CHAPTER XIX
Missing
"Hanged if I can wait about for the moon to rise, Jack. It will be two mortal hours before it's much use to us," declared Bobby Beverley. "Game to carry on at once?"
"Right-o," assented Villiers; "but I'm afraid we won't do much. Can't see your hand in front of your face, so to speak. Wish we had a good dog here."
"We'll try with the Aldis," rejoined Beverley.
"Right-o," agreed his chum for the second time. "Let's get a move on."
From the store they procured an Aldis lamp and battery. The lamp, primarily intended for flashing signals (it was powerful enough to enable a message to be sent over a distance of five miles in broad daylight), could be used as a miniature and portable searchlight, although the weight of the case containing the cells was considerable.
"Perhaps," suggested Villiers, as the two men plunged into the coco-palm groves, "perhaps the young blighter's taken it into his head to scale one of the peaks and can't find his way down."
"Hope not," replied Beverley. "Dashed if I fancy climbing a thousand feet or so of lava rock. 'Sides, he must have heard us shouting all over the show."
"Possibly," admitted Villiers. "But he might not be able to let us know."
"Had a rifle."
"And a handful of cartridges. And a handful wouldn't last a whole day with a boy on his own for the first time with a real rifle."
For nearly twenty minutes they proceeded in silence, following a track recently made through the dense undergrowth.
"Trouble is," remarked Beverley, "we've been acting like bulls in a china-shop on the previous stunt. If Dick left a trail we've obliterated it."
"We have," admitted Villiers. "S'pose we weren't born trackers, any of us. It's like collaring a skilled woodcraft man and sending him afloat. He would be all at sea in a double sense."
He stopped and swung the rays of the lamp upon a clump of palms.
"I remember this spot," he continued. "Do you notice how curiously these trunks shoot up? A sort of kink in them. Merridew and his party took that path; we, if you recollect, bore away to the right, and Trevear and Claverhouse carried straight on. If we bear away to the left I fancy we'll be striking a fresh trail."
There was a path of sorts. Whether any of the Titania's crew other than Dick Beverley had traversed it remained for the present a matter for speculation. The ground was covered with the decaying vegetation of years and showed no trace of footprints, although the undergrowth on both sides gave indications of being forced aside.
"Pigs, no doubt," commented Villiers, when Bobby called his attention to the trampled saplings. "Hallo! though; what's this?"
The brilliant rays of the Aldis lamp lighted up a small glittering object. It was a cartridge-case.
"Lee-Enfield, .303," declared Beverley, picking up and sniffing at the brass cylinder. "Fired recently; I can smell burnt cordite distinctly. We're on the trail."
Twenty yards farther on the shelving ground was stained by a quantity of blood, the dark-red stain continuing at regular intervals.
"Good enough," remarked Villiers. "Young Dick shot a pig and wounded it pretty badly. The brute got away and he followed it."
"Hope to goodness it isn't Dick's blood," said Bobby anxiously. "The youngster might have put a bullet through his leg or arm by accident."
"If so, he would have turned back," reasoned Jack; "no, it's a wounded pig's trail."
Two hundred yards farther on they stumbled over the body of the victim of Dick's rifle.
The animal was stone dead. On examination the two men discovered two bullet-wounds. One, a fairly-deep one in the pig's flank, had accounted for its comparatively long flight before collapsing through loss of blood. The other, obviously fired at close range, had passed completely through the pig's head.
"So Master Dick, instead of administering the coup de grâce in the orthodox manner, wasted another cartridge on the animal," commented Villiers. "The pig's been dead for at least three or four hours. Now, what's the next move?"
The narrow path, evidently the "runway" of a porcine herd, terminated abruptly at what appeared to be a cul-de-sac.
"He retraced his steps," declared Beverley.
"No jolly fear," protested his companion. "He wouldn't have left his trophy lying here unless he went on, intending to get it again on the return journey. Bring that light a bit lower, old thing; that's right. Yes, I thought so."
Close to the ground was a narrow, tunnel-like gap in the undergrowth. This the two men negotiated on their hands and knees, to find themselves in a wide, sloping expanse of open country devoid of trees and dotted by a few stunted bushes.
"Which way now?" inquired Bobby, as the two chums regained their feet.
Villiers did not reply.
"Switch off that light for half a tick," he said.
Beverley did so. For some seconds they stood blinking in the sudden transition from dazzling light to intense darkness.
"What's the move?" asked Beverley.
"I thought—might have been mistaken, though. Ah! there you are; what's that?"
At a considerable distance away—how far it was impossible to gauge with any degree of accuracy—a feeble ray of light stabbed the darkness—three short, three long, and then three short flashes.
"S.O.S.," exclaimed Villiers and Beverley simultaneously.
"Switch on again," continued the former. "Keep behind me. I've got a pocket compass."
Taking a rough bearing of the direction of the distress signal, Villiers began to walk rapidly towards its source of emission, Beverley following a good ten paces behind, and throwing the beam of the Aldis lamp ahead in order to enable Villiers to make his way over the rather rough ground, much of which consisted of "rotten" lava and boulders of various sizes.
Above the moan of the off-shore breeze they could hear the roar of the surf. They had almost gained the other side of the island.
Suddenly Villiers came to a halt. A precipice yawned at his feet. How deep it was he was unable to see until his companion came up with the light.
"Be careful," he cautioned. "The edge is pretty soft. Hand me the lamp and hang on to my feet."
Possessing himself of the Aldis lamp, Villiers lay prone upon the bare ground, while Bobby, hardly able to control his feelings, gripped his companion's ankles.
They were on the edge of a terraced cliff that rose a good eighty feet above a shelving beach. Twenty yards from the base was Dick Beverley.
"You all right, Dick?" shouted his brother.
"All right so far," was the reply. "Ankle's a bit sprained."
"We'll soon be with you," rejoined Bobby reassuringly.
It was easier said than done, for although there were five or six natural terraces, the cliff looked formidable enough in the deflected rays of the lamp.
"Better wait till the moon rises, old bird," counselled Villiers. "It won't be long now."
"That won't help us much," objected Bobby. "We're on the west side of the island, remember. How did you climb down, Dick?" he inquired, raising his voice.
"I didn't climb—I was pushed," answered Dick resentfully.
Villiers swept the edge of the cliff with the powerful light. Away to the right the land terminated in a low promontory certainly not more than twenty feet in height and a good three hundred yards distant. To the left the cliff rose still higher, terminating in a projecting crag a full two hundred feet above the sea.
"We'll be with you in half an hour," he shouted.
"Right-o; no immediate hurry," replied Dick cheerfully, for knowing that help was at hand his spirits rose accordingly.
"What a ghastly spot," declared Beverley, as the men cautiously made their way round in the direction of the shelving promontory. "Looks as if there had been a volcanic eruption here not so very long ago."
"Centuries ago, perhaps," replied Villiers. "Lack of vegetation doesn't help us much to fix a date. I'd like to explore this show in broad daylight."
"We may have to," added Bobby. "How we are going to get that kid back to the ship in the dark puzzles me. We'd possibly find ourselves bushed."
"It's a sad heart that never rejoices," quoted Jack. "Main thing is we've found your brother. Sprained ankle's nothing. Wonder what he meant when he said he was pushed? Look out—that's a nasty one."
He pulled up just in time to avoid a deep and narrow fissure that ran practically at right angles to the general trend of the cliffs.
"We can scramble down that," decided Bobby, "and save a long detour."
"And perhaps find ourselves stranded on the next terrace. I'm not having any, old thing. If you want to indulge in a sprained ankle just to show sympathy to your brother, then that's your funeral."
Beverley saw the force of the argument.
"Right-o," he replied simply; but it occurred to him that for once at least the two chums were exchanging characteristics. He was usually cautious, while Villiers was of a boisterous, go-ahead nature. Now Villiers displayed caution, while he, Beverley, was decidedly impulsive.
"I'd do it like a shot," continued Jack, "if there were any pressing necessity for it, but there isn't. Dick is in no immediate danger. If we slipped then Harborough would have three useless people on his hands. Stand by with that lamp."
Guided by the beam of light Jack jumped the intervening gap, adroitly caught the bulky apparatus, and waited until Bobby had safely crossed the crevice.
Beyond that point progress was comparatively simple, and presently they found themselves on the sandy shore of the lagoon.
"Let's see the extent of the damage, Dick," said his brother, when the rescuers arrived at the shelving ground where the injured lad lay.
"Nothing much," declared Dick. "Ankle twisted. It's quite all right when I don't move; when I do it gives me what-oh!"
Bobby was busy wrapping handkerchiefs soaked in salt water round the swollen limb.
"Tell us what happened," he invited.
"Not much to tell," replied Dick. "I got one pig all right, then I thought I'd done enough in that line for the time being, so I started to explore a bit. I was standing on the cliff up there when I heard a terrific lot of grunting, and a big brute with a large pair of tusks came charging this way. That spoilt the contract. Although I promised not to shoot more than one pig I wasn't going to be charged by a pocket edition of a rhinoceros."
"It was a boar, perhaps," suggested Jack.
"Might have been; it bore me over the top of the cliff, anyhow," rejoined Dick, laughing at his own joke—a laugh that ended in a wry face as a twitch of pain shot through the ankle. "I let rip at the brute at ten paces, but I must have missed it. The next thing I remember was being bowled over, rolling and bumping until I came to a stop about here. Seen anything of my rifle, Bob?"
"I'll look for it," said Villiers, again switching on the lamp.
It was but a few paces to the foot of the lowermost cliff terrace. Within a yard of the base, and lying in a slight depression of soft ground, was the porker that was responsible for young Beverley's present condition. It was stone dead. The .303 bullet had entered its head just below the base of the skull and had emerged out of the animal's hind-quarters.
Close by was the rifle, apparently undamaged by its fall except that the muzzle was choked with earth.
Villiers returned and reported what he had found.
"We ought to be making tracks," he observed. "The moon's up, although she's still behind the palm trees. Harborough and the rest of the crush ought to be on the war-path by this time. I'll try the signal for recall, but I don't think it'll be of much use."
He flashed the Aldis obliquely skywards, and Morsed a message to the effect that everything was O.K.
"Now for home!" he added. "Good four miles round by the shore, isn't it?"
"Better than risking a short cut inland," said Bobby. "We'll leave the lamp here and fetch it later on. I'll carry Dick on my back."
Lifting the patient on his brother's back was no easy task. It was decidedly painful as far as Dick was concerned, but the lad kept a stiff upper lip.
Fortunately the hard sand afforded good going, but at the end of twenty minutes Bobby was unfeignedly glad to transfer his burden to Jack's broad shoulders.
Upon rounding the north-eastern extremity of the island their path was flooded with brilliant moonlight, for hitherto they had been in the deep shadows cast by the beetling cliffs. On their right lay the dense palm groves, the broad leaves waving in the light breeze; on their left the placid waters of the lagoon, backed by the undulating line of creamy foam that marked the ceaseless battle between the sea and the coral reef.
Bobby halted and raised one hand.
"Hark!" he exclaimed.
Above the dull roar of the surf and the gentle hush of the foliage could be distinguished men's voices. Harborough and his party were still searching.
"Ahoy!" roared Jack. "That's done it," he added; "they've heard us."
Five minutes later half a dozen of the Titania's crew, headed by Harborough and with Pete bringing up the rear, arrived upon the scene. The rest of the crew were roaming over the other side of the island.
"There's one thing," remarked Harborough in a low voice to Villiers, "we shan't have our rest disturbed tomorrow night prowling around for the youngster. I was afraid he had shot himself. What did he shoot, by the by?"
"Two pigs," replied Jack.
"Hurrah, massa!" shouted Pete, who happened to overhear the conversation. "Roast pork to-morrow!"
"Right-o, Pete!" rejoined Villiers. "You can jolly well help to bring in the meat."