; but he could not waste time in careful scouting. At any moment the men might return to the entrance of the cave and discover him. But by taking advantage of every bush and patch of long grass that he encountered, he at last came within twenty yards of the Peruvian unperceived. The man had his eyes fixed on the cave, or he could hardly have failed to see the bent form stealing along.Stooping until his eyes were level with the top of the bank, Tim looked ahead. There was the cycle, propped against a thick bush. It was headed down the track, as he had left it. He considered rapidly what he had better do. He could not shoot the man in cold blood. The alternatives were equally hazardous. He might make a dash for the cycle, start it, and try to get away before its guardian could seize him. But the man was only a few yards from it; this plan could hardly succeed. Or he might wriggle to within a few feet of the watchman, spring upon him with a sudden rush, and deal him a knock-out blow. He could not fail to be seen at that moment by the wounded man, if he was conscious; the alarm would be given; but there might be just time for him to get away before the three men lower down the track, or the four in the cave, could take aim at him.The latter course was recommended by the fact that the watchman's attention was divided between the cave and the horses he held by the bridles. They were restless; the jingle of their harness and the stamping of their hoofs would mask any slight sound that Tim might make as he approached.He slipped his revolver into his belt and crept along; then, gathering his strength, hurled himself upon the unsuspecting trooper. At the last moment of his rush the man half turned, hearing his footsteps, and gave him the opportunity for getting home a smashing blow on the point of his chin. He tumbled like a log. But the success of the attack was almost Tim's undoing. The horses kicked up their heels and stampeded wildly, some up, some down the track, one of them knocking Tim head over heels. But there were no bones broken. Springing to his feet, he rushed to the cycle, and wheeled it round. The engine was still firing; Tim ran a few yards, vaulted into the saddle, and throwing open the throttle to its full extent, rode up the hill after the galloping horses. He was scarcely conscious that the wounded man lying on the grass near by was shouting at the top of his voice.CHAPTER XXIIA PUNCTURETim's rush had been so swift, so silent, so effectual, that he was already running beside his cycle and preparing to mount before the three men down the track, more than a quarter of a mile away, became aware that something was wrong. The first intimation was the pounding of the horses' hoofs as they took flight. They looked up to see the cause of the sudden stampede, but Tim was hidden from them by the galloping animals, which were dashing downhill at so desperate a pace that the troopers, if they waited for them, must be almost inevitably swept off the narrow track over the precipice. Though they now heard the yells of the mounted trooper above, they durst not delay, but promptly wheeled round and set off to head the race, intending to pull up as soon as the frantic beasts behind them had recovered from their fright.Meanwhile the shouts of their comrade had brought the other men hurriedly to the mouth of the cave, which they reached just in time to see Tim disappear round a curve in the track. They plunged through the scrub, and screamed with rage when they caught sight of the crowd of horses headed by the three troopers far down the hill to their right. Men of southern blood make little attempt to control their feelings, and these Peruvians, their vision of £500 vanished, stamped and gesticulated and wept, venting bitter curses upon the hapless trooper whom Tim had felled, and who was now sitting up and dizzily feeling his chin.It was the presence of the three men on the track that had determined Tim to ride northward. With them waiting for him, ready to shoot as he passed, or before, there would have been little chance of successfully running the gauntlet. He had not reckoned on the stampeding of the horses; nor had it occurred to him at the first moment to follow at their heels and snatch an opportunity of slipping through in the confusion. When he did think of it, he felt very much annoyed with himself for being so stupid. Not that he could have run past them: his experience on the track soon proved that the attempt would have been hopeless. Paradoxical as it may appear, this only deepened his annoyance. Three of the horses had started up instead of down the hill. The ascent being rather steep, they were more fatigued than frightened before they had run a mile. The gallop became a trot, the trot a walk, and they were making up their simple minds to stop and refresh themselves with herbage from the side of the track when a creature on two wheels came up to meddle. At the appearance of the bicycle they kicked up their heels and fled, all their terrors revived.It was now that Tim was angry with himself. If this was the effect uphill, what would it have been in the other direction? Flying downhill after the troop, with a judicious use of his hooter he might have kept them all madly on the run, and even driven them before him into the arms of his amiable commander. It was too late now. Tim was unreasonably irritated. An older person might have consoled himself with the reflection that it is easy to be wise after the event.He had intended, when he started from camp, to ride northward along this very track; but he wished now that he had remained at the cross-roads, even though that might have involved playing nap with Colonel Zegarra, or making himself amiable to that gentleman's lady friends. There was danger behind him; there might be still graver danger ahead. Other parties of the enemy might be coming down; perhaps the junction of the tracks was held by them. It was a good defensible position, covering any possible attack on the Inca camp by way of the eastern route. If there had been any other path home, Tim might have taken it and bolted, without any reason to feel that he was a coward. But there was none; he was compelled to follow this only track--committed to an attempt to make the round.There was not much reason to fear pursuit. The men whom he had tricked at the cave had lost their steeds; the other three would perhaps have to ride for many a mile in the wrong direction. Like John Gilpin, they could not help it. By the time they had checked the stampeded animals and brought them up the hill, a good many miles would separate them from the quarry who had baffled them. Tim felt quite easy on that score.He began to take a little amusement in the chase in which he was, for his own part, involuntarily engaged. The riderless horses in front of him were not at all happy. They would gallop up the steeper inclines, out-distance the strange thudding creature behind them, and when they no longer heard its snorts, slow down and begin to take things easy. But on the more level portions of the track, and the occasional downward gradients, the machine made four or five yards to their one. They had no sooner settled down into an amble than the pertinacious pursuer came panting at their heels, and taking fresh alarm, they dashed on frantically until another rise gave muscle the advantage of mechanism. So it went on for eight or ten miles, until the horses must have thought--if horses think--that they were doomed to drop at length from exhaustion, and fall a prey to the modern centaur.But Fate, after all, was kind to them. Tim suddenly became aware of that unpleasant sensation, abominable to every cyclist, which announces a punctured tyre. There was no loud bang, like the report of a monster pop-gun, such as sometimes startles pedestrians in the street, and makes horses tremble or prance. The air was oozing gradually away; moment by moment the rear tyre became softer and slacker; and Tim had to stop at once before irreparable damage was done.Here was a disaster, the more serious because the track was no longer flanked by a cliff on one side and a precipice on the other, but ran along the crest of an exposed ridge, from which he could see a long way before and behind and on either hand. He could see--he might also be seen. The track afforded no cover, the country at either side very little. If he wheeled the cycle to right or left in search of a sheltered nook in which to make his repairs, he would spend much time in getting there and back again. The enemy were doubtless now hot in pursuit. Missing the tracks of his wheels they would hunt for him, and here there was no cave, no waterfall, only a scattered bush or two. They would easily find him, and then!...Tim sprang off the machine in a hurry. His only chance was to mend it on the track. He rested it against a rock, shot a glance around, then knelt to examine the tyre. Now, as every one knows, it is sometimes not easy to locate a puncture. Tim hoped that it would not be a case of immersing the tube in water, for that would involve going down to the river half a mile away. Luckily the puncture was a fairly large one, and easily seen. The outer cover of the tyre was cut through for about two inches, and the perforation had extended to the inner tube.He opened the pouch in which he carried a few small tools and material for making temporary repairs. From it he took a phial of rubber solution, a strip of canvas, and a "gaiter"--a thickness of rubber vulcanised to two or three layers of strong canvas, shaped to the tyre, with hooks at the bottom. The first step was to repair the inner tube. This he did by smearing the cut with the solution and sticking on a rubber patch. Then he fastened the canvas by means of the solution to the inside of the outer cover, over the rent, to prevent the inner tube from being chafed by the rough edges made by the cut. The last operation was to fix the gaiter to the rim by its hooks. All this took some time. In tyre mending, as in other things, the more haste the less speed. Tim worked with deliberate care, glancing up and down the track from time to time. At last, after about half an hour's work, he straightened himself, satisfied that the tyre was good for a few hundred miles, and much relieved that he had been able to complete the repairs without interruption.It only remained to inflate the tyre. He had just inserted the pump when a succession of faint irregular clicks fell on his ear. Turning hastily, he looked down the track. He had a good view of it for half a mile. At that distance it curved out of sight, but was visible again for a short stretch a mile lower down, and still farther in patches. The air was very clear; every tree and hillock was sharply defined in the sunlight; there was nobody in sight.But the clicks were growing louder; they seemed to be the sounds of iron-shod hoofs upon the rocky ground. He gazed down the track, passing from patch to patch over the intervening bluffs and the stretches of rough country where it was not visible. The sounds came beyond question from his left; still he could see nobody.Meanwhile he was pumping hard, keeping his head turned in the direction of the sounds. All at once he caught sight of six or seven dark specks moving towards him along the sunlit track. He guessed that they were about a mile away. There was just time to fill his tyre before they came up with him.The pursuers were now hidden by a curve in the track. He pumped on; the tyre was almost fully inflated. Suddenly he heard a shout, and saw a horseman round the bend half a mile below. He instantly whipped off the pump, turned the petrol tap, and had run a yard or two with the machine when he remembered that in his haste he had left his pouch on the ground. He could not afford to lose that. Backing, he recovered it, thrust it into his pocket, and in another twenty seconds was running slowly up the hill.Glancing over his shoulder, he saw five men galloping after him. They were no more than a quarter-mile away, shouting, urging their horses to their utmost speed, gaining on him. But the crest of the hill was near; then the track was level for a while; then had a downward incline. The engine worked well; the cycle breasted the slope, gained the flat, and sped on at forty miles an hour.A minute after Tim topped the crest, the horsemen reached the same spot on their panting steeds. They yelled with rage and disappointment when they saw their quarry bowling along at a speed that a Pegasus might envy. One took a shot at him, but Tim, bending over the handle-bar, offered a low target, and escaped injury. In two minutes he had turned a corner and was out of sight.CHAPTER XXIIIA LEAP FOR LIFEWhen Tim had ridden three or four miles farther, and felt at ease as far as the pursuers were concerned, he came upon the three stampeded horses again. They were peacefully browsing on some scanty herbage at the edge, quite content, no doubt, to be free from their human burdens. At the sound of the engine they once more took to flight, and the violent play they made with their heels suggested to Tim that they indignantly resented the disturbance of their meal.He was now riding so fast that he could soon have overtaken the animals, in spite of the upward gradient. But if he did so, he would either run the risk of coming into collision with one of them, or drive them over the edge of the track on the left, and down the somewhat steep and dangerous slope to the river. It occurred to him that he might do better to moderate his pace and keep fairly close on their heels. They might prove useful. The cross-track to which he would come presently was somewhat looser than that on which he was riding. If the enemy happened to be at the cross-roads beyond, the horses and the dust they raised might serve him as a temporary screen. So he opened his air throttle a little, and closed the petrol throttle to the same extent, maintaining a speed that would keep the horses on the run without exposing him to the risk of being overtaken.He soon found that there was a certain disadvantage in following upon the heels of the horses. On coming into the cross-track, he was enveloped in a cloud of dust, thick enough to prevent his seeing more than a few yards ahead. The dust and the bodies of the animals completely shut out the view, and he realised that as he neared the fork he would be quite unable to tell what awaited him there. He thought it advisable to drop a little behind. No doubt the horses would turn to the left when they reached the crossroads, and gallop towards the Inca camp--the place which for some days past they had associated with fodder. If the enemy had not actually passed the fork and marched down the eastern track, he might manage to turn into it unperceived under cover of the dust-cloud, and soon ride out of danger.Slackening down until he had doubled his distance from the horses, he noticed on his right hand a belt of trees which, if his memory was not at fault, extended for nearly a mile along the southern edge of the cross-track until it joined the eastern path. With one eye on the horses and the other on the trees he watched for the branching of the tracks. It came sooner than he expected. Suddenly the horses swerved to the left; a few seconds afterwards he turned to the right, and felt the machine quicken under him on the downward incline.At that instant he heard the loud crackle of rifles behind him. Posted among the trees just above the fork there was a body of men who, watching with astonishment the maddened gallop of three riderless horses, caught a faint glimpse of the motor-cycle as it emerged from the whirling dust. They fired too hurriedly to hit the mark. At the sound of the shots Tim bent double and let the machine go. Riding at the rate of thirty miles an hour he knew that the enemy could not catch him on horseback on this particular portion of the track. But when he came to the foot of the hill, and began to climb a long rise, he glanced round and saw a large troop of horsemen dashing down in pursuit. They were a long way behind, and unless some accident befell the machine, he was sure that he could outpace them with ease.The track wound frequently. For long stretches he was hidden from the pursuers. Looking back now and then he noticed with satisfaction, whenever they came in sight, that he was steadily increasing the interval between him and them. He might have run away altogether if he had driven the machine at full speed; but the track was very rough, and he felt that he must watch it carefully if he was to avoid the risk of a second puncture, or of collision with some boulder. Downhill he often had to check his pace, and so could not take full advantage of the descents to give him impetus for the upward gradients of the switchback. But as mile after mile was covered he became less and less fearful of being caught; and when, at the end of a long, straight stretch, he saw that the enemy were at least two miles behind, he was perfectly easy in mind, and only wondered why they had not given up the hopeless chase.His former journeys on this track had made him pretty familiar with the landmarks, and as he rode up a long incline, he knew that he would soon be in sight of the wooden bridge over the ravine, beyond which the party of Japanese were posted. A few miles of switchback, and then he would have a downward run home. But on rising slowly over the crest, he was staggered to see a troop of some twenty horsemen halted no more than half a mile in front of him. The track dipped to within about a hundred yards of the spot where they were standing, then bent somewhat sharply upwards, and disappeared over the brow rather more than half a mile ahead.Tim instantly realised the desperate position into which he had come unawares. His first impulse was to screw on his brakes and dismount, to avoid rushing headlong among the enemy. But in a flash he saw that to do so would be simply to give himself into their hands, or into the hands of the men behind him. There was no escape either on the right or the left. The only possible course was to ride on and take his chance. Setting his teeth, and crouching almost flat over the handle-bar, he opened the throttle, and shot down the hill, sounding his hooter violently all the way.If he had had the leisure to calculate the possible result he could scarcely have anticipated the success of his action. The horsemen instinctively edged away to the sides of the track, and on to the edge of the rough moorland which bounded it on the east. Some had the presence of mind to whip out their pistols, but as the cycle raced towards them with ever-quickening speed they found themselves in trouble with their horses, which began to quiver and sweat and prance at the strange sight and the terrifying sounds. Down flew the cycle, Tim gripping the handle-bar hard, no longer able to pick his course, but keeping the middle of the track, rough or smooth. He was unconscious of jerks and jolts; blind to the risk of puncture; in that critical half-minute he thought of nothing but the task of steering so as to avoid collision with the enemy, a disaster which they on their part were no less anxious to escape.He was upon them, in a whirl of dust raised by the wind of his flight. A thrill shot through every fibre as he skimmed danger by a hair's breadth. One of the horses was cavorting on his hind legs, and his rider, almost as frantic as the animal, turned him into a whirligig by hard tugging at the bridle. A few shots were fired by the other troopers, but no man could take steady aim from the back of a rearing horse, at an object flashing by at forty miles an hour. With a rush and a whizz Tim was past.But his momentary joy at having got through vanished as he felt the slackening of speed enforced by the steep incline beyond. On his former journey he had dismounted and wheeled the machine. There was a great hubbub behind him. The throbbing hum of his engine was smothered by the clatter of the horses' hoofs, and the yells of their riders spurring them on. Short as the ascent was, its angle was so sharp as to neutralise in great measure the impetus he had gained downhill. Moment by moment the machine flagged, and, without looking behind, he was conscious that the pursuers were gaining. He feared that his engine power would not suffice to bring him to the top, upon which he fixed his eyes as it were imploringly. How far away it seemed!He pressed the pace to the uttermost. The machine toiled up and up; the uproar behind grew louder. He was beginning to despair. The cycle seemed to be crawling. Would the engine hold out? At last, with what appeared to be a final heave, it crept over the crest. The downward slope had begun, and the cycle dropped down with a rush which carried it easily to the top of the farther rise. With a sigh of thankfulness Tim knew that he had now increased his lead.At this point the track began to wind round the face of the cliff on his right. A few minutes would bring him within sight of the bridge. But there was still one long climb before him, and here, if the pursuers could last the pace, they would have the advantage of him. He glanced back; they were just rounding the curve, perhaps a quarter-mile distant. This was the crisis of the chase. As the cycle laboured up the hill, Tim was aware that the gap was rapidly diminishing. When he gained the top, he had scarcely fifty yards to spare. But now for three or four hundred yards the track was level, and the horsemen yelled with rage as they saw their quarry once more slipping from their clutches. They had no chance against him on the flat. By the time he reached the point where the track dipped to the mile-long descent to the bridge, they had lost more than a hundred yards.The bridge was not yet in sight. The track bent to the left somewhat sharply. In ordinary circumstances Tim would now have clapped on the brakes, but he was strung up to attempt any feat of daring, and after the first hundred yards of the hill he contented himself with closing the throttle. He swung perilously round the bend, and looking ahead, saw the bridged ravine three-quarters of a mile away. A horseman was galloping towards it--doubtless one of his vedettes. But why was he dashing so desperately towards the bridge?Tim lowered his eyes, for he wore no goggles, and the wind created by his pace made them smart and tingle. He was halfway down the slope when a dull report below him caused him to look up again. Where, a few seconds before, the bridge had been, there was now a cloud of smoke. His orders had been carried out only too thoroughly: the bridge was blown up!He was thunderstruck. Reckless and impulsive as he was, prone to play many a mad prank on his bicycle, he had never attempted such a feat as now, in the twinkling of an eye, he saw himself committed to. The ravine was more than thirty feet across. He would reach it in half a minute. No power on earth could check his descent. He must either plunge into the chasm, fifty feet deep, or leap the gap.How can his sensations be described! Every second his speed was quickening. The steepness of the slope induced the feeling that he was dropping into space. He was conscious of the strange heaving sensation that a person feels on descending in a rapidly-moving lift. His body seemed to be flying upward. The air rushed past, scarifying his flesh, catching his breath, stunning his ears so that he did not hear the report of a dozen rifles across the gap. Down, down, faster than an express train, as fast as a racing motor-car, his body rigid, his mind working swifter than the electric flash--down to he knew not what.On either side of the bridge the ground had been cleared. He must avoid the ruins of the bridge; he would steer to one side of it. As he swooped meteor-like towards the gap the space on his right widened out, and the ground made a slight ascent to the brink of the ravine. A touch on the handle-bar altered his course a point or two. Barely conscious of the rise, breathless and dizzy, he shut his eyes at the fateful moment--and the machine shot off the brink of the ravine like a stone from a catapult. For a fraction of a second he was in mid air, the wheels whirring beneath him. Then there was a tremendous thud as they struck the ground 011 the opposite side. The machine raced up the incline; the speed slackened; instinctively he applied the brakes; and in a few more seconds he fell rather than jumped from the saddle, and dropped panting, a mass of quivering nerves, upon the track.A group of Japanese flocked about him. One gave him water from a mug. All were trembling with excitement. When he had collected himself, and inquired what had become of the pursuers, he learnt that, as they rode headlong down the hill behind him, two of the horses had slipped and brought their riders to the ground. The rest had reined up at the volley from the Japanese. Apparently none had been hit, but recognising that further pursuit was hopeless, they had stood watching the last few hundred yards of the cycle's flashing course. The Japanese had been too much amazed and alarmed to fire again. Both the parties looked on as at a thrilling spectacle. After the cycle had made its leap their amazement held them motionless for a while. Then, at a second volley, the enemy wheeled round and galloped away.Tim asked why the bridge had been fired. The vedette explained that, descrying the heads of a large number of horsemen over the tops of the bushes on the crest of the hill, he had dashed back to give the alarm according to orders. The cycle, being lower, had been invisible to him. His comrades were so eager to carry out their instructions that even when Tim came into view they were too much occupied to see him, and only when the match was kindled, and they ran back to a position of safety, did they perceive with horror that they had, as they thought, cut off their master's chance of escape. Tim waived away their humble apologies; they had obeyed orders; and now that the strain of his nerve-shattering experiences was relaxed, he could afford to smile. The eastern track, at any rate, was impassable to the enemy.
SEÑOR,
I have the honour to report that the enemy has made no movement. A reconnaissance has been admirably carried out by Lieutenant O'Hagan alone, and I hope to report to you to-morrow the measures which I propose to take for our greater security.
ZEGARRA,Colonel.
And there was a postscript in Tim's hand:
Pardo has been playing tricks. Will write to-morrow, as I'm very tired. All well.
Lieutenant and chief of staff.
At the second reading Mr. O'Hagan could smile at the odd subscription. He saw Tim's eyes twinkling as he wrote.
Unknown equally to Tim and to Pardo, the house was not deserted, as they supposed. Biddy Flanagan, the old Irish maid-servant, had stuck to it when all the other domestics fled, just as Puss will linger forlorn in an empty house. She shut herself in her room, and only ventured out to forage. She had thus sallied forth to make a cup of tea when she saw Pardo and his companion coming from the direction of the town. She at once slipped out at the back, locking the kitchen door and taking the key with her, and hid herself in the shrubbery. Thus she did not see Tim's arrival, though she heard the hoof-beats, and supposed that Pardo had been joined by another friend. When, after some time, she heard the thud of hoofs again, and guessed that the intruders had gone away, she let herself into the house, put the kettle on, and while she waited for the water to boil, went through the house to see what the spalpeens had been after.
"They've took the gold clock," she muttered, standing with arms folded at the drawing-room door; "and I wouldn't wonder if it did be after striking in the bundle, and maybe get them rogues into trouble. And the mistress's best chainey: faith, 'tis a mercy she took all her jools along with her, or there'd be none of um left at all." She went on to the dining-room. "The like of it! Sorra a silver spoon to be seen, nor the silver jug; I never heard tell of the way them villains have the place stripped, and that Pardo the master's man and all."
She made a mental inventory of the missing articles and proceeded to the office.
"What did they be after doing here?" she grunted, as she noticed, with the quick eye of one accustomed to superintend the cleaning operations, signs of disturbance about the matting. She stooped to straighten it, and discovered the loosened boards. "I wouldn't wonder but they did be hiding the things," she said, raising the planks one after another; "and mighty foolish will they look when they come back, if so be I can get myself down through the hole and back again. There! the kettle's on the boil; I'll just be wetting the tea, and fetch a candle for this same."
The daylight streaming in through the gap had roused Tim from his stupor, and seeing Biddy above he tried to shout, but could not utter a sound through the gag. Biddy soon returned with a candle and a kitchen chair. The latter she lowered into the hole, stepped on to it, carrying the candle, and so reached the ground. She stooped, to search for the stolen articles, and started back in a hurry.
"Holy St. Patrick!" she exclaimed; "but 'tis a man, sure. Is it murder they were after?"
Recovering herself, she held the candle lower.
"Mercy! 'Tis master Tim!" she cried, "and beasties crawling all over on the poor face of um. The like of it! Divil such a state ever I seen as the poor boy do be in."
She bent over him, whipped out a pair of scissors and snapped the cords, and whisked the insects from his spotted and swollen face with her apron.
"The poor lamb!" she said, lifting him. "Sure the life's fair bitten out of um."
Tim could neither speak nor use his numbed limbs. The old woman took him in her arms, climbed up through the hole, and carried him to the kitchen, where she made him swallow a cup of tea, and bathed his face with warm water, speaking her mind freely on the iniquities of Pardo.
He told her what had happened, and what Pardo had said.
"And is it pay that the master will be giving for a prisoner that is free!" cried the old woman. "Sure now, cannot ye telegraph to um?"
"I wish I could; we ought to have repaired the wire. But the Colonel will be sending a despatch to Father, and his courier will get there before Pardo."
"He might," said Biddy. "Faith, I hope the master will shoot the wretch; he has all the silver stolen, and I don't know what all. And what did ye be after, coming into this den of lions?"
"Just a change of clothes, Biddy. I suppose they haven't taken them."
"Not them. They're not clean inside or out. I will get ye the bits of things, my dear, and do ye rub this butter on your face. 'Tis the good thing for them bites."
In an hour or so Tim felt able to return to the camp.
"You had better go into the town, Biddy," he said as he set off.
"What for would I be doing that?" she rejoined. "I do not be in dread of the likes of them villains, and if so be they come back, I wouldn't say but I tell um what I think of um."
CHAPTER XXI
RUN TO EARTH
Young Tim was at an age when boys are a trifle sensitive about their personal appearance. He was glad that on returning to camp his ravaged complexion was obscured in the dark. Nobody seemed at all concerned about his protracted absence. Colonel Zegarra was playing at cards with a friend from the town; the other officers and the men were amusing themselves after their fancy. Tim made a round of the camp, and was almost surprised to find that sentries were properly posted. The vedettes along the roads had been changed at the intervals arranged; military routine had been observed. The only departure from custom, perhaps, was Colonel Zegarra's allowing Tim to append a postscript to his nightly despatch. Tim had intended to say nothing of his recent adventure; but reflecting that Pardo might visit his father for the purpose of extorting a ransom, he thought it just as well to certify his safety.
During the night, when his turn for guard duty came, he pondered the general situation. With a zeal natural in a young officer, he wanted to "do something": inactivity was boring; he wished the sluggish enemy would wake up. He wondered by which route they would march when the movement did at last begin: by the eastern track or by the western? In thinking over the probabilities, it suddenly struck him that by destroying the wooden bridge a few miles beyond Durand's house he could render the eastern road--the more likely one--impassable. The ravine was about thirty feet wide. The one other spot at which it could be crossed was several miles to the east, approachable only over very rough country. By preventing the passage of the enemy by the bridge he would compel them to return to the cross-track and come by the western route, at a loss of many hours.
To destroy the bridge would be a very simple matter. It wanted only a good charge of powder. But Tim reflected that it would be a pity to blow it up prematurely, in case the enemy elected to come by the other route after all. The bridge might be useful to his own side. So he decided to ask Colonel Zegarra's permission to mine it, to clear of all cover a space on each side of the ravine, and to leave a small detachment of his own Japanese at some distance on the south side with orders to fire the mine at the critical moment. One of the mounted vedettes might be posted at the top of the long incline beyond, to ride at full speed to the bridge as soon as he should discover signs of an approach in force. Such a headlong gallop would be dangerous in the dark, so Tim thought of replacing him at night by an infantry outpost of four men. He would station them say a hundred yards north of the bridge, and theirs would be the duty to fall back and blow it up if danger threatened.
He was explaining the scheme next morning to his complacent colonel when news arrived through his chain of vedettes that small parties of the enemy had been seen moving down from the Inca camp towards the upper junction of the paths. There was no indication of a general forward movement. They were merely feeling their way, having apparently discovered, perhaps by the want of news from the town, that something unusual was afoot. The wooden bridge being only a little more than five miles from Colonel Zegarra's position, there would probably be time to make all preparations for the explosion before the real advance of the enemy began. The colonel agreed to the suggestion. Tim was surprised at his extraordinary complaisance, his perfect contentment with the state of figure-head. Afterwards, with more knowledge, he felt considerable respect for President Mollendo's tact. Zegarra had been appointed to the command merely for the sake of appearances--to avoid any discontent among the Peruvians at being led by a foreigner. His compliance with every proposal of Tim's had been prearranged.
Tim chose the men for the work, took them out, and explained to them on the spot what he wished them to do. Then he left them. He had resolved to ride up the western road again, and see for himself what the enemy were about. Being convinced that their advance would be made along the eastern road, he intended to scout as far as the cross-track, and perhaps to ride some distance along it, till he came to a spot where any movement from the Inca camp would be visible to him.
His cycle had been well cleaned by one of the Japanese. He overhauled it finally himself, tested the sparking and the brakes, assured himself that the engine worked with the least possible noise, and that there was plenty of petrol. Having filled the chambers of his revolver, and put on a well-stocked bandolier, he took leave of the colonel and set off.
He felt safe for at least a dozen miles. There were four mounted vedettes along the track, the last of them being posted about a mile beyond Romaña's cave. If the enemy was moving on this route also, the fact would already have been reported.
The day was still young, and Tim, none the worse for his trouble of the previous afternoon, rode on in high spirits. Though continually rising, the track was not really steep for the first fifteen or twenty miles. He kept up a good speed, stopping every three miles to exchange a word with the vedettes, and had just reached the spot where he expected to find the last of them, when he was startled at seeing a man lying in a curiously huddled fashion at the side of the track a few yards ahead. He was slowing down, intending to stop and look more closely at the prone form; but suddenly there was a shot, and a bullet whistled past his head.
Instantly he clapped on the brakes, brought the cycle to a standstill, sprang off--for the track was too narrow to turn while riding--and wheeling it round, ran a few yards, remounted, and set off at full speed down the incline, bending over the handle-bar. There was a volley behind him: the bullets pattered on the cliff at his right hand; and as he wondered whether his pace would carry him out of danger, he heard the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of men at his back.
He had no doubt of being able to distance the pursuers. The cycle could leave the swiftest horse standing. They had ceased to fire, which he thought foolish. But his assurance was rudely dashed in a few seconds. A few hundred yards below the stream that crossed the track near Romaña's cavern, three men stood with levelled rifles, covering him. They were plainly waiting for him to come close enough to make certain of their aim.
It was a desperate situation. On the one side a high cliff; on the other a steep precipice; behind, an unknown number of galloping horsemen; before, the waiting marksmen. If he dashed on, the three men could scarcely fail to hit him; if he stopped, he would be quickly overtaken by the men behind.
In that critical dilemma, when a moment's hesitation would have been fatal, he remembered the cave, some little distance on his right towards the waterfall. He brought his machine up with a jerk, sprang off, pushed it into a bush--there was no time to attempt to hide it, still less to haul it with him--and dived among the scrub and saplings that fringed the banks of the little stream. Bending double he raced up the watercourse towards the beacon tree, tore aside the leafy screen at the entrance to the cave, and plunged breathless into the darkness. He was like a fox that has run to earth.
The cave must be discovered in a few minutes. He had no protection but the darkness and his weapons. Could he block up the entrance? Hurrying to the wall, he dragged the box-beds over the floor, and placed them across the gap, just within the threshold. The legs of the table were so deeply imbedded in the ground that he could not move that; but he set the stools on the boxes, thus forming a rough and very insecure barricade. It was the best that he could devise; and, posting himself in the dark a little to the left of the entrance, he hoped to be able to hold the enemy at bay for some time with his revolver.
But it was a ticklish situation. As yet he did not know with how many men he had to deal; there were probably enough to block up the track completely in either direction. The vedettes whom he had passed did not expect him to return by the same route; he would not be missed for a considerable time, unless they should have happened to hear the shots. This was unlikely. The wind was blowing from them to him; the windings of the track and the height of the hills did not favour the travel of sound. It seemed that the utmost he could hope was to be able to keep the enemy off until nightfall, and then try to steal past them in the darkness. They were probably, he thought, merely a scouting party, not an advanced guard of the main body. Evidently they had fallen upon his vedette unawares, killed him, and then divided. Seeing the motor bicycle approach, the three men scouting down the track had hidden until he had passed, knowing that he would be trapped between them and their comrades higher up.
When he had made his flimsy barricade, Tim stole to the entrance, pulled the foliage aside, and looked out. On the track he saw eleven men gathered, holding their horses. They were talking excitedly; one man pointed to the motor-bicycle, another in the direction of the cave. They must have realised that they had their quarry safe, if they could get at him. There was no way up the hill-side. He must be concealed somewhere in the patch of scrub between them and the hill. To escape he would have to come down to the track within a space of about a hundred yards above and below the stream. By thoroughly beating the scrub they supposed they could drive him out.
The discussion soon came to an end. They tied up their horses; then, leaving one man to guard the motor-cycle, so that if Tim ran from cover he could not escape them, they scattered, and began to advance. They might have been hunters stalking a tiger through jungle. They moved warily, and only now and then were visible to the anxious watcher at the cave. With a rifle he could have picked them off; the revolver was useless until they came to close quarters. He had a fleeting hope that they might pass the entrance to the cave without discovering it, and as they drew nearer he slipped back out of sight. His nerves tingled; minute after minute went by, and he had almost concluded that the men must have overshot the hiding-place when the curtain of foliage was bent aside, letting in a gleam of light. The entrance was discovered!
The screen was dropped again. No doubt the men were discussing what they should do. The opening was narrow. To attempt to carry such a place by assault might give the boldest pause. Some one must go first, and that man, if the defender was resolved to fight, was certain to be shot. The men were not particularly courageous; but there was a price on the Inglés boy, and even timorous folk will pluck up their courage when there is a reward in view.
[image]A CHECK AT THE CAVE
[image]
[image]
A CHECK AT THE CAVE
When some minutes had elapsed, Tim ventured to draw near to the entrance and peep out through the leaves. The men were grouped some little distance away at the brink of the stream; he heard the murmur of their voices. In a few moments they separated, and spread out to right and left of the cave, keeping as much as possible under cover. One climbed into the tree, and concealed himself amid the foliage. Tim guessed what was coming, and slipped away to the side of the cave. He was not a moment too soon. The enemy opened fire, and their shots, coming in different directions, flew criss-cross into the entrance. Fortunately the walls were soft, and the bullets dug into them instead of ricochetting or splintering. One fragment grazed Tim's wrist, a warning to retreat still farther.
After two or three volleys the firing ceased. The enemy supposed, no doubt, that some of their shots had taken effect, or had at any rate driven their quarry from the entrance. Tim rushed back to his former post, just in time to fire his revolver as the assailants, shouting to encourage one another, came with a dash through the foliage. At the threshold they were checked by the unexpected obstacle of Tim's barrier. For a few moments they stood there, trying to throw it down, cursing, yelling with pain as Tim, invisible in the inner darkness, slowly and deliberately emptied his revolver. This was too hot for them. They broke away, and Tim, running to the entrance, saw them hurrying down the slope to find cover. They were carrying one of their comrades; another lay across the threshold.
They returned to the track. There was another consultation among them; then four of them leapt on their horses and rode away northward. Three went on foot down the track, doubtless to guard against surprise in that direction; one man still remained in charge of the bicycle, the last held the horses. Clearly they had not abandoned their purpose. Tim wondered what their next move was to be. Surely the horsemen had not ridden back to the Inca camp for help! It was more than twenty miles distant. There and back the journey would take several hours. They would hardly spend so much time with the risk of assistance coming up from the Mollendists. The vedette who had been killed must be relieved ere long, and for all they knew there might be a numerous detachment of their enemy within reach.
Tim was not long left in doubt. In half an hour he saw the mounted men returning, and recognised the explanation of their absence. One of them carried an oblong object which revealed itself in a few moments as a sheet of corrugated iron. Tim wondered where they could have got it, until he remembered that some distance up the hill there was a deserted hut, which had probably been at some time occupied by a Cholo shepherd. He jumped to the use to which the iron was to be put. It was to serve as a shield against his bullets.
The riders dismounted at the stream, gave their horses to the man guarding the cycle, and disappeared into the scrub. Some time passed. When they emerged again Tim saw that they had surrounded the iron with a kind of wicker cage. It could now be carried in front of the bearer without his exposing himself in any way to Tim's fire. Wicker and iron together would be impervious to a revolver bullet.
Tim had a few moments to make up his mind how to meet this ingenious device. He slipped across the cave to the opposite side to that at which he had formerly been posted. The enemy would probably expect attack from the same quarter as before, and would turn their shield in that direction. He had just taken up his new position when bullets began to fly crosswise through the entrance. After this preparatory move the enemy made a determined rush. The first man, bearing the shield, came in and faced to the right, turning his back upon Tim, who had a momentary qualm about firing from the rear. That moment allowed the two next men time to pull away the stools. He felt that hesitation would be fatal, and fired. The first man dropped with a groan, and the shield fell clattering upon the long box. Before Tim could fire a second shot, two men had scrambled across on all fours, and the entrance was darkened by their comrades pressing behind.
One of those who had entered sprang to his feet and discharged his revolver at random in the direction of Tim, whom he was as yet unable to see, having come suddenly out of brilliant sunshine into gloom. Tim slipped back quickly along the wall until he was in complete darkness, then ran on tiptoe across the cave. Turning when he reached the wall, he fired his barrels one after another, slipped more cartridges into the chambers, and crossed again. By this manoeuvre he bewildered the enemy, who were now, however, all in the cave, and protected almost as much as himself by the darkness.
He did not fire again, lest the flashes revealed his whereabouts. All that he could hope to do was to find some defensible position in the interior and sell his life dearly. There was not even a chance of dodging his enemy and slipping out, for one man had been left near the entrance. He was determined not to surrender. Even if the men now hunting him did not butcher him on the spot to avenge their fallen comrades, the Prefect would have no mercy on his prisoner. He must defend himself to the last. Perhaps when it came to the final stand he might have an opportunity of dealing with the four men singly.
He retreated slowly along the wall, listening for the enemy, whom he was quite unable to see. All at once he remembered the opening at the farther end which Romaña had shown him. A last hope flashed into his mind. If he could slip out there, replace the turning stone before his exit was discovered, and pass through the waterfall into the open, there was a bare chance of escape. It was true that he might be discovered by the man with the cycle, or by the others on the watch down the track. But it was better to be killed in a dash for liberty than cooped up and slaughtered like a badger in a hole.
Now he hastened his steps, creeping as fast as possible along the curving wall. His hunters were no doubt feeling their way, on their guard against an ambuscade. Everything depended upon his gaining the exit before they came to a spot where the removal of the stone would let a little daylight upon the scene. He ran along on tip-toe, bruising his arms now and then when he encountered projections from the wall, and almost dashing his head against the stone when he suddenly stumbled upon it. Pressing the top, as he had seen Romaña do, he turned the stone, clambered through the gap on to a ledge, and in ten seconds restored the strange gate to its place. He reflected that the enemy, if they had seen the fleeting gleam of light, would take some time to find the stone and discover its manipulation, or, on the other hand, make their way back through the cave to the opening by which they had entered. Whatever they did, he had gained at least a few minutes.
From the ledge on which he now stood he looked eagerly about him. In front of him was the waterfall, forming a filmy screen. He could see through it and around it. There was the man on the track a hundred and fifty yards away. Farther down the three men were still posted: they were now on horseback. Tim hoped that they could not see him. He was, in fact, quite invisible to them, as a person behind a curtain in a room is invisible to those without; though it is difficult for the one within to realise this: he feels that, being himself able to see, he must himself be seen.
The rough ground and scrub in front of the cave was deserted. The solitary figure at the end of the watercourse was in charge of the horses of the men in the cave, and of the three who had fallen to Tim's shots. Near him, at the edge of the track, lay the man who had been carried away wounded after the first attack. Tim could not see the cycle, but he had no doubt that it was there.
What should he do? The men in the cave must soon discover that he was gone. If one had the courage to strike a match the discovery must be made almost at once. There was very little time. The obvious course was to steal along the watercourse, and gain possession either of a horse or of the cycle. Escape on foot was impossible. He could not go otherwise than by the track, and as soon as he appeared there he would be pursued by the horsemen and overtaken in a few minutes. He resolved to creep down to the man who stood alone, try to secure the cycle, or, if not that, a horse, and ride away.
To reach the watercourse he had to pass through the waterfall, or skirt it and appear within full view from the track. He decided on the former course. The magnified shower bath was shattering. Though it was soon over, he was almost stunned by the pelting water, and emerged breathless and wet to the skin. Pausing for a moment to recover breath, he crept down the watercourse. The channel was shallow; he had very little cover; but he could not waste time in careful scouting. At any moment the men might return to the entrance of the cave and discover him. But by taking advantage of every bush and patch of long grass that he encountered, he at last came within twenty yards of the Peruvian unperceived. The man had his eyes fixed on the cave, or he could hardly have failed to see the bent form stealing along.
Stooping until his eyes were level with the top of the bank, Tim looked ahead. There was the cycle, propped against a thick bush. It was headed down the track, as he had left it. He considered rapidly what he had better do. He could not shoot the man in cold blood. The alternatives were equally hazardous. He might make a dash for the cycle, start it, and try to get away before its guardian could seize him. But the man was only a few yards from it; this plan could hardly succeed. Or he might wriggle to within a few feet of the watchman, spring upon him with a sudden rush, and deal him a knock-out blow. He could not fail to be seen at that moment by the wounded man, if he was conscious; the alarm would be given; but there might be just time for him to get away before the three men lower down the track, or the four in the cave, could take aim at him.
The latter course was recommended by the fact that the watchman's attention was divided between the cave and the horses he held by the bridles. They were restless; the jingle of their harness and the stamping of their hoofs would mask any slight sound that Tim might make as he approached.
He slipped his revolver into his belt and crept along; then, gathering his strength, hurled himself upon the unsuspecting trooper. At the last moment of his rush the man half turned, hearing his footsteps, and gave him the opportunity for getting home a smashing blow on the point of his chin. He tumbled like a log. But the success of the attack was almost Tim's undoing. The horses kicked up their heels and stampeded wildly, some up, some down the track, one of them knocking Tim head over heels. But there were no bones broken. Springing to his feet, he rushed to the cycle, and wheeled it round. The engine was still firing; Tim ran a few yards, vaulted into the saddle, and throwing open the throttle to its full extent, rode up the hill after the galloping horses. He was scarcely conscious that the wounded man lying on the grass near by was shouting at the top of his voice.
CHAPTER XXII
A PUNCTURE
Tim's rush had been so swift, so silent, so effectual, that he was already running beside his cycle and preparing to mount before the three men down the track, more than a quarter of a mile away, became aware that something was wrong. The first intimation was the pounding of the horses' hoofs as they took flight. They looked up to see the cause of the sudden stampede, but Tim was hidden from them by the galloping animals, which were dashing downhill at so desperate a pace that the troopers, if they waited for them, must be almost inevitably swept off the narrow track over the precipice. Though they now heard the yells of the mounted trooper above, they durst not delay, but promptly wheeled round and set off to head the race, intending to pull up as soon as the frantic beasts behind them had recovered from their fright.
Meanwhile the shouts of their comrade had brought the other men hurriedly to the mouth of the cave, which they reached just in time to see Tim disappear round a curve in the track. They plunged through the scrub, and screamed with rage when they caught sight of the crowd of horses headed by the three troopers far down the hill to their right. Men of southern blood make little attempt to control their feelings, and these Peruvians, their vision of £500 vanished, stamped and gesticulated and wept, venting bitter curses upon the hapless trooper whom Tim had felled, and who was now sitting up and dizzily feeling his chin.
It was the presence of the three men on the track that had determined Tim to ride northward. With them waiting for him, ready to shoot as he passed, or before, there would have been little chance of successfully running the gauntlet. He had not reckoned on the stampeding of the horses; nor had it occurred to him at the first moment to follow at their heels and snatch an opportunity of slipping through in the confusion. When he did think of it, he felt very much annoyed with himself for being so stupid. Not that he could have run past them: his experience on the track soon proved that the attempt would have been hopeless. Paradoxical as it may appear, this only deepened his annoyance. Three of the horses had started up instead of down the hill. The ascent being rather steep, they were more fatigued than frightened before they had run a mile. The gallop became a trot, the trot a walk, and they were making up their simple minds to stop and refresh themselves with herbage from the side of the track when a creature on two wheels came up to meddle. At the appearance of the bicycle they kicked up their heels and fled, all their terrors revived.
It was now that Tim was angry with himself. If this was the effect uphill, what would it have been in the other direction? Flying downhill after the troop, with a judicious use of his hooter he might have kept them all madly on the run, and even driven them before him into the arms of his amiable commander. It was too late now. Tim was unreasonably irritated. An older person might have consoled himself with the reflection that it is easy to be wise after the event.
He had intended, when he started from camp, to ride northward along this very track; but he wished now that he had remained at the cross-roads, even though that might have involved playing nap with Colonel Zegarra, or making himself amiable to that gentleman's lady friends. There was danger behind him; there might be still graver danger ahead. Other parties of the enemy might be coming down; perhaps the junction of the tracks was held by them. It was a good defensible position, covering any possible attack on the Inca camp by way of the eastern route. If there had been any other path home, Tim might have taken it and bolted, without any reason to feel that he was a coward. But there was none; he was compelled to follow this only track--committed to an attempt to make the round.
There was not much reason to fear pursuit. The men whom he had tricked at the cave had lost their steeds; the other three would perhaps have to ride for many a mile in the wrong direction. Like John Gilpin, they could not help it. By the time they had checked the stampeded animals and brought them up the hill, a good many miles would separate them from the quarry who had baffled them. Tim felt quite easy on that score.
He began to take a little amusement in the chase in which he was, for his own part, involuntarily engaged. The riderless horses in front of him were not at all happy. They would gallop up the steeper inclines, out-distance the strange thudding creature behind them, and when they no longer heard its snorts, slow down and begin to take things easy. But on the more level portions of the track, and the occasional downward gradients, the machine made four or five yards to their one. They had no sooner settled down into an amble than the pertinacious pursuer came panting at their heels, and taking fresh alarm, they dashed on frantically until another rise gave muscle the advantage of mechanism. So it went on for eight or ten miles, until the horses must have thought--if horses think--that they were doomed to drop at length from exhaustion, and fall a prey to the modern centaur.
But Fate, after all, was kind to them. Tim suddenly became aware of that unpleasant sensation, abominable to every cyclist, which announces a punctured tyre. There was no loud bang, like the report of a monster pop-gun, such as sometimes startles pedestrians in the street, and makes horses tremble or prance. The air was oozing gradually away; moment by moment the rear tyre became softer and slacker; and Tim had to stop at once before irreparable damage was done.
Here was a disaster, the more serious because the track was no longer flanked by a cliff on one side and a precipice on the other, but ran along the crest of an exposed ridge, from which he could see a long way before and behind and on either hand. He could see--he might also be seen. The track afforded no cover, the country at either side very little. If he wheeled the cycle to right or left in search of a sheltered nook in which to make his repairs, he would spend much time in getting there and back again. The enemy were doubtless now hot in pursuit. Missing the tracks of his wheels they would hunt for him, and here there was no cave, no waterfall, only a scattered bush or two. They would easily find him, and then!...
Tim sprang off the machine in a hurry. His only chance was to mend it on the track. He rested it against a rock, shot a glance around, then knelt to examine the tyre. Now, as every one knows, it is sometimes not easy to locate a puncture. Tim hoped that it would not be a case of immersing the tube in water, for that would involve going down to the river half a mile away. Luckily the puncture was a fairly large one, and easily seen. The outer cover of the tyre was cut through for about two inches, and the perforation had extended to the inner tube.
He opened the pouch in which he carried a few small tools and material for making temporary repairs. From it he took a phial of rubber solution, a strip of canvas, and a "gaiter"--a thickness of rubber vulcanised to two or three layers of strong canvas, shaped to the tyre, with hooks at the bottom. The first step was to repair the inner tube. This he did by smearing the cut with the solution and sticking on a rubber patch. Then he fastened the canvas by means of the solution to the inside of the outer cover, over the rent, to prevent the inner tube from being chafed by the rough edges made by the cut. The last operation was to fix the gaiter to the rim by its hooks. All this took some time. In tyre mending, as in other things, the more haste the less speed. Tim worked with deliberate care, glancing up and down the track from time to time. At last, after about half an hour's work, he straightened himself, satisfied that the tyre was good for a few hundred miles, and much relieved that he had been able to complete the repairs without interruption.
It only remained to inflate the tyre. He had just inserted the pump when a succession of faint irregular clicks fell on his ear. Turning hastily, he looked down the track. He had a good view of it for half a mile. At that distance it curved out of sight, but was visible again for a short stretch a mile lower down, and still farther in patches. The air was very clear; every tree and hillock was sharply defined in the sunlight; there was nobody in sight.
But the clicks were growing louder; they seemed to be the sounds of iron-shod hoofs upon the rocky ground. He gazed down the track, passing from patch to patch over the intervening bluffs and the stretches of rough country where it was not visible. The sounds came beyond question from his left; still he could see nobody.
Meanwhile he was pumping hard, keeping his head turned in the direction of the sounds. All at once he caught sight of six or seven dark specks moving towards him along the sunlit track. He guessed that they were about a mile away. There was just time to fill his tyre before they came up with him.
The pursuers were now hidden by a curve in the track. He pumped on; the tyre was almost fully inflated. Suddenly he heard a shout, and saw a horseman round the bend half a mile below. He instantly whipped off the pump, turned the petrol tap, and had run a yard or two with the machine when he remembered that in his haste he had left his pouch on the ground. He could not afford to lose that. Backing, he recovered it, thrust it into his pocket, and in another twenty seconds was running slowly up the hill.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw five men galloping after him. They were no more than a quarter-mile away, shouting, urging their horses to their utmost speed, gaining on him. But the crest of the hill was near; then the track was level for a while; then had a downward incline. The engine worked well; the cycle breasted the slope, gained the flat, and sped on at forty miles an hour.
A minute after Tim topped the crest, the horsemen reached the same spot on their panting steeds. They yelled with rage and disappointment when they saw their quarry bowling along at a speed that a Pegasus might envy. One took a shot at him, but Tim, bending over the handle-bar, offered a low target, and escaped injury. In two minutes he had turned a corner and was out of sight.
CHAPTER XXIII
A LEAP FOR LIFE
When Tim had ridden three or four miles farther, and felt at ease as far as the pursuers were concerned, he came upon the three stampeded horses again. They were peacefully browsing on some scanty herbage at the edge, quite content, no doubt, to be free from their human burdens. At the sound of the engine they once more took to flight, and the violent play they made with their heels suggested to Tim that they indignantly resented the disturbance of their meal.
He was now riding so fast that he could soon have overtaken the animals, in spite of the upward gradient. But if he did so, he would either run the risk of coming into collision with one of them, or drive them over the edge of the track on the left, and down the somewhat steep and dangerous slope to the river. It occurred to him that he might do better to moderate his pace and keep fairly close on their heels. They might prove useful. The cross-track to which he would come presently was somewhat looser than that on which he was riding. If the enemy happened to be at the cross-roads beyond, the horses and the dust they raised might serve him as a temporary screen. So he opened his air throttle a little, and closed the petrol throttle to the same extent, maintaining a speed that would keep the horses on the run without exposing him to the risk of being overtaken.
He soon found that there was a certain disadvantage in following upon the heels of the horses. On coming into the cross-track, he was enveloped in a cloud of dust, thick enough to prevent his seeing more than a few yards ahead. The dust and the bodies of the animals completely shut out the view, and he realised that as he neared the fork he would be quite unable to tell what awaited him there. He thought it advisable to drop a little behind. No doubt the horses would turn to the left when they reached the crossroads, and gallop towards the Inca camp--the place which for some days past they had associated with fodder. If the enemy had not actually passed the fork and marched down the eastern track, he might manage to turn into it unperceived under cover of the dust-cloud, and soon ride out of danger.
Slackening down until he had doubled his distance from the horses, he noticed on his right hand a belt of trees which, if his memory was not at fault, extended for nearly a mile along the southern edge of the cross-track until it joined the eastern path. With one eye on the horses and the other on the trees he watched for the branching of the tracks. It came sooner than he expected. Suddenly the horses swerved to the left; a few seconds afterwards he turned to the right, and felt the machine quicken under him on the downward incline.
At that instant he heard the loud crackle of rifles behind him. Posted among the trees just above the fork there was a body of men who, watching with astonishment the maddened gallop of three riderless horses, caught a faint glimpse of the motor-cycle as it emerged from the whirling dust. They fired too hurriedly to hit the mark. At the sound of the shots Tim bent double and let the machine go. Riding at the rate of thirty miles an hour he knew that the enemy could not catch him on horseback on this particular portion of the track. But when he came to the foot of the hill, and began to climb a long rise, he glanced round and saw a large troop of horsemen dashing down in pursuit. They were a long way behind, and unless some accident befell the machine, he was sure that he could outpace them with ease.
The track wound frequently. For long stretches he was hidden from the pursuers. Looking back now and then he noticed with satisfaction, whenever they came in sight, that he was steadily increasing the interval between him and them. He might have run away altogether if he had driven the machine at full speed; but the track was very rough, and he felt that he must watch it carefully if he was to avoid the risk of a second puncture, or of collision with some boulder. Downhill he often had to check his pace, and so could not take full advantage of the descents to give him impetus for the upward gradients of the switchback. But as mile after mile was covered he became less and less fearful of being caught; and when, at the end of a long, straight stretch, he saw that the enemy were at least two miles behind, he was perfectly easy in mind, and only wondered why they had not given up the hopeless chase.
His former journeys on this track had made him pretty familiar with the landmarks, and as he rode up a long incline, he knew that he would soon be in sight of the wooden bridge over the ravine, beyond which the party of Japanese were posted. A few miles of switchback, and then he would have a downward run home. But on rising slowly over the crest, he was staggered to see a troop of some twenty horsemen halted no more than half a mile in front of him. The track dipped to within about a hundred yards of the spot where they were standing, then bent somewhat sharply upwards, and disappeared over the brow rather more than half a mile ahead.
Tim instantly realised the desperate position into which he had come unawares. His first impulse was to screw on his brakes and dismount, to avoid rushing headlong among the enemy. But in a flash he saw that to do so would be simply to give himself into their hands, or into the hands of the men behind him. There was no escape either on the right or the left. The only possible course was to ride on and take his chance. Setting his teeth, and crouching almost flat over the handle-bar, he opened the throttle, and shot down the hill, sounding his hooter violently all the way.
If he had had the leisure to calculate the possible result he could scarcely have anticipated the success of his action. The horsemen instinctively edged away to the sides of the track, and on to the edge of the rough moorland which bounded it on the east. Some had the presence of mind to whip out their pistols, but as the cycle raced towards them with ever-quickening speed they found themselves in trouble with their horses, which began to quiver and sweat and prance at the strange sight and the terrifying sounds. Down flew the cycle, Tim gripping the handle-bar hard, no longer able to pick his course, but keeping the middle of the track, rough or smooth. He was unconscious of jerks and jolts; blind to the risk of puncture; in that critical half-minute he thought of nothing but the task of steering so as to avoid collision with the enemy, a disaster which they on their part were no less anxious to escape.
He was upon them, in a whirl of dust raised by the wind of his flight. A thrill shot through every fibre as he skimmed danger by a hair's breadth. One of the horses was cavorting on his hind legs, and his rider, almost as frantic as the animal, turned him into a whirligig by hard tugging at the bridle. A few shots were fired by the other troopers, but no man could take steady aim from the back of a rearing horse, at an object flashing by at forty miles an hour. With a rush and a whizz Tim was past.
But his momentary joy at having got through vanished as he felt the slackening of speed enforced by the steep incline beyond. On his former journey he had dismounted and wheeled the machine. There was a great hubbub behind him. The throbbing hum of his engine was smothered by the clatter of the horses' hoofs, and the yells of their riders spurring them on. Short as the ascent was, its angle was so sharp as to neutralise in great measure the impetus he had gained downhill. Moment by moment the machine flagged, and, without looking behind, he was conscious that the pursuers were gaining. He feared that his engine power would not suffice to bring him to the top, upon which he fixed his eyes as it were imploringly. How far away it seemed!
He pressed the pace to the uttermost. The machine toiled up and up; the uproar behind grew louder. He was beginning to despair. The cycle seemed to be crawling. Would the engine hold out? At last, with what appeared to be a final heave, it crept over the crest. The downward slope had begun, and the cycle dropped down with a rush which carried it easily to the top of the farther rise. With a sigh of thankfulness Tim knew that he had now increased his lead.
At this point the track began to wind round the face of the cliff on his right. A few minutes would bring him within sight of the bridge. But there was still one long climb before him, and here, if the pursuers could last the pace, they would have the advantage of him. He glanced back; they were just rounding the curve, perhaps a quarter-mile distant. This was the crisis of the chase. As the cycle laboured up the hill, Tim was aware that the gap was rapidly diminishing. When he gained the top, he had scarcely fifty yards to spare. But now for three or four hundred yards the track was level, and the horsemen yelled with rage as they saw their quarry once more slipping from their clutches. They had no chance against him on the flat. By the time he reached the point where the track dipped to the mile-long descent to the bridge, they had lost more than a hundred yards.
The bridge was not yet in sight. The track bent to the left somewhat sharply. In ordinary circumstances Tim would now have clapped on the brakes, but he was strung up to attempt any feat of daring, and after the first hundred yards of the hill he contented himself with closing the throttle. He swung perilously round the bend, and looking ahead, saw the bridged ravine three-quarters of a mile away. A horseman was galloping towards it--doubtless one of his vedettes. But why was he dashing so desperately towards the bridge?
Tim lowered his eyes, for he wore no goggles, and the wind created by his pace made them smart and tingle. He was halfway down the slope when a dull report below him caused him to look up again. Where, a few seconds before, the bridge had been, there was now a cloud of smoke. His orders had been carried out only too thoroughly: the bridge was blown up!
He was thunderstruck. Reckless and impulsive as he was, prone to play many a mad prank on his bicycle, he had never attempted such a feat as now, in the twinkling of an eye, he saw himself committed to. The ravine was more than thirty feet across. He would reach it in half a minute. No power on earth could check his descent. He must either plunge into the chasm, fifty feet deep, or leap the gap.
How can his sensations be described! Every second his speed was quickening. The steepness of the slope induced the feeling that he was dropping into space. He was conscious of the strange heaving sensation that a person feels on descending in a rapidly-moving lift. His body seemed to be flying upward. The air rushed past, scarifying his flesh, catching his breath, stunning his ears so that he did not hear the report of a dozen rifles across the gap. Down, down, faster than an express train, as fast as a racing motor-car, his body rigid, his mind working swifter than the electric flash--down to he knew not what.
On either side of the bridge the ground had been cleared. He must avoid the ruins of the bridge; he would steer to one side of it. As he swooped meteor-like towards the gap the space on his right widened out, and the ground made a slight ascent to the brink of the ravine. A touch on the handle-bar altered his course a point or two. Barely conscious of the rise, breathless and dizzy, he shut his eyes at the fateful moment--and the machine shot off the brink of the ravine like a stone from a catapult. For a fraction of a second he was in mid air, the wheels whirring beneath him. Then there was a tremendous thud as they struck the ground 011 the opposite side. The machine raced up the incline; the speed slackened; instinctively he applied the brakes; and in a few more seconds he fell rather than jumped from the saddle, and dropped panting, a mass of quivering nerves, upon the track.
A group of Japanese flocked about him. One gave him water from a mug. All were trembling with excitement. When he had collected himself, and inquired what had become of the pursuers, he learnt that, as they rode headlong down the hill behind him, two of the horses had slipped and brought their riders to the ground. The rest had reined up at the volley from the Japanese. Apparently none had been hit, but recognising that further pursuit was hopeless, they had stood watching the last few hundred yards of the cycle's flashing course. The Japanese had been too much amazed and alarmed to fire again. Both the parties looked on as at a thrilling spectacle. After the cycle had made its leap their amazement held them motionless for a while. Then, at a second volley, the enemy wheeled round and galloped away.
Tim asked why the bridge had been fired. The vedette explained that, descrying the heads of a large number of horsemen over the tops of the bushes on the crest of the hill, he had dashed back to give the alarm according to orders. The cycle, being lower, had been invisible to him. His comrades were so eager to carry out their instructions that even when Tim came into view they were too much occupied to see him, and only when the match was kindled, and they ran back to a position of safety, did they perceive with horror that they had, as they thought, cut off their master's chance of escape. Tim waived away their humble apologies; they had obeyed orders; and now that the strain of his nerve-shattering experiences was relaxed, he could afford to smile. The eastern track, at any rate, was impassable to the enemy.