“Now, Henry, my lad,” said he, holding the youth down by the two arms, “I have given you a good deal of trouble this morning, and I mean to give you a little more. It does not just suit me at present to be tried for a pirate, so I mean to give you a race. You are reputed one of the best runners in the settlement. Well, I’ll give you a chance after me. If you overtake me, boy, I’ll give myself up to you without a struggle. But I suspect you’ll find me rather hard to catch!”
As he uttered the last words he permitted Henry to rise. Ere the youth had quite gained his footing, he gave him a violent push and sent him staggering back against the wall. When Henry recovered his balance, Gascoyne was standing in the open doorway.
“Now, lad, are you ready?” said he, a sort of wild smile lighting up his face.
Henry was so taken aback by this conduct, as well as by the rough handling which he had just received, that he could not collect his thoughts for a few seconds; but when Gascoyne nodded gravely to his mother and walked quietly away, saying, “Goodbye, Mary,” the exasperated youth darted through the doorway like an arrow.
If Henry Stuart’s rush may be compared to the flight of an arrow from a bow, not less appropriately may Gascoyne’s bound be likened to the leap of the bolt from a cross-bow. The two men sprang over the low fences that surrounded the cottage, leapt the rivulet that brawled down its steep course behind it, and coursed up the hill like mountain hares.
The last that widow Stuart saw of them, as she gazed eagerly from the doorway of the hut, was, when Gascoyne’s figure was clearly defined against the sky as he leaped over a great chasm in the lava high up the mountain side. Henry followed almost instantly, and then both were hidden from view in the chaos of rocks and gorges that rose above the upper line of vegetation.
It was a long and a severe chase that Henry had undertaken, and ably did his fleet foot sustain the credit which he had already gained. But Gascoyne’s foot was fleeter. Over every species of ground did the sandal-wood trader lead the youth that day. It seemed, in fact, as if a spirit of mischief had taken possession of Gascoyne, for his usually grave face was lighted up with a mingled expression of glee and ferocity. It changed, too, and wore a sad expression, at times, even when the man seemed to be running for his life.
At last, after running until he had caused Henry to shew symptoms of fatigue, Gascoyne turned suddenly round, and, shouting “Good-bye, Henry, my lad!” went straight up the mountain and disappeared over the dividing ridge on the summit.
Henry did not give in. The insult implied in the words renewed his strength. He tightened his belt as he ran, and rushed up the mountain almost as fast as Gascoyne had done, but when he leaped upon the ridge the fugitive had vanished!
That he had secreted himself in one of the many gorges or caves with which the place abounded was quite clear, but it was equally clear that no one could track him out in such a place unless he were possessed of a dog’s nose. The youth did indeed attempt it, but, being convinced that he was only searching for what could not by any possibility be found, he soon gave it up and returned, disconsolate and crest-fallen, to the cottage.