As soon as he had got about ten yards from the path he flung himself down at full length upon the ground, in a little open space which was clear of thorns, to recover his breath and listen to the sounds of the pursuit. At the same time he examined the breach of his carbine and, finding it empty, loaded it, wondering at the carelessness of the guard from whom he had so recently taken it. For a second or two the noise of the runners came nearer and nearer; and then, suddenly, there was a loud cry of “Halt!” followed by a terrific shouting and hubbub, the snapping of small branches, the crackling of undergrowth trodden down, and then—the report of a carbine.
“Carrajo!” muttered Jim, “they have sighted that unfortunate Chilian, then! I wonder how it was that I passed without seeing him? Poor beggar! I am afraid that they won’t show him much mercy—nor me, either—if they catch me,” he added.
But there was no more shooting, and from various parts of the wood men were heard calling to each other; so Jim surmised that it must have been a false alarm, and that the Chilian was still undiscovered. The soldiers were yet rather too far distant for Jim to hear what they were shouting to one another, but presently they approached near enough for him to catch the words, and he found that they were inquiring of one another whether there were any signs of the fugitive, and whether “any one had seen that swift-running man who entered the wood first.” The replies were to the effect that the Chileño had not yet been sighted, and that the “runner”—that was, of course, Jim himself—had also mysteriously vanished, but that the latter must be somewhere about, and that they would soon come across him.
Douglas was beginning to fear that the last part of the remark might very soon prove only too true, for it was evident that the Peruvians were slowly but surely working their way through the wood toward the place where he was concealed. Observing, therefore, that the undergrowth was fairly thin ahead of him, he started to crawl along so as, if possible, to get out of the course of the beaters before they should arrive on the spot. Grasping his carbine so that his hand covered the trigger-guard—in order to avoid any accidental discharge in consequence of the trigger becoming caught in some trailing twig—he began to creep forward, making as little noise as possible, and being particularly careful to avoid disturbing the bushes any more than he could help. The soldiers, luckily for him, kept up an incessant shouting, so that he was able to guess pretty well their relative positions; and, after about five minutes’ slow progress through the brushwood, he came to the conclusion that he had at last got out of their way. There was, too, a nice little open space wherein he could lie hidden without being in momentary fear of being bitten by a snake, a particularly deadly species of which was known to swarm in that locality.
By this time Jim had recovered his breath, and was eagerly awaiting the moment when it would be safe to move, wondering whether or not he had better remain where he was until darkness set in, when he was dumbfounded to hear some one come crashing through the brake, apparently quite close by, and making straight toward him. It could not be the Chilian, for he would never be making all that disturbance—unless indeed he had gone mad under the stress of being hunted—so it must necessarily be a stray Peruvian soldier. Jim at once sprang to his feet and began to poke about among the bushes with the muzzle of his carbine, as though searching for somebody who might possibly be hidden among them, at the same time turning his back on the approaching man, who was still pushing his way through the bush and singing softly to himself as he came.
Presently the noise sounded very close indeed, then still closer, when suddenly it stopped altogether. Jim knew that the other had seen him, and was doubtless wondering what he was doing there; but he dared not turn round for fear of being recognised; so he continued to poke about among the bushes, as though unaware that any one was present. Then a rough voice, which Jim at once recognised as that of his old enemy, Captain Garcia-y-Garcia, broke the silence with an explosion of Spanish profanity and a desire to be informed why this particular unit of the forces should be thus wasting his time instead of joining in the pursuit of the fugitive.
Douglas at once realised that the captain must have come along some time after his men, and that he had probably only just entered the wood. He also realised that, directly he turned round, Garcia-y-Garcia would infallibly recognise him, in spite of the Peruvian private’s uniform which he was wearing. He could also see, out of the tail of his eye, the glitter of a drawn sword which the man carried in his hand. But it was necessary to act at once, for at any moment the fellow’s suspicions might be aroused, or the soldiers might come back, or—
Like a flash Douglas wheeled round, bringing the carbine up to his hip as he did so, and looked the officer full in the face; while his forefinger curled caressingly round the trigger. The captain’s life hung by a thread, and he knew it, for he had recognised Jim as an escaped prisoner the moment that the latter showed his face.
“Ah!” gasped Garcia, his face turning ghastly white, “it is that scoundrel of an Englishman! From whom have you stolen these clothes, señor?” he went on, at the same time taking a fresh grip of his sword-hilt and moving slightly nearer to Douglas.
It was a lucky thing for Jim that he had never removed his eyes from those of Garcia, for he saw the murder that was lurking in them. Garcia was but trying to put him off his guard by asking that question, and Jim saw it. He had barely time to raise his carbine when the officer’s sword flashed in the air and the next second would have smote full upon Douglas’s head. But the young man caught the blow on the barrel of his weapon, turning the blade aside, and at the same instant he pushed the muzzle of the carbine into Garcia’s face and pulled the trigger!