Roughriders of the Pampas: A Tale of Ranch Life in South America

by F. S. Brereton

The answer seemed to satisfy the man, for he reeled back to the cabin and informed the leader that the young stranger was keeping a watch on deck.

"There ain't no harm in that," he growled, feeling that he ought to support his countryman. "The lad will tell us what's goin'. Leave him alone."

The door closed to again as the black-bearded rascal gave a grudging assent, and once more the youth was alone in the darkness. But the sudden interruption had had its effect. He saw that at any moment he might be disturbed again, and that if he did not act swiftly he might even find himself involved in this foul conspiracy, and obliged to follow the ruffians.

"Besides, it is not of myself I have to think," he muttered; "there is this other Englishman. His life is really in my hands, and I am going to do something. No more hesitating for me. I am a coward to have delayed so long already."

He stood again by the rail for a few seconds, thinking out a plan of action, and then walked on tiptoe to the stern of the boat. There was the little twinkling light again, some twenty or thirty yards astern, a guiding star in the darkness. He stared at it, measuring the distance between the two vessels, and then, clutching the rail, leaned over as far as possible.

"Pretty low in the water," he said. "With an effort I might reach the rail. Then there are the cables to be thought of. If I cannot climb aboard her from the riverside I will try to grip one of the cables. If that is out of the question, I shall get ashore and cross by the gangway."

Feverishly he began to cast off his spurs and boots, for the cabin door might open at any moment. Moreover this young fellow knew himself and his own nature. Irresolution was his besetting fault, and many a time in the past had he suffered on that account. This time he determined there should be more courageous action. He would not change his mind now, and, so that there should be no opportunity, he cast his clothing from him as swiftly as he was able, knowing well that once he was in his shirt sleeves the die was cast; for if the ruffians in the cabin came upon him then, even their soddened minds would take in the situation. They would grasp his intentions in an instant, and would realize that this their latest recruit was about to swim to the neighboring boat and give warning of their murderous intentions. Yes, and they would shoot him without mercy, of that he felt sure.

"Better die in trying to do a good turn to this other fellow, and my plain duty, than hang behind and become the companion of ruffians and murderers," he said. "There go the spurs and boots, and off come the overalls and coat. Now I'm ready. I want a rope to throw over the side so as to allow me to enter the water quietly."

He tiptoed across the deck again, but without success, and it was not till he had been the complete round of the rail that he came upon a coil of rope lying in the scuppers. Creeping aft again, he secured one end to the rail and lowered the other into the water. Then he took one last look at the cabin door, beneath which there was a long and narrow streak of light, while from the interior came the murmur of voices. The young fellow could see in his mind's eye the figures of the men slouching about the table, the bearded face and cunning, lowering look of the leader, the unshaven, dirty features of the sailor, and the dissipated appearance of the gauchos. He could imagine the reek of smoke and strong tobacco in the stuffy little place, the tin pannikins and the stone spirit jar. The very memory of such loathsome companions threw cold water on any fears which he still might possess, and strengthened his resolution. He gave one more glance at the streak of light issuing from beneath the door, looked away at the twinkling glimmer, and stepped on to the rail. A moment later he was outside it, one hand gripping tightly and the other feeling for the rope. Then suddenly something else attracted his attention, and kept him clinging there. There was a commotion ashore, and a blaze of light came unexpectedly from one of the saloons, showing that the door had been thrown wide open. Out into the broad patch of light which streamed from the saloon emerged the men whom Mr. Blunt had engaged to work on his rancho. They were shouting and singing, and clinging arm to arm. They rolled from the doorway, reeled across the street, and then were suddenly blotted out in the darkness of the night, for someone had closed the door of the saloon. But still they were there, reeling back towards their boat, for their shouts and choruses told of their presence.

"That should wake this Englishman, if anything will," thought the young fellow clinging to the rail. "Surely the noise they are making will warn him that trouble is brewing and will put him on his guard. Shall I go after all?"