CHAPTER XVII.
THE DECOY—A THROW OF THE DICE—THE EXECUTION.
Before Pike and his captive had gone far on their return journey, Harkaway and Harvey, with two or three of the gendarmes, and a minute after Jefferson, came up.
"You have caught him then. Hurrah!" said Dick Harvey.
"But this is not Hunston," said Harkaway.
"No, sir; he managed to get clean away. But we'll have him yet."
An old goatherd, who had scrambled down near to the place where the captor and prisoner stood, might have been seen to indulge in a contemptuous smile.
We say might, because the fact is that all were so much elated at the capture of Tomaso that the very presence of the old stranger had hitherto remained unnoticed.
Nor did he seem to court attention, but remained behind a bush, in a spot, however, where he could hear all that passed.
"Well, we must take this fellow back to the town, and hand him over to the authorities," said Harvey.
"And then hunt down Master Hunston," remarked old Jack. "I wish we knew where to look for him."
"He took this direction," remarked Pike.
"True."
"And, therefore, it is in this direction that we must look for him."
"Right again," remarked Dick Harvey.
"But as he is associated with some desperate fellows, it would be as well to place this gentleman in the hands of the authorities before we seek him. It is not good to go into action with prisoners on our hands."
As all agreed on this point, they walked back with the prisoner, and had the pleasure of seeing him put into a cell from which, apparently, there was no way of escape, even the fire-place having been bricked up since the attempt of Mathias to gain freedom that way. By the time that was done it was too late to think of starting that day, so our friends retired to hold a council of war.
Pike, however, took no part in the consultation.
That astute detective had formed in his own mind a resolution that, if it were possible, he would capture Hunston single-handed, thus covering himself with glory, and at the same time keeping the Harkaways and Harvey out of danger.
Pike knew that it was a difficult thing to keep them out of danger, and that if they heard any thing about the brigands, they would be the very ones to lead an attack.
Pike walked up and down, smoking and reflecting on the difficulties which surrounded his task.
He had not thoroughly matured his plans when the sun went down and the moon rose.
Few people were abroad.
The audacity the brigands had recently displayed had convinced most people that they were safer indoors than out.
As Pike walked up and down the quiet street, he noticed an old man crouched up in a corner, wrapped in a tattered cloak, and apparently intending to pass the night there.
"Hilloa, my friend, what are you? Are you one of the brigands?"
Pike uttered the words in a jocular manner, but the old man felt deeply offended.
"Sir Englishman, you insult me."
"I apologise. I had no intention of doing so."
"A brigand! Signor, I am here—houseless and penniless in my old age through those accursed villains! May Sathanas fly away with their souls."
"Well, old man, perchance you will be avenged before long."
"It is what I pray for. They burnt my hut, cut down my two fine olive trees, and drove off my little flock of goats."
The old man covered his face, and appeared to sob violently.
"When was this?" asked Pike.
"Scarce three hours since."
"Was there with them a foreigner—one of my country?"
"I know not what country they were of, but besides the Greeks, there were two men who seemed leaders; one was called Signor Toro, the other was named Hunston."
"How many were there in all?"
"Three Greeks besides the two foreigners."
"Do you know any thing of the haunts of these brigands, friend goatherd?"
"Aye, well. But till now I have never dreamt of betraying them, for they never before molested me."
"Lead me to their den."
"You, signer? Why, they are at least five in number, and you are but—"
"But an Englishman! that makes all the difference, friend goatherd, so pray lead on. Here, take a drink from my flask first."
The old man accepted the proffered drink, and then said—
"Well, signor, it is a desperate and dangerous undertaking; but I know you English can do almost any thing, so I will show you the way. And if it comes to a fight, I shall be at your elbow, signor."
"True."
Without mentioning his intentions, or saying a word to any of his friends, the detective passed his arm through that of the goatherd and walked away.
Little conversation passed.
The detective was full of hopeful anxiety about the capture of Hunston; and as for the goatherd, it may be presumed that the loss of his goats afforded him plenty of food for silent reflection.
They passed the place where Tomaso was captured, and then turned aside out of the road into a dense wood which covered the side of a rocky hill.
It appeared as though the old goatherd was "out of condition," as the athletes say; at all events, the scramble up the rough path brought on a loud and distressing cough.
"Be quiet," said Pike; "you will alarm them."
"No fear of that, signor; we are more than a mile from the den of the villains."
So they scrambled and climbed away, till at length they reached a place where Pike found it necessary to use hands as well as feet to make progress.
He had just put up both hands to grasp a boulder over which it was necessary to climb, when, to his intense astonishment, each wrist was grasped by a couple of strong hands, and in another moment he was forcibly dragged up.
"The tables are turned now, Mr. Pike," said a voices "You will remain our prisoner till Tomaso is released."
It was so dark that Pike could not see the speaker, but he had no doubt that it was Hunston.
The impression was confirmed in an instant by the goatherd, who said in a jeering manner—
"Ha, ha, ha! Why don't you capture him? You were so very brave to talk, yet you do nothing."
Pike, by a sudden jerk, wrenched himself from his captors, and dealt the mocking brigand—for he was nothing more—a blow that doubled him up among the rocks.
But before the detective could escape, he was thrown down himself, and bound hand and foot.
Half-a-dozen Greek brigands then raised him and bore him away.
How far he could not tell, but it seemed, as far as he could guess, five or six miles.
At length they reached a little open glade in the forest where at least a score of brigands were assembled.
"You have him, then?" said a huge fellow, who spoke with an Italian accent.
"Yes."
"Tie him to that tree."
It was done.
"Now listen," said Toro—for he it was who had given the command. "If Tomaso is not at liberty and here among us at noon, you shall die."
"I can not set him at liberty."
"You can do a great deal towards it. Unfasten one of his arms—his right arm."
Pike's right arm was then released, and, in obedience to Toro's command, a small table was placed close to him.
On this table were pens, ink and paper.
"Now write to your friend Harkaway, and tell him that unless Tomaso is released by noon, as I have told you, death is your doom."
So Pike wrote—
"I am in the hands of the brigands, and unless Tomaso is released by noon, I shall be killed. But I am not afraid to die; hold your captive fast."
Having signed it, he held it out to Toro, who read it, and then called a messenger, to whom he entrusted it for delivery.
Then the brigands sat down to breakfast, and Pike was left to his contemplations. These, as may be imagined, were not of the most pleasant kind.
Hour after hour passed.
The brigands were some sleeping, some playing cards, and all enjoying themselves in some way, but no one took any notice of the prisoner.
The sun rode high in the heavens, and it was evidently approaching noon, when the messenger returned from the town with a letter.
It was addressed to Pike, but Toro opened it.
It was not from Harkaway, but from the chief of the police, informing the unfortunate detective that the Greek government declined to make any terms or drive any bargain with brigands, but that any ill usage Mr. Pike might suffer would be most effectually avenged.
"You hear this?" said Toro.
"I do."
"Then say what prayers you remember, and make your peace with Heaven, for at noon you die."
"Let me be the executioner," said a brigand who stood by.
"Not so," exclaimed another; "the task is mine by right."
"Peace!" said Toro. "The dice shall decide his fate. The highest thrower shall have the pleasure of shooting him."
The brigands, in obedience to a signal from the chief, gathered round him, a short distance from the prisoner.
Dice were produced and the game began.
"Double four," cried the first thrower.
"That man stands a good chance of being my executioner," thought Pike. "To fancy that I, who have been the terror of evil-doers in England, should be the sport of these dirty brigands. Why, I could well thrash half-a-dozen of them in a fair stand-up fight."
At this moment a loud peal of laughter greeted the second dicer.
"Ace—two."
"My chance is worthless," said the man.
"Worthless!" muttered Pike to himself. "Aye, you are indeed worthless, compared with some of the English villains I have hunted down and fought for life or death. I could die like a man if I only had to die in a fair hand-to-hand fight with such a man as Birmingham Bill, the very first murderer I ever coped with; but I'll show them how an Englishman can die."
"Double six!" shouted one of the brigands, as he threw the dice.
The man was the smallest and ugliest of the lot, but it seemed very probable that he would be Pike's executioner. At all events, he carefully loaded his carbine.
"To be shot by such a villain as that!" thought Pike. "It would have been better if one of the shots fired by that burglar fellow they call the 'Whitechapel, Devil' had taken effect; six times he fired, and then we had a good ten minutes' tussle before I could secure him."
At length all the brigands had thrown with the exception of Toro.
"Double six again!"
As it was a tie between the two, each had another throw. The little ugly brigand threw.
"Two—three."
Toro then took up the dice, shook them well in the box and made his cast.
"Five—four!"
And Toro was hailed the winner.
"Prisoner, I give you two minutes to prepare."
"Brigand, I am prepared. Such sins as I have committed, I have repented of, so do your worst; but rest assured that vengeance will some day overtake you. To Heaven I commend my soul!"
With as much composure as if he had been practising at an inanimate target, Toro raised his gun, and counted—
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
At the word three, he pulled the trigger. The report echoed from rock to rock, and the head and body of poor Pike fell forward, as far as the ropes that secured him to the tree would permit.
He was dead, the bullet having penetrated the brain.
* * * * *
That evening, as Harkaway, Harvey, and Jefferson returned from an unsuccessful attempt to rouse the authorities, they found that two men had left a heavy package at the house.
On opening it, they were horrified to find it a section of a hollow tree, nearly every portion of the wood having crumbled away, leaving the bark intact.
And in the hollow was the body of the poor detective and a brief note.
"The fate of all brigand hunters. Beware!—TORO."
"Vengeance for this, at all events," exclaimed Harkaway.
"Poor Pike! We should be unworthy of the name of Englishmen did we not punish thy murderers."
He wrote a note to the mayor.
"SIR,—In the huge package that accompanies this note, you will find the body of an Englishman, who has this day been murdered by brigands; I call upon you, in the name of Heaven, to rout these murderers out of their dens, and bring them to justice. Should you show any backwardness in so doing, I shall deem it necessary to appeal to the English ambassador.
"Your obedient servant,
"J. HARKAWAY."
Having despatched a couple of messengers with the body and letter, they sat down with sorrowful hearts and small appetites to their evening meal.