The man, a young fellow of Pepito's own age, merely grunted his assent, gripped Dudley and his comrade by the hand, and at once crept off into the cover like a snake. Behind him he left the remainder of the little band, crouched low amid the trees and brambles, listening, listening eagerly for a sound. Once they heard a sharp crack, the sound made by a man who has trodden on a dried stick, and a second later a low thud, a gurgling cry, and then a second's silence. But the stillness of the forest did not last for long, for once more the voice of the leader of the band of rascals was heard.
"Fire!" he shouted. "They are trying to move through the forest. Give them a volley."
Hardly had the words died down when from every point, from right and left, and from the pampas even, spurts of flame lit up the darkness, while bullets ripped through the leaves, sending a shower to the ground, ricochetting from the trunks of the trees, and singing through the air in a manner sufficient to awe the boldest. Some two minutes later the gallant gaucho who had made the attempt to slip through the hands of the surrounding enemy crawled to Dudley's side again.
"Alas, señor," he whispered, "the net is drawn too closely even for a snake to escape. By an evil chance I happened to tread on a dried stick, and in an instant one of the ruffians was upon me. He died, señor. My blade found a spot between his shoulders, and he dropped without a word. There were others near him, and for that reason, seeing it was impossible to advance, I returned to warn you. We are surrounded."
The news was only too true. Dudley and his men were now hemmed in on every side. Enemies surrounded them so closely that, as the gaucho had said, even a snake stood little chance of being able to crawl through. Their horses were captured, their retreat cut off, and the least that could be said of their position was that it was desperate. Surrender, a miserable ending to all their hopes and ambitions, stared them in the face, and, worse than all, perhaps—a fact which recurred time and again to Dudley,—the capture of his little party meant more even than imprisonment. He could see the matter very clearly now, and realized that once he and his men were caged there was nothing to prevent this rascal Sarvisti from riding down on the lands owned by Mr. Blunt and utterly annihilating all who lived there. As if in a dream he saw the comfortable house on the estancia in flames, and on the threshold the body of Mr. Blunt, done to death by this enemy who had so often and in so many ways attempted to kill him.
"It shall never be," he said aloud, clenching his fists. "While I live I swear that I will stop this ruffian. I will never surrender!"
CHAPTER XVII
FIGHTING IN THE FOREST
"I will never surrender! However hopeless matters look, I will fight these rascals, for to give in now means almost certain death to our employer."
Dudley gave expression to his thoughts aloud, and as he spoke brought one clenched fist down upon the root of a tree against which he lay, with a thud which all could hear. About him, spread full length in the grass and brambles, and separated here and there by the trunk of a tree, lay his little band of followers, the gallant fellows who stood between him and capture. Grim and stern they were too, and, if only it had been light, Antonio Sarvisti, could he have seen them, would not have been so confident. For Dudley had already proved his pluck to the gauchos. He had once before led them through fighting and difficulty, and for that very reason, now that matters looked so hopeless, they whispered to one another that their good fortune was not yet gone, that they still had their young leader, and that he would bring them out of this scrape just as he had done out of a former. At his words they edged a trifle nearer, strained their ears, and then, as the meaning of the words was interpreted to those who had but a poor knowledge of English, they set up a cheer which astounded the enemy.