THE RECRUIT WORKS BRAVELY--HARKAWAY's VENGEANCE--"HE NEVER
FORGETS A DEBT."
The brigands soon found that they had made an invaluable acquisition in
their new recruit.
The day following his admission into their honorable fraternity, he
brought in an addition to his already handsome booty.
This was in the shape of a lady's reticule, containing a rich prize in
money, and more jewels.
"I came across my late mistress," said Geoffery Martin in explanation;
"she had ventured out of the town with her new maid, and so I fleeced
them royally. I did not leave them a stiver; moreover I secured this."
So saying, he spread out before them a newly-printed placard, which,
translated, ran as nearly as possible in this wise--
"FIVE THOUSAND FRANCS REWARD
"Will be paid to the police or to any private person, who will secure,
or give such information as may lead to the capture of, one Geoffrey
Martin, lately a valet in the service of Mr. John Harkaway."
Then followed a description of his person, walk, and mode of speech.
"The said Geoffrey Martin having absconded with a large sum of money,
besides property of great value, it is the duty of every man to aid in
bringing him to justice."
He chose a good moment for bringing this paper in. There was a large
muster of the brigands in camp.
"Five thousand francs reward," he said to his newly-made comrades
generally; "you have only to turn me over to the Harkaways, and you can
make a small fortune."
"You'll only find good men and true here," said Hunston.
Geoffrey Martin turned upon the latter.
"All?"
There was a hidden significance in his tone which thrilled Hunston.
"I am glad that they are all safe, friend; by the way, what is your
name? I haven't heard it yet."
"My name is Hunston, and I'm not ashamed of it."
"No, of course you wouldn't be; so you are Hunston?" he added
reflectively.
"Did you know my name?"
"Yes."
"Indeed. Heard your master speak of me, I suppose?"
"Yes; Harkaway and his friend Harvey."
"Harvey," cried Hunston contemptuously; "a paltry, frivolous fool."
"Yes; wasn't he? You should hear him speak of you."
"There was never any love lost between us," said Hunston moodily; "we
hated each other most cordially from boyhood."
"Known him so long?" said Martin.
"We were at school together, and at college together," said Hunston.
"College--phew! then you must have been a swell."
"Well," he said haughtily, "and what of that?"
"Oh, nothing; I was only thinking."
"What were you thinking?"
"Why, if I had half your chance of getting on in life, you would never
have found me here."
"What do you mean? Are you ashamed of your comrades?"
"No, no, not me," said Martin; "but I should be if I was you. You're a
swell, and it's an awful drop for you. I'm only a poor devil--a nobody,
and it's a rise in life for me to join your honorable company; give us
your hand."
And then, before he could say yea or nay, the new recruit seized
Hunston by the hand and wrung it with real or affected warmth.
Hunston strode moodily away, hanging his head.
This singular individual, Geoffrey Martin, appeared greatly interested
in the fate of the unfortunate boys, young Jack and Harry Girdwood, and
he got Boulgaris to take him to the spot where the crosses had been
erected over the graves by the pious hand of Theodora, the girl who had
unwittingly lured them to the fatal trap.
"So here you have buried them?" said Geoffrey Martin.
"Yes, poor boys," said Boulgaris.
"Poor boys," echoed Martin in surprise, "poor boys."
"Yes, I see no reason for butchering two children, for they were little
more."
The new brigand eyed the speaker rather curiously.
"Have you any pity to spare for Harkaway's boy?"
"And why not?" said Boulgaris. "True, Harkaway's our enemy, and I hate
him; I'd like to get the upper hand of him; but we don't want to fight
boys. Besides, Harkaway is a good sort of enemy; a bold, daring fellow,
not a sneak."
"No, that he isn't," said Geoffrey Martin, with warmth.
"I am sure he'd never murder a boy because the boy's father had wronged
him."
"True."
"Besides, there is something in this Hunston I don't like. We are bad
enough in all conscience, but this brutal butchery will, perhaps be the
ruin of our band."
"Why?"
"Well, we were not loved before; but this brutal deed will make us
execrated by the whole country. The government scarcely dare to molest
us; they are satisfied at keeping up a show of doing something. But
Harkaway is rich and powerful, I am told; English money and English
influence will force the government to pursue us, and all for what?
Why, for murdering two helpless children, who had done us no wrong; who
fell into a trap while saving the life of one of us."
Geoffrey Martin opened his eyes in astonishment.
"Is that true?"
"Yes. Didn't you know the story?"
"No."
"It was the daughter of one of our old comrades, that the boys saved
while sailing. Poor girl! If prayers and tears could move men's hearts,
hers should have saved the boys."
Geoffrey Martin coughed and blew his nose loudly.
"Ahem!" he said, staring at Boulgaris. "You are a soft-hearted fellow
for a brigand."
"Not exactly that either," replied Boulgaris, grinning. "I feel
incensed at this deed for its brutality, and for exposing all the band
to risks and dangers for the sole purpose of gratifying their revenge."
"Theirs; you mean Hunston's?"
"No; for Toro was interested also in it."
"Toro, Toro," muttered Martin; "why, the name sounds, familiar to me.
Of course. They knew this Toro in Italy, I remember. He was one of a
band that Harkaway and his friend Harvey exterminated."
"It is true, then, about that band?" said Boulgaris, his eyes flashing
eagerly.
"Of course."
"You see, then, from that, what cause we have to dread arousing the
enmity of such a man as this Harkaway."
"He is an awkward customer, and that's the fact of it; and I have
heard, my brave Boulgaris, that if Harkaway once says he will have
revenge, he never fails. Now, let's return."
Back they went together, and as they neared the brigands' camp, they
perceived signs of some great commotion.
"What is the matter now?" asked Boulgaris.
"Come with us," replied the first man, "and I will show you."
They silently followed.
Down one of the slopes and then through a narrow pass, and within five
minutes' run of the brigands' stronghold, they came upon a number of
their men gathered around a long figure stretched upon the ground and
covered with a cloak.
The brigand who had brought them there silently drew back the cloak,
and showed that the figure was the corpse of one of their comrades who
had been on guard there.
"Look, another of our men killed. His death, like the first, has been
sudden."
A sure, swift hand had pinned him through the body with a long dagger.
It had pierced his heart, and the point of the blade actually protruded
near his shoulder-blade.
"Look there," cried one of the brigands,
"Where?"
"At the handle."
Fastened to the haft of the dagger was a slip of paper, upon which were
these words--
"_Remember Harkaway never forgets an injury._"