Dick Strikes a Blow.
Bang! Dick’s knuckles struck the door of the native hut with a sharp rap, and he repeated the knock immediately. Then he listened eagerly for some sound from the sleeper within. There was no answering call, and nothing to denote that the man was there.
“Fast asleep,” thought Dick. “But he is there, I know, for on the far side I could hear his breathing. I’ll knock again.”
He was in the very act of doing so when out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of one of the drowsy guards who lay beside the dying fire. The man had, apparently, heard the knock, and had sat up now to see what it meant. Then he sauntered towards the prisoner’s hut as if to investigate the matter. The escaping prisoner’s heart stood still, while his wits worked rapidly.
“If I returned and crept through they might discover the opening, and then good-bye to liberty,” he thought. “If I stay here he will see me. I’ll get behind the hut, and if there is an alarm I’ll run for it. Yes, that will be the best plan.”
He watched the guard closely as he rose to his feet, and then silently slid along behind the hut. And as he did so the native strolled towards the place where the half-caste lived and peered at the door. Then he retraced his steps to the prison, and throwing the catch down, stared in. Once more the prisoner held his breath while he tingled with excitement. He stood on his toes, ready at the first alarm to sprint away down the street, while his eye rapidly picked out the most likely path to take. Then he heaved a sigh of relief, relief the like of which none can appreciate but those who have found themselves in similar positions. The guard must have mistaken a shadow, perhaps a portion of the palm-leaf bed, for the prisoner, and been satisfied. He emerged from the hut, and once more sauntered up to the door of the one in which James Langdon lay. As he did so, a sound within told that the sleeper had awakened. He stirred, came to the door and threw it open, staring out at the man suspiciously.
“You knocked?” he exclaimed. “It roused me, but I was heavy with sleep and did not rise at once. What is wrong? You have let the prisoner escape! Dog! You have let him go at the very last moment!”
He sprang from the doorway and gripped the man by the throat, digging his fingers in till the native choked and dropped his musket. His eyes dilated; he struggled with all his might, striking fiercely at the half-caste, and then suddenly became limp. Indeed, when James Langdon released his hold, the man fell helpless to the ground. But it seemed that he was more frightened than hurt, for Dick had long since discovered that all in Kumasi treated the rascal who had decoyed him into captivity with unusual deference, owing perhaps to his friendship with the King, though of late his power had been declining as that of the British rose. The native gasped, held up an arm, and endeavoured to speak, while the half-caste stood over him with the musket as if he would club his brains out with the butt.
“Say he is gone and I will kill you on the spot,” growled the ruffian. “If he is safe, well and good. You shall be uninjured. But why, then, did you knock?”
“Knock! I was lying at the fire keeping watch on the prison when I heard a sound and came to see what it was. Doubtless, some one moved in a neighbouring hut and disturbed me and you also. Then I went to the prison, and found the dog there, fast asleep in his corner.”