Chapter Twenty Eight.
Nature is Mistress.
“I haven’t slept long,” thought Cyril as he woke with a start to see the colonel seated as he had left him when sleep came. He did not appear to have moved, and all was perfectly still. One thing, however, puzzled him, and that was the light. It was soft and warm and glowing then; now it was clear and bright.
All at once he saw something come into sight from the side and stand looking in. It was the old leading mule, and it stood there munching away at a tuft of green stuff which it held in its teeth, and then dropped, and stooped its head to take a long drink of water.
“Have the Indians gone?” thought Cyril, “and has the colonel let the mules out to feed?”
He sat up for a moment or two, and then lay down again.
“I may as well sleep till I am called,” he thought, and he lay listening to the heavy breathing of John Manning and Perry, whom he could see lying in precisely the same position as when he lay down a few minutes before.
But was it a few minutes before? Cyril asked himself as he saw the mule lift its head with the water dripping from its lips, and then pick up the tuft of green twigs, and go on munching again. It could not have been longer, for the colonel had not been relieved yet; but the light was so strange. Last time he looked, the opposite side of the gorge was glowing with the sunset rays; now it was in shadow, and the sun was shining just inside the mouth of the cave, and making the water flash like molten silver.
The mule stared in toward him, and Cyril made a bull, as a sudden thought flashed through his mind.
“Why, it’s to-morrow morning!” he mentally exclaimed as he started up, “and I’ve been asleep all this time.”
He went to where the colonel sat, and though the stones rattled a little beneath his feet, the watcher did not stir, but sat as if gazing straight out past the mule, when Cyril said reproachfully:
“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long, sir.”
But there was no answer, and at that moment there was a dull sound, a whinnying sigh, as the mule gave a violent start, throwing out its legs in all directions, and scattering the stones before gathering itself together, and making a tremendous leap to go galloping away, not so quickly, though, but that Cyril saw it had a long arrow sticking in its back.
“What’s that? Who? You, Cyril?” cried the colonel, springing to his feet. “What! Have I been to sleep?”
“I don’t know, sir; I only just woke up.”
“Why, it’s morning,” cried the colonel angrily. “What was that noise?”
“The old mule. Some one shot an arrow, and stuck it in her back.”
“But how came it there? I—I—Ah! and I blamed you, boy, for falling asleep at your post.”
“Anything the matter, sir?” said John Manning, coming forward, followed hastily by Berry.
“Matter, man; yes. I have kept watch by sleeping all night.”
“Well, sir, I don’t wonder,” said the man. “I have too, for you didn’t call me to go on duty.”
“Oh, shame!” exclaimed the colonel. “And at a time like this!”
“I don’t see no shame in it, sir,” growled John Manning bluntly. “You wanted sleep like the rest of us, and you couldn’t fight against it. You ain’t an iron man, sir.”
“Silence, sir!” cried the colonel angrily, and he hurried right out of the cave, closely followed by the boys, in time to see the mule disappear low down the gorge, galloping madly among the stones.
“Another—our most valuable pack mule gone,” cried the colonel, in a voice full of the anger and annoyance he felt. “The poor brute must have strayed out to graze.”
“Yes, sir; I saw it eating when I awoke, and then directly after the arrow struck it.”
“Then the Indians must be close at hand. Come back and help to secure the rest of the mules, or they may be straying out after their leader.”
Cyril looked in the colonel’s face, and then pointed down the valley at something moving, plainly seen now in the clear morning atmosphere.
“Yes; I see it. One moment till I focus the glass.”
The colonel held his little double glass to his eye, and then let his hand fall to his side in dismay on learning that the mischief was worse than he had anticipated, for there was another mule on the far slope; and just then John Manning came up with Perry from an expedition within the cave.
“Yes: what is it?” cried the colonel sharply.
“Sorry to have to report it, sir,” said Manning, in a low deep growl, “but the mules have strayed out in the night.”
“All?” said the colonel hoarsely. “Is there not one left?”
“No, sir; as far as I can make out, not one.”
The colonel’s brows knit, and he stood motionless for a few moments. Then without a word he walked right in to where it was quite dark.
“Light the lantern,” he said sharply, and in a few moments a match gleamed out, and the candle was soon after shedding its rays in all directions. But hardly had John Manning given a glance round, than he uttered a sharp ejaculation.
“What is it?” cried the colonel. “Can you see the rest of the mules?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, what is it?” cried the colonel impatiently.
“Don’t you see, father?” cried Perry excitedly; “the Indians must have crept in while we slept. They have carried everything away.”
“What?” raged out the colonel as he looked wildly round where his servant was holding up the lantern, and then he uttered a groan.
For it was too true. Every pack had gone, and with them the possibility of holding out against the cunning enemy who had been in their midst.
The same thoughts came to each of the boys—thoughts of all they had heard before setting out, of those who ventured into the mountains in search of the Incas’ treasures never being heard of more, and a curious chilling feeling of despair came over them.
Would they ever see home again?
But the colonel was not the man to give way to despair. The position was terrible—right out there amid the gigantic mountains, with the only roads through them those naturally formed by the torrents in the wild deep gorges, shut in by precipices of the most stupendous nature, with no other guide than their compass, and surrounded by enemies who might at any moment make an attack; while, so far from being able to make a prolonged defence now, the Indians had robbed them of the means.
This was the position as it struck them all at first, but the colonel gave it a different aspect directly.
“Council of war,” he said cheerily, as he led the way out into the sunshine, and sat down upon a block of stone. “Come, Perry lad, a soldier’s son must not look like that as soon as he is face to face with difficulties. John Manning will tell you that he and I have been in worse straits than this up in the hill-country.—Eh, Manning?”
“Of course, sir. This is nothing. Such a fine morning, too. Why, if the snow lay twenty foot deep, as we’ve seen it, and we didn’t know whether we had any fingers or toes, we might begin to holler.”
“Of course,” said the colonel. “So let’s see what is to be done.”
The two boys exchanged glances, but said nothing.
“Now, then,” cried the colonel, “let’s look the worst straight in the face, and then we will calculate our advantages. First of all, the enemy.”
“None in sight, sir,” said John Manning.
“No; they have gone. They have achieved their aim in getting possession of our baggage.”
“Don’t you think they’ll attack us, sir?” said Cyril.
“No, certainly not. They have been here, and found us asleep. Had they wished to slay us, there we were at their mercy, and not a hair of our heads has been touched. Next trouble.”
“Walked off with all the wittle, sir,” growled John Manning.
“Yes, that’s bad; but we have plenty of water, and shall not fail in our journeyings for that. Bad thing to be journeying through a wild country with not a drop of water, eh, Manning? We have done that.”
“Don’t talk about it, sir. And the sun all the time drying the very marrow out of your bones.”
“Yes, those were terrible times, my man. We shall not suffer that way, and as to food, we have our guns. What about ammunition?”
“All got plenty, sir,” growled John Manning. “I’ve seen every morning that our pouches were full.”
“That’s right, then. With a little hunting, we must find some game in these valleys, scarce as it has been. Then there is the coca leaf, whose virtues we must try, failing anything better. Oh, come, we are not so very badly off.”
“Then you will try at once to make for one of the tracks through the mountains, sir?” said Cyril.
“And live by hunting, father?” cried Perry.
“And give up, after trying so long, and being so near success, my boy?” said the colonel. “Come, come: Britons would not have made their name known all over the world if they had gone on like that.”
“Look here,” cried Cyril excitedly; and then he stopped and looked doubtingly at the colonel.
“Well, I’m waiting, my lad. Every suggestion has its value at a time like this. Speak out.”
“I’m afraid you’ll think the idea too wild, sir.”
“I will say so if it is, my boy. Let’s have it.”
“I thought this, sir,” said Cyril hesitatingly: “we’re well-armed; the Indians are afraid of you, and they are most likely retreating back to their camp with our mules and baggage, along with the seed we worked so hard to get.”
He stopped again, and looked from one to the other, very red in the face all the time.
“Well, go on,” said the colonel encouragingly.
“Why not show them we’re not a bit afraid, and go on in pursuit of them at once? I don’t believe they’d fight, and if they did—well, we should have to do the same.”
“Hooray!” shouted John Manning, throwing up his cap, catching it again, and then drawing himself up stiffly as he glanced at the colonel: “Beg pardon, sir.”
The colonel merely nodded, but said to himself: “I wish Percy had spoken like that.” Then turning to Cyril: “You said, why not go in pursuit?”
“Yes, sir,” said Cyril, throwing off his hesitation, and speaking now with his eyes sparkling, and cheeks flushed with excitement. “Why not?”
“Exactly, my boy, why not?” said the colonel. “We were caught unawares, and I have blamed myself, an old soldier, severely for the greatest lapse of which an officer can be guilty—eh, John Manning?—sleeping on duty in face of the enemy.”
“Awful bad, sir, in time of war.”
“Yes, but there are bounds to human nature’s endurance, John Manning; and though I would not own it to myself, I was utterly exhausted.”
“All was, sir.”
“Then now we must make up for it.—Cyril, my lad, you have proposed exactly what I intended to do. Fortunately, we made a good meal last night. To-day we must feast again when we have retaken the baggage.—All ready? Fall in.”
The boys followed the colonel’s example, and leaped to their feet.
“Light marching order,” said the colonel, “so we ought to get along fast. That mule we saw, Cyril, shows that the others have been taken down the valley toward the great fall. There is no choice of road here, so I take it that the Indians are making their way straight back to their camp. Now, one word more. See that your weapons are ready for immediate use; no talking, but keep all your energies devoted to making observations in every direction. No rift or ravine likely to hide the enemy must be passed, if it is one possible for mules to climb. Now, forward.”
Then with a feeling of exhilaration that the boys could hardly comprehend, the little party started off with the colonel leading, and John Manning with his gun over his shoulder marching last, with a look in his face that suggested his feeling that he was guarding the rear of a column of advance once again.