As if to prove the truth of Tom’s words, one of the monsters dashed, half-running, half-wallowing, by us while, completely unnerved, I could do nothing but stand motionless as Tom beat the canes aside and tried to get a clear view of that which held me.
“Why, Mas’r Harry!” he exclaimed in tones I could hardly understand, “who ever saw such a game as this?”
Tom’s words brought me to myself, and, looking down, I found that which clasped me so tightly was a man’s hand—my uncle’s!
Angry with myself for my cowardice, the next moment I was down upon my knees helping to extricate him from the position in which he lay, with one arm still bound to his side, and the dark cloth garment from which Tom had shaken the gold bound round and round his head and face, effectually gagging him; and if the intention of his captors had been to suffocate him, they had nearly effected their purpose.
“Uncle!” I exclaimed, as I held his head up and he began to draw his breath more freely.
“I thought it was all over, my boy, when I heard your voice,” he said faintly, and evidently not without considerable effort.
With some difficulty we got him upon his legs; but until we had thoroughly chafed them he could not take a step, so tight had been the bonds with which he had been confined.
But at last he seemed to exert himself to the utmost; and, sometimes leaning on Tom’s arm, sometimes on mine, we went slowly along the track we had made to the great prostrate tree, where, after a hasty glance around to make certain that no serpents were in the way, we sat down to rest, and my uncle, unasked, began to speak.
“I must sit down for a few minutes, my lad,” he said, “and then we will make haste on, for those women must not be left for an instant more than we can help. The gold has all gone, though, Harry.”
“Uncle,” I exclaimed, “it seems as if my thirst for gold is bringing down a curse upon your peaceful home.”