Now he hastened his steps, creeping as fast as possible along the curving wall. His hunters were no doubt feeling their way, on their guard against an ambuscade. Everything depended upon his gaining the exit before they came to a spot where the removal of the stone would let a little daylight upon the scene. He ran along on tip-toe, bruising his arms now and then when he encountered projections from the wall, and almost dashing his head against the stone when he suddenly stumbled upon it. Pressing the top, as he had seen Romaña do, he turned the stone, clambered through the gap on to a ledge, and in ten seconds restored the strange gate to its place. He reflected that the enemy, if they had seen the fleeting gleam of light, would take some time to find the stone and discover its manipulation, or, on the other hand, make their way back through the cave to the opening by which they had entered. Whatever they did, he had gained at least a few minutes.
From the ledge on which he now stood he looked eagerly about him. In front of him was the waterfall, forming a filmy screen. He could see through it and around it. There was the man on the track a hundred and fifty yards away. Farther down the three men were still posted: they were now on horseback. Tim hoped that they could not see him. He was, in fact, quite invisible to them, as a person behind a curtain in a room is invisible to those without; though it is difficult for the one within to realise this: he feels that, being himself able to see, he must himself be seen.
The rough ground and scrub in front of the cave was deserted. The solitary figure at the end of the watercourse was in charge of the horses of the men in the cave, and of the three who had fallen to Tim's shots. Near him, at the edge of the track, lay the man who had been carried away wounded after the first attack. Tim could not see the cycle, but he had no doubt that it was there.
What should he do? The men in the cave must soon discover that he was gone. If one had the courage to strike a match the discovery must be made almost at once. There was very little time. The obvious course was to steal along the watercourse, and gain possession either of a horse or of the cycle. Escape on foot was impossible. He could not go otherwise than by the track, and as soon as he appeared there he would be pursued by the horsemen and overtaken in a few minutes. He resolved to creep down to the man who stood alone, try to secure the cycle, or, if not that, a horse, and ride away.
To reach the watercourse he had to pass through the waterfall, or skirt it and appear within full view from the track. He decided on the former course. The magnified shower bath was shattering. Though it was soon over, he was almost stunned by the pelting water, and emerged breathless and wet to the skin. Pausing for a moment to recover breath, he crept down the watercourse. The channel was shallow; he had very little cover; but he could not waste time in careful scouting. At any moment the men might return to the entrance of the cave and discover him. But by taking advantage of every bush and patch of long grass that he encountered, he at last came within twenty yards of the Peruvian unperceived. The man had his eyes fixed on the cave, or he could hardly have failed to see the bent form stealing along.
Stooping until his eyes were level with the top of the bank, Tim looked ahead. There was the cycle, propped against a thick bush. It was headed down the track, as he had left it. He considered rapidly what he had better do. He could not shoot the man in cold blood. The alternatives were equally hazardous. He might make a dash for the cycle, start it, and try to get away before its guardian could seize him. But the man was only a few yards from it; this plan could hardly succeed. Or he might wriggle to within a few feet of the watchman, spring upon him with a sudden rush, and deal him a knock-out blow. He could not fail to be seen at that moment by the wounded man, if he was conscious; the alarm would be given; but there might be just time for him to get away before the three men lower down the track, or the four in the cave, could take aim at him.
The latter course was recommended by the fact that the watchman's attention was divided between the cave and the horses he held by the bridles. They were restless; the jingle of their harness and the stamping of their hoofs would mask any slight sound that Tim might make as he approached.
He slipped his revolver into his belt and crept along; then, gathering his strength, hurled himself upon the unsuspecting trooper. At the last moment of his rush the man half turned, hearing his footsteps, and gave him the opportunity for getting home a smashing blow on the point of his chin. He tumbled like a log. But the success of the attack was almost Tim's undoing. The horses kicked up their heels and stampeded wildly, some up, some down the track, one of them knocking Tim head over heels. But there were no bones broken. Springing to his feet, he rushed to the cycle, and wheeled it round. The engine was still firing; Tim ran a few yards, vaulted into the saddle, and throwing open the throttle to its full extent, rode up the hill after the galloping horses. He was scarcely conscious that the wounded man lying on the grass near by was shouting at the top of his voice.
CHAPTER XXII
A PUNCTURE