A CHECK AT THE CAVE
When some minutes had elapsed, Tim ventured to draw near to the entrance and peep out through the leaves. The men were grouped some little distance away at the brink of the stream; he heard the murmur of their voices. In a few moments they separated, and spread out to right and left of the cave, keeping as much as possible under cover. One climbed into the tree, and concealed himself amid the foliage. Tim guessed what was coming, and slipped away to the side of the cave. He was not a moment too soon. The enemy opened fire, and their shots, coming in different directions, flew criss-cross into the entrance. Fortunately the walls were soft, and the bullets dug into them instead of ricochetting or splintering. One fragment grazed Tim's wrist, a warning to retreat still farther.
After two or three volleys the firing ceased. The enemy supposed, no doubt, that some of their shots had taken effect, or had at any rate driven their quarry from the entrance. Tim rushed back to his former post, just in time to fire his revolver as the assailants, shouting to encourage one another, came with a dash through the foliage. At the threshold they were checked by the unexpected obstacle of Tim's barrier. For a few moments they stood there, trying to throw it down, cursing, yelling with pain as Tim, invisible in the inner darkness, slowly and deliberately emptied his revolver. This was too hot for them. They broke away, and Tim, running to the entrance, saw them hurrying down the slope to find cover. They were carrying one of their comrades; another lay across the threshold.
They returned to the track. There was another consultation among them; then four of them leapt on their horses and rode away northward. Three went on foot down the track, doubtless to guard against surprise in that direction; one man still remained in charge of the bicycle, the last held the horses. Clearly they had not abandoned their purpose. Tim wondered what their next move was to be. Surely the horsemen had not ridden back to the Inca camp for help! It was more than twenty miles distant. There and back the journey would take several hours. They would hardly spend so much time with the risk of assistance coming up from the Mollendists. The vedette who had been killed must be relieved ere long, and for all they knew there might be a numerous detachment of their enemy within reach.
Tim was not long left in doubt. In half an hour he saw the mounted men returning, and recognised the explanation of their absence. One of them carried an oblong object which revealed itself in a few moments as a sheet of corrugated iron. Tim wondered where they could have got it, until he remembered that some distance up the hill there was a deserted hut, which had probably been at some time occupied by a Cholo shepherd. He jumped to the use to which the iron was to be put. It was to serve as a shield against his bullets.
The riders dismounted at the stream, gave their horses to the man guarding the cycle, and disappeared into the scrub. Some time passed. When they emerged again Tim saw that they had surrounded the iron with a kind of wicker cage. It could now be carried in front of the bearer without his exposing himself in any way to Tim's fire. Wicker and iron together would be impervious to a revolver bullet.
Tim had a few moments to make up his mind how to meet this ingenious device. He slipped across the cave to the opposite side to that at which he had formerly been posted. The enemy would probably expect attack from the same quarter as before, and would turn their shield in that direction. He had just taken up his new position when bullets began to fly crosswise through the entrance. After this preparatory move the enemy made a determined rush. The first man, bearing the shield, came in and faced to the right, turning his back upon Tim, who had a momentary qualm about firing from the rear. That moment allowed the two next men time to pull away the stools. He felt that hesitation would be fatal, and fired. The first man dropped with a groan, and the shield fell clattering upon the long box. Before Tim could fire a second shot, two men had scrambled across on all fours, and the entrance was darkened by their comrades pressing behind.
One of those who had entered sprang to his feet and discharged his revolver at random in the direction of Tim, whom he was as yet unable to see, having come suddenly out of brilliant sunshine into gloom. Tim slipped back quickly along the wall until he was in complete darkness, then ran on tiptoe across the cave. Turning when he reached the wall, he fired his barrels one after another, slipped more cartridges into the chambers, and crossed again. By this manoeuvre he bewildered the enemy, who were now, however, all in the cave, and protected almost as much as himself by the darkness.
He did not fire again, lest the flashes revealed his whereabouts. All that he could hope to do was to find some defensible position in the interior and sell his life dearly. There was not even a chance of dodging his enemy and slipping out, for one man had been left near the entrance. He was determined not to surrender. Even if the men now hunting him did not butcher him on the spot to avenge their fallen comrades, the Prefect would have no mercy on his prisoner. He must defend himself to the last. Perhaps when it came to the final stand he might have an opportunity of dealing with the four men singly.
He retreated slowly along the wall, listening for the enemy, whom he was quite unable to see. All at once he remembered the opening at the farther end which Romaña had shown him. A last hope flashed into his mind. If he could slip out there, replace the turning stone before his exit was discovered, and pass through the waterfall into the open, there was a bare chance of escape. It was true that he might be discovered by the man with the cycle, or by the others on the watch down the track. But it was better to be killed in a dash for liberty than cooped up and slaughtered like a badger in a hole.