Midnight Webs

by George Manville Fenn

It was bitter work sitting there beneath the shelter of that stone, striving with his thoughts; and Edward Murray’s heart sank as the darkness increased, and he reflected on his situation. Yet, in spite of his anxiety of mind, that day’s rest had not been without its good effects. The stiffness had to some extent worn off, and at last, when the night had quite closed in, and the darkness rendered such a proceeding safe, Murray rose, and began to search along the side and face of the precipice for a spot whence he might contrive to scale the crag, and reach the shelf where his companions were concealed.

He moved cautiously, for it struck him that he had heard the sound of approaching enemies in the gully below, though the darkness was too profound for anything to be seen; but though he tried all along to find the spot where Wahika has ascended, it was in vain, and he turned to regain the spot where he had lain, when, almost simultaneously, he heard the rolling down of a dislodged stone, and the sharp crack of a rifle, when a bullet whizzed by his ear, and seemed to strike the spot where he had so lately rested, the loose stones flying in all directions, and then pattering down.

A pang shot through Murray’s breast, as he thought of whose hand must have fired that shot; and then listening for a while for sounds from below, he stepped back to the face of the precipice, eager now to confront the treacherous villain who thus again sought to take his life, after having threatened it twice before during the day. He passed along the face of the rock, stumbling heavily amidst the loose stones; and then his hand encountered something that made his heart leap, and seizing it with both hands, he climbed slowly and painfully, higher and higher, till his feet rested on a loftier ledge; and he stopped, panting, and wondering whose was the hand that had let down the rope. Was it Wahika? or was it a fresh act of treachery on the part of Bray? Was he to climb nearly to the top, and then feel his support suddenly slacken, that he might fall a heavy, helpless mass upon the cruel rocks beneath? He could not help it; he feared that it was so, and for a few moments felt disposed to slide down again. But no! only a few feet above him he knew that Katie needed his protection. He would persevere at all hazards; and once more the rough rope quivered beneath his weight, as slowly he clambered higher and higher, till with a violent effort he got one knee upon the edge, and grasped a tuft of herbage; when, just as a hand was gliding down his arm—that of the savage—there rang from beneath a loud shout—six or eight shots were fired from close at hand—and then, with the aid suddenly withdrawn, Murray’s knee slipped from the edge, and he had only time to loose the slackened rope, and force his bleeding fingers into the crevices of the rock, to save himself from falling.

The darkness was awful; the tension upon his weakened arms such as he could hardly bear; but finding some slight support for his feet, he continued to hang on until he had somewhat recovered from the shock, and then made another effort to save himself. He dared not call for aid, lest he should point out his position to the convicts. But his faint whisper was heard in the dead silence, and in an instant he felt himself clutched, just as his hands were slipping over the stone, and he felt that he must fall.

That grasp stayed him; but, at the same moment, a heavy foot struck at his hands, and it seemed that in the darkness a struggle was going forward upon the ledge. The fragments lying loose were thrown down, and then came a couple more shots, a loud shriek, and then a heavy, sickening fall upon the rocks beneath.

A strange, deathly feeling crept over Edward Murray—a feeling of horror and weakness. His hands seemed to relax, his arms to become powerless; and though a voice he well knew whispered to him in anguished tones to try once more, his attempt was without success. He seemed only to sink lower; one foot slipped from the tuft upon which it had rested, and though he tried hard to regain the hold, it was in vain. He knew that it was Katie who pressed down his hands into the chink where they now rested; but it seemed to him that he was drawing her over with him in his vain efforts; and that in a few more moments, she, as well as himself, would be crushed on the points beneath.

Her encouraging whisper came, close to his ear, to try again. But he was exhausted and helpless, till he felt his arm seized, dragged almost out of the socket, and then he lay motionless upon the ledge, with a hand grasping his on one side, and the sound as of some one panting hard from exertion on the other.

Twice again came the crash and rattle of bullets striking above their heads; but they were too well-sheltered for harm to befall them, now that their enemies were close beneath, evidently trying hard to find some means of ascent, while Katie’s hand trembled as she listened to the corses and threats which defiled the quiet of the night.

As he lay, each moment recovering strength, Murray tried in vain to interpret the meaning of what had taken place in the darkness, for he had not seen the tussle between Wahika and Bray as the latter had furiously sought to thrust his rival from his hold. The intense darkness had prevented his making out the meaning of the sounds he had heard; but when he crept forward, and found out that Murray had nearly reached the ledge, his rage knew no bounds, and, but for Wahika’s devotion, the clinging hold would have been destroyed. The volley from below did the rest; and there, close beneath the cliffs, lay the body of Bray, shot through the heart, and insensible to the farther cruelties practised by the convicts now in revenge for their losses.

The silence upon the ledge, though, soon lent support to Murray’s suspicions; but he said nothing, except whispering to Wahika an inquiry as to the possibility of an escape, but only to learn that there was none.