Chapter Forty Five.
Taking a Prisoner.
A fierce struggle ensued, during which, for a few moments, the Indian proved the stronger. Garcia’s torch was extinguished, and the savage held him by clasping his arms tightly round his waist. Then, with an effort, Garcia shook his adversary off, snatched up a torch stuck in the sand, and was already half a dozen yards down the passage, with our party in full retreat, when, with a yell of horror, the chief bounded after him, overtook him, and the struggle began anew.
An instant more and Garcia’s gun exploded, raising a roar of thundering echoes that was absolutely terrific. Rolling volley after volley seemed to follow one another with the rapidity of thought, the very cavern appeared about to be crushed in, and, as we paused for an instant to gaze back, we could see the chief and all his followers upon their knees, their faces bent to the sand, and a dismal wailing chorus of “Illapa! Illapa! Illapa!”—the Indians’ name for the god of thunder—could be fairly heard mingling with the rolling of the echoes.
The chief was in the same position, with a burning torch close to his head, for which Garcia now returned, and stood for a moment hesitating, as he gazed at the prostrate figures behind.
Would he dare to come on? or would he retreat? were now the questions we asked ourselves.
The answer came in an instant, for Garcia was coming slowly on. He paused for a few minutes when he reached the spot where we had watched from, and, stooping behind the rocks, he reloaded his piece; then, with his light above his head and his gun held ready, he pressed on, lighting us, though we were invisible to him, as we kept about fifty yards in advance.
Twice over Tom wanted to fire; but he was restrained, for we hoped that, moment by moment, Garcia would hesitate and turn back. But no; there was still the fierce satanic face, with its retiring forehead and shortly-cut black hair, glistening in the torchlight, ever coming forward out of the darkness, peering right and left, the torch now held down to seek for footprints in the sand, now to search behind some mass of crags.
On came the light nearer and nearer, illumining the gloomy passage, and sending before it the dark shadows of the rocks in many a grotesque form.
From where I stooped I could just catch sight of the sardonic face, with its rolling eyes, which scanned every cranny and crag. Twenty yards—ten yards—five yards—he was close at hand now, when from far-off came the low whinny of a mule, followed directly by another.
In an instant Garcia stopped short to listen. Then the sardonic smile upon his face grew more pronounced, and, casting off his hesitation, he once more stepped forward nearer—nearer, till his torch, elevated as it was, shed its light upon us. But he did not yet distinguish us from the rock around, and the next two steps bore him past, when his eye fell upon the flash of light from my gun-barrel, and, with an ejaculation in Spanish, he turned upon me, and we were face to face. But ere his heart could have made many pulsations Tom’s coat was over his head, the torch fell to the ground, to lie burning feebly upon the soil, there was a fierce struggle, and the swaying to and fro of wrestlers, the torch was trampled out, and then in the darkness there was the sound of a heavy fall, and, panting with exertion, Tom exclaimed:
“I’m sitting on his head, Mas’r Harry, and he can’t bite now. Just you tie his legs together with your handkercher.”
I had thrown the gun aside, and, in spite of a few frantic plunges, succeeded in firmly binding the ankles of the prostrate man together.
“Now, Mas’r Harry,” whispered Tom, “take hold of one arm—hold it tight—and we’ll turn him over on his face, and tie his hands behind his back. Hold tight, for he’s a slippery chap, and he’ll make another fight for it. He got away from me once, but I had him again directly. Now, then, over with him! Here, ask your uncle to hold his legs down.”
There was a heave, a struggle, and then a half-suffocated voice exclaimed:
“Tom! Harry! are you both mad?”
“Oh, Tom!” I ejaculated; “what have you done?”
“Ketched the wrong bird, Mas’r Harry, and no mistake,” muttered Tom, as he hastily set my uncle at liberty. “It was that darkness as done it. He slipped away like an eel just as the light went out.”
“Never mind,” gasped my uncle. “But what muscles you boys have!”
“He did not go towards the entrance,” I whispered excitedly, “and I have his gun. If we are careful we shall have him yet.”
Then I could not help shuddering as I rejoiced over the merciful policy we had determined upon; for I thought how easily we might have caused the death of one of our own party.
“It was an unlucky mistake, lads,” whispered my uncle; “but we must have him, living or dead.”
The rest of the way to where we had left the companions of our trial was so narrow that by pressing cautiously forward I knew that we must encounter Garcia sooner or later.
As we reached the part where the track ran along a ledge we divided, Tom continuing to walk along the ledge to where it terminated in the rocky tongue over the great gulf, while my uncle and I, trembling for those we loved, continued our search by the side of the little stream till we were where the passage widened into the vault where the mules were concealed, when I stopped short, my uncle going forward to search the vault, while I stayed to cut off the enemy’s retreat, or to spring up the ledge to the help of Tom.
I heard my uncle’s whisper, and one or two timid replies, and then came an interval of anxious silence before my uncle crept back to me.
“I have been all over the place, as near as I can tell, Harry,” he whispered. “Can he have passed us?”
“Impossible!” I said. “Uncle, we must have a light.”
Without a word my uncle glided away; then I heard a
rustle as of paper; there was the faint glow of a match dipped in a phosphorus bottle, the illumination of a large loose piece of paper, and then a torch was lit, showing us Garcia standing upon the extreme verge of the rocky point over the gulf; and at the same moment he drew the trigger of a pistol, to produce only a flash of the pan, which revealed to him his perilous position.
“Señor Garcia!” I cried loudly, as I climbed up to join Tom on the ledge which he must pass, “you are standing with a great gulf behind and on either side. A step is certain death. You are our prisoner!”
With a howl like that of a wild beast he raised his other pistol and fired—the report echoing fearfully from the great abyss. Then, darting forward, he leaped upon Tom, overturned him, and the next moment he was upon me, and we were in a deadly embrace, rolling down the side of the ledge, over and over in our fierce struggle, till we reached the little stream, whose waters were soon foaming around us.
Garcia was active as one of the jaguars of the forest hard by; but I was young, and my muscles were pretty tough. And, besides, a faint shriek that I had heard as he dashed at me had given me nerve for the struggle.
It is hard to say, though, who would have gained the upper hand, for my principal efforts were directed at preventing him from drawing his knife, whilst I had his arms fast to his side, he all the while striving to free himself.
I began to be hopeful, though, at last, when, by a feint, he got me beneath him, and the next moment he had forced my head beneath the icy waters of the little stream. Very few minutes would have sufficed, for I could feel myself growing weaker; but there was help at hand. We were dragged out, and by the time I had recovered myself sufficiently to wring the water from my eyes, and, with my temples throbbing, to gaze about, there was Garcia pinned to the ground by Tom, whose foot was upon the villain’s throat, and his gun-barrel pointed at his head.
“Now, then, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, “we’ve got the right one this time anyhow. Here, come and stick your torch in here, Mas’r Landell, and we’ll soon make it right.”
My uncle did as he was requested; and then, once more, Garcia made a savage fight for his liberty.
But it was in vain; and while I helped to hold him down Tom tightly bound his legs, my uncle performing the same operation with the prisoner’s hands.
“That ain’t no good, Mas’r Landell,” said Tom. “He’ll wriggle them loose in no time. Look here, I’ll show you. Turn him over.”
There was no heed paid to the savage glare nor the muttered Spanish oaths of our prisoner, as he was forced over on his face, when, producing some string, Tom placed Garcia’s hands back to back, and then tightly tied his thumbs and his little fingers together with the stout twine. A handkerchief was next bound round the wrists, and Tom rose.
“He won’t get over that, Mas’r Landell. He’ll lie there as long as we like—only, if he don’t hold his tongue, we’ll stick something in his mouth; and he may thank his stars that he has got off so well. And now, Mas’r Harry, I proposes that we all go back and see what the Indians are doing; and if they are not gone, why, we’ll all fire our guns off one after the other, as’ll kick up such a hooroar as’ll scare ’em into fits.”
Tom’s advice found favour; but it was not until I had thoroughly satisfied myself of the security of my enemy’s bonds that I had the heart to leave.
Then, and then only, we crept cautiously back, till, after a long and painful walk, we perceived the faint glow from the burning torches in the vault of the entrance to the bird-chamber, and on making our way once more, as near as we dared go, we could see that the Indians were clustered together, and anxiously watching the passage.
Stepping back, then, thirty or forty paces, we fired off six barrels in quick succession, with an effect that startled even ourselves, and, had the thundering roar been followed by the falling in of block after block of stone, I, for one, should not have been surprised. It seemed as though the noise would never cease; but when, with the last reverberation dying away, we crept forward, it was only to find that there was darkness everywhere, for the Indians to the last man had fled.