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

by F. S. Brereton

"Dudley!" he called softly. "Dudley, I want to say something now before the row begins. I am a sneak and a coward. I stole the money, and came out here to tell you so. I confessed to the old head, and to the whole school, and could not rest till I had told you all that had happened. That's all, only I'm ashamed of myself. I acted like a cad and a blackguard."

There was silence for some few seconds, a tense silence, aboard their boat, while from the wharf came the patter of feet on the woodwork, and the call of one of the men to those aboard the vessel now so close to Dudley and his friends. Then came an answering hail, and the noise made by a man stumbling over a coil of rope. In a minute, in less time than that perhaps, the alarm would be sounded, and the gang of ruffians would know that their expected victims were warned of their intentions and were already making efforts to escape. It was, in fact, hardly the moment for a confession, and yet who can wonder that Joyce made it? The subject of the theft filled his mind as much as it did Dudley's. Remorse had been eating at his heart for many weeks past, and now he felt desperate. He was so near to the object for which he had struggled. He had come to South America for one purpose, and could not bear to think that now, at the last instant, he might lose all. If only he could tell Dudley his tale, and have his answer, he felt that nothing else mattered, not even a bullet, for he knew now that he could die happily once he had done this duty to his old comrade. His hand tightened on our hero's leg convulsively, while Mr. Blunt coughed huskily.

As for Dudley, he could hardly believe his ears. He knew well, had known all along, that Harold Joyce was guilty, but even in his most sanguine moments he had never expected to be so completely cleared. And now, when he heard that the head and every boy at the school knew that he was innocent, when he heard that Harold had confessed all, and not content with that had followed him to South America there to tell him what he had done, why it was almost too much! The leg which Joyce gripped trembled and shook. Dudley could not speak for an instant, but he knew what his old comrade must be suffering, and at once, with a magnanimity which did his heart good, he stretched down, took the hand clasping his leg, and gripped it eagerly. Then he was able to steady himself.

"All right, old fellow!" he said. "I can't thank you now, but will do so later. You have lifted a load from my mind."

"Then you forgive me, Dudley? There is nothing to thank me for. I have done only bare justice to you."

"With all my heart," came the swift answer. "You have made up for all by behaving like a decent fellow."

"Hear, hear! Hear, hear!" came from Mr. Blunt.

A second later a shout came across the water, for the man who had hailed his comrades on the boat had suddenly caught sight of the other one swinging out into the stream. At first he and his comrades had searched vainly for her in the darkness, and had come very near to tumbling into the river in their efforts to find the gangway. Then, little by little, it had dawned on their sluggish minds that they were beaten, that the man whose money they hoped to take was wide awake, and was already slipping from their clutches. They had promised themselves to commence their work in the Entre Rios country by a successful coup on the way up the Paraná River, and the man who was responsible for their being brought together had specially urged them to make Mr. Blunt their first victim. Perhaps he had some special reason, but in any case the grazier who occupied the boat now swinging away from the wharf, the man whose employment they had so cunningly accepted, was escaping, and once their minds had grasped that fact they set up such a din that those aboard the other vessel were quickly informed of what was happening. The tall, black-bearded Italian ruffian at their head grasped the meaning of those shouts at once, and came bounding along the deck, striking heavily against a yard in the darkness. With a growl he picked himself up, for the collision had thrown him to the deck, and ran to the stern.

"Cut the rope," he shouted to his men. "Cut it, and come here with me. We are close to them, and in a moment can get on board. It is that English youth who has cheated us, I expect, and, if that is so, the sailor shall have small mercy. Ah, I see them!"

He stood to his full height against the stern rail of the river boat, and peered into the darkness. He could see the big hull of the other boat looming across the river some few feet away, and as he watched his eye suddenly lit on Dudley, standing pole in hand ready to push the attacking vessel away. The rascal did not hesitate, and in an instant his hand went to the revolver which was tucked into a deep pocket on his thigh. Barely lifting it from that position he pulled the trigger and sent a ball flying through the darkness. Indeed it was the darkness alone which saved Dudley, for the ruffian who had drawn trigger was an expert shot with the revolver and seldom missed. However, it was but a dull outline which he had caught of Dudley, and his muzzle was directed just a shade too much to one side. The bullet whizzed past his head, missing it by little more than an inch, and, flying along the deck, buried itself in the mast, giving a loud and ominous thud as it did so. An instant later Mr. Blunt rose to his feet, a spout of flame shot from his weapon, lighting up the immediate surroundings for one brief instant, and then he was down again, listening eagerly, and waiting for another opportunity, while he dragged at Dudley's clothing.