Chapter Fourteen.
The Night-Watch.
Those were very encouraging words, and they seemed to tingle in the boys’ ears as the colonel followed his servant’s example, rolled a blanket about his shoulders, and lay down with his head resting on one of the mules’ loads; but the impression soon died away, leaving the lads close together, with their guns resting on the grass, listening in the deep silence of the starlit night, and for some time without speaking a word.
“Come a little farther away,” whispered Perry at last. “I want to talk.”
They moved a few yards away from the sleepers, and stopped beneath a great spreading tree at about equal distance from the colonel and the fire, which glowed faintly, but gave sufficient light for them to see Diego and the other Indian squatted down, making tents of their long garments, and with their chins bent down upon their breasts; but whether asleep, or waking and watchful, it was impossible to say.
“Well?” said Perry at last, after they had been straining their ears to catch different sounds, now the trickling murmur of falling water, now some strange cry from far away in the woods, or the whisper of a breeze which came down from the mountains to pass away among the trees.
“Well?” said Cyril.
“Isn’t it awfully quiet?”
“Yes.”
“Look over there, just to the left of the fire. Isn’t that some one watching us?”
“Tree trunk,” said Cyril laconically.
There was a pause, and then Perry whispered again.
“I say, I don’t want to be cowardly, but there’s some one coming slowly through the trees. I caught a glimpse of his back. He’s stooping down—there, between those two big trunks, where it’s open. Don’t you see—stooping?”
“Yes, I see, and nibbling the grass as he comes. One of the mules.”
Perry shaded his eyes—needlessly, for there was no glare to shut out—and he soon convinced himself that his companion was right.
But he felt annoyed, and said testily:
“I wish you wouldn’t be so ready to contradict everything I say.”
Cyril laughed softly.
“Why, you didn’t want it to be an enemy, did you?”
Perry made no reply, and they stood for some time together in silence, listening to the crop, crop sound made by the mules, and the whispering sighs of the wind, which came down sharp and chill from the mountains. At last Cyril spoke again.
“Let’s walk round the camp.”
“You can’t for the trees.”
“Oh yes, we can. It’s cold standing here. We’ll work in and out of the trees, and make a regular path round. It will be better than standing still.”
“Very well,” said Perry shortly. “Go on first.”
Cyril shouldered his piece and stepped off cautiously for a couple of dozen yards, and then struck off to the left, meaning to make the fire act as a centre round which they could walk, keeping guard and themselves warm; but before he had gone many steps he stopped short.
“Look here,” he whispered, “you are a soldier’s son, and ought to teach me what to do in keeping guard.”
“There’s nothing to teach,” said Perry. “All you’ve got to do is to keep a sharp lookout.”
“Yes, there is. If we keep together like this, we leave a lot of the camp exposed. What we ought to do is for one to go one way, and one the other; then meet, cross, and go on again. It would be far better.”
“But then we should be alone so long. We had better keep together.”
“Very well,” said Cyril shortly; but he owned to himself that he felt better satisfied, for it was lonely, depressing work there in the darkness.
Cyril stepped forward again, going slowly and carefully through the thick growth, making as little noise as possible, and trying to keep as nearly as possible to the same distance from the fire—no easy task, by the way—but he had not gone far before he stopped short and started aside, bringing his gun down to the present. For, all at once, from out of the darkness, some one seemed to strike at him, the blow cutting through the twigs and leaves by which he was surrounded with a loud whistling noise, while the stroke was so near, that he felt the air move close to his face.
“Fire—fire!” whispered Perry excitedly.
“What at? I can’t see any one,” replied Cyril, as he stood with his finger on the trigger.
He felt his heart beat with a heavy throb, and his hands grew moist, as he tried hard to pierce the darkness, and fix his eyes upon the enemy who had made so cowardly a blow at him; but the thick branches shut out every ray of light, and the silence was now painful in the extreme. The position was the more startling from the fact that neither could tell from which side the next blow would come.
But still that blow did not fall, and it seemed to Cyril, as he stood there holding his breath, that the Indian who had struck at him so treacherously was waiting until he moved, so as to make sure before striking again. At last the painful tension came to an end, for suddenly, from just in front, there was a heavy sigh, and crop, crop, crop, followed by a burst of laughter from the boy.
“Oh, I say, Perry,” he cried, “what a game! Fancy being scared like that by a mule.”
“Then it was one of the mules?”
“Of course; we frightened the poor thing, and it kicked out at us. Come along.”
He bore off a little to one side, and they passed the browsing animal, and, though describing rather an irregular circle, made their way round the fire, getting back pretty exactly to the place from which they started.
This was repeated several times, and then, for a change, Cyril proposed that they should strike off a little, straight away from the camp.
Perry was willing, and they put their plan in operation, for no special reason other than that of seeing the ground was clear in different directions, and to relieve the monotony of the watch.
“You lead now,” said Cyril, in a low voice, so as not to disturb the others, who, in thorough confidence that a good watch would be kept, and that there was no fear of any danger, were sound asleep.
Perry led on, finding the way more open a short distance from the camp, but he had not led thirty yards when he stopped short.
“Hallo! another mule?” said Cyril.
“Indian!” said Perry huskily; and, as Cyril pressed forward to his companion’s side, there, hard to define, but plain at last, stood one of the Indians, who raised his arm and pointed back, uttering two or three words in a guttural tone.
“What does he say?”
“That we must go back to the fire. Perhaps we had better,” said Cyril. “I don’t like his being there, though. Look here,” he said quickly; “let’s make haste back, and go right out the other way.”
“What for?” said Perry, following his companion.
“I’ll tell you directly.”
Five minutes later they were checked just on the other side by another Indian who started up right in their path.
“Come and warn my father,” said Perry excitedly. “They’re going to attack us.”
“No; I think not,” replied Cyril decisively. “They’re sentries. Come and try another way.”
He led off again, after they had returned to the fire, finding that they were not followed, and that all was still; and again they were stopped by an Indian starting up and ordering them back.
“That’s it,” said Cyril quietly; “they’ve surrounded us with sentries.”
“To attack us?”
“No; to see that we don’t escape; and while we were walking round and round, they were within a few yards of us, listening to all our movements.”
“But they couldn’t have been there then, or they would have started up as they did just now.”
“No; we weren’t doing anything they minded; but as soon as we tried to go straight away, they stopped us. Let’s try once more.”
He led off quickly again, with the same result; and then Perry turned back to where his father lay asleep.
“What are you going to do?” whispered Cyril.
“Wake up my father, of course. We are attacked.”
“Don’t do that,” said Cyril decisively. “We are not attacked, or they would have seized us at once. I’m sure they are only guarding us, to make sure that we don’t try to escape. It’s of no use to wake him till the proper time.”
Perry hesitated.
“But we are in danger.”
“No; I don’t think we are. They are watching us, but they don’t mean to attack us, or they would do so. You’ll see now. We’ve come among them, and they’ll keep us under their eye, and perhaps will not let us go again. Look here: let’s go and speak to Diego.”
Perry was easily led, and yielding to his companion’s decisive manner, he followed to the fire and then round to the other side, where the Indian guide and his companion were squatted down with their chins resting upon their chests.
They made no sign as the boys came silently up, and appeared to be fast asleep; but Cyril knew better, for he saw in the dim glow shed by the fire, a slight tightening of the man’s hand upon his bow.
“They’re asleep,” whispered Perry. “Better come to my father.”
“Asleep with one eye open, and on the watch,” said Cyril quietly, and he bent down and whispered a few words.
They were electric in their effect, for both men raised their heads, and their eyes glittered in the faint light from the fire.
“Didn’t take much waking,” said Cyril, with a little laugh. Then turning to Diego, he said, in the man’s half-Spanish jargon:
“Why are the Indians on the watch all round here?”
The man looked at the speaker intently.
“Are the Indians watching all round?” he said quietly.
“You know they are. Why is it? To keep us from going away?”
The man looked at him intently, and then nodded his head.
“And suppose we try to go away, what then? Would they fight?”
“Yes,” said the guide gravely.
“And try to kill us?”
“Yes, they would kill you.”
“Try to, you mean.”
“No,” said the man gravely. “Kill you. You are few, they are many.”
“Stop a moment,” said Cyril, as the man turned his head aside wearily. “Will they try to kill us if we stay?”
“No.”
Cyril tried to get more information from the man, but he shook his head, and made a pretence of being so lazy and unable to comprehend the boy’s words, that Cyril gave up in disgust, and turned impatiently away.
“It’s of no good to-night,” he said. “We heard all that he is likely to know. Let’s walk round again.”
“But they may strike at us in the dark.”
“No, they will not do that. I’m not afraid. Let’s go through with our watching, till we think it’s midnight, and then wake up the colonel.”
“We’d better call him now.”
“No; if we did, it would only be giving a false alarm, when we know that there is no danger. Come along.”
The weaker mind yielded to the stronger, and the march round was begun again, one which required no little courage, knowing, as the boys did, that there must be quite a dozen Indians within striking distance, and every rustle they heard, made probably by one of the grazing mules, might be caused by an enemy creeping forward to strike a blow.
At last, when they felt that it must be getting toward midnight, Cyril proposed that they should go back close to where the colonel lay asleep, and they had not been standing near him ten minutes, hesitating to call him for fear he should be awakened too soon, when he suddenly made a hasty movement, opened his eyes, looked round, and sprang to his feet.
“Midnight, boys,” he said, “is it not?”
“We don’t know, father, and did not like to call you too soon.”
“Yes, it must be about midnight,” he said decisively, “or I should not have woke up. Well, is all right?”
“No, father,” whispered Perry.
“Oh yes; there’s nothing to mind,” said Cyril hastily. “We only found that there are a lot of Indians round about the camp.”
“You saw them?”
“Yes, sir. So soon as we moved a little way, a man rose up and stopped us.”
“On one side?” said the colonel.
“All round, sir.”
“On guard, then, in case we wished to escape. We’re prisoners, my lad, for the present. However, they will not venture to hurt us, unless we give them good reason, by loading up the mules to take away something they consider ought to be kept here, and that we shall not be ready to do for some days to come.”
“That’s what I wanted Perry to feel sir,” said Cyril, “but he would have it that they were going to attack us to-night.”
“There is no fear of that, my boy,” said the colonel firmly. “There, lie down, and sleep till breakfast-time; there is nothing to fear.”
“But are you going to watch alone, sir?”
“Yes, quite alone, my lad,” said the colonel, smiling. “There, take my place; I’m rested now, and you have nothing to mind. Don’t meet perils half-way; its bad enough when they come. Till they do, it is our duty to be patient and watch. Afterwards we must fight—if it is necessary. Now—to bed.”
The boys obeyed, and the colonel commenced his solitary watch.