CAPTURED BY INDIANS.
Drawing the bow till the point of the arrow almost touched the wood, Pita
stood like a statue until the boat was opposite to the trees, then he
loosed it, and it flew far into the foliage. The instant the boat reached
the opposite side of the whirlpool Stephen and Hurka drew in the rope hand
over hand.
“Leave go, Hurka,” Stephen said as the rope tightened. “I will try as we
pass whether it has caught in the trees.”
As the canoe passed on he put a slight strain on the rope. It yielded for
a moment, and then flew through his fingers rapidly.
“It has caught on something,” he said. “Now, haul in rapidly this time,
Hurka, as soon as we pass the opposite point, so as to get the strain on
as quickly as we can. Pita, do you keep your eye on the logs, and shout if
there is anything in the way.”
As soon as they had passed the half-way point on their way back to the
shore, Stephen and Hurka began to pull. They could get but little tension
on the rope, for the boat was travelling almost as fast as they could pull
it in; still, once or twice they were able to put their strength on it for
a moment, and the raft moved a foot or two through the water. Again and
again this manœuvre was repeated, and little by little they gained ground,
until at last they edged the raft so near to the edge of the current that
the two Indians, seizing their paddles, were able to get her into the
still water beyond. They rowed to the trees, and there tied up.
“That was a good plan, señor,” Pita said. “I should never have thought of
it. I did think of shooting an arrow across to the trees, but I saw that
the jerk would be so great that it would tear the raft to pieces.”
It was some time before Stephen was inclined to talk; for the exertion
necessary to pull the rope in at a rate exceeding that at which the boat
was travelling towards the trees, coming as it did after the excitement of
the passage down the rapids, had completely exhausted him. He was drenched
with perspiration, and was glad to lie still in the bottom of the canoe
for a time.
“Well, what next. Pita?” he asked when his breath came quietly.
“We shall float down as before, señor. It is a flat country for the next
fifty miles, and the great inundations will rob the river of its power. We
shall have several more rapids to pass, but I do not think they will be
worse than these. Then we shall get to the falls. There are several small
ones, round which we shall have to carry our boats, and there is a great
one where the whole river leaps down a hundred feet in a mass. On still
nights you can hear it, I am told, nigh a hundred miles away. It is the
greatest fall in South America, though a traveller I once met told me that
in North America there was a fall that was higher, but that there was
nothing like the same quantity poured over it as over this at flood-time.
Once beyond that there remain no more falls or rapids, and a ship can sail
up there from the Amazon. Good-sized craft do come up sometimes, for there
is a mission-station there, and the fathers carry on a trade with the
Indians, who come from the lower districts to purchase goods.”
“I shall be very glad when the water gets clear enough for us to take to
fishing again,” Stephen said. “We have caught no fish of late, and have
got but a few birds, and I am getting very tired of these cakes.”
Another three weeks and Stephen stood at the foot of the fall of the river
Madeira. The flood of water that poured down in one unbroken sheet was
enormous. The noise was like that of continual thunder, and Stephen, as he
stood watching the swollen waters at his feet and feeling the very ground
shake beneath them, felt spell-bound at the grandeur of the scene. The
mission-house was inhabited by only two or three old monks, and from them
they learned that there had been a bad outbreak of fever there, several
had died, and the rest were so weakened that it had been determined that
the monks, with the exception of these men, who had passed through many
fevers and were thoroughly acclimatized, should go down by boat to Barra,
and remain there until the season of the floods terminated and the sun had
dried the inundated country.
Stephen was glad of a rest, for since entering the rapids the work had
been hard and continuous. The Indians would have undertaken all the
portage round the various falls and bad rapids, but he insisted on doing
his share of the work, and had day after day toiled with heavy weights
over a rough country. It was all over now, and the prospect of a week
spent at the mission before proceeding on their voyage was very pleasant.
“You must be careful,” one of the monks said, “not to stray too far from
the house. The natives of the neighbourhood have long since been
Christianized, but we are visited by parties from long distances belonging
to some of the other tribes who are still wholly wild and eat human flesh.
Here they behave peaceably, because they credit us with supernatural
powers, seeing the respect and devotion with which we are regarded by the
natives here, of whom indeed we generally keep a strong body on guard
during the time that the strangers most frequently visit us; that is to
say, at the time that the floods are out. At that time most of the people
who live near the river are forced to retire to a great distance from
their homes, and being deprived of their usual pursuits, they take that
opportunity of coming here to purchase the articles they require. I do not
say that they would harm you, but assuredly they might do so, and it would
therefore be best for you to keep near the mission-house. Here you are
safe from any danger whatever, for even the wildest Indian would not
venture to set foot inside these walls, fearing that if they did, some
terrible calamity might befall them.”
Stephen took the advice, for although he was not much affected by what the
old man said, Pita and his companion both confirmed his words, and told
him that many bad Indians, who would kill and eat any white man who
entered their district, frequently visited these mission-houses.
“Always carry your gun with you, señor. They have not the same terror of
firearms as their forefathers had, but they have heard enough to know that
they are weapons of war, and much more formidable than their own bows and
arrows, or the poisoned darts of their blow-pipes.”
Stephen accordingly never went out, even to visit the falls, where he
spent the greater portion of his time, without his rifle. Generally one or
other of the Indians accompanied him, but seeing that no strangers visited
the mission-house, they gradually abstained from doing so. Stephen
preferred being alone—the tremendous roar of the water rendered
conversation impossible—and he was quite content to lie and dreamily watch
the flood pouring down unceasingly. On the evening before the day on which
they were to start, the moon was shining brilliantly, and Stephen, taking
his gun as usual, went out without mentioning his intention to his
companions, and strolled down to take a last quiet look at the mighty
fall, whose fascination grew upon him the oftener he looked at it and came
to realize more and more its marvellous power and energy. He had been
seated there for about an hour, when, without the slightest warning that
anyone was near him, he received a sudden blow on the head that rolled him
over unconscious. When he recovered his senses he found himself in the
bottom of a small canoe paddled by three Indians.
Overhead he could see the branches of trees, and knew from this that they
were following the bank of the river. Presently, to his surprise, they
turned sharply off, and were at once in the gloom of the forest. They
paddled for an hour, and then tied up the canoe to a tree. One of them lit
a torch at the fire that smouldered on a flat stone, and the three
gathered round it. Stephen could see that they were closely examining his
rifle, pistols, watch, and money. Few remarks were made, but Stephen
gathered from the tone that they were well satisfied with the capture.
“I have fallen into bad hands this time,” he said to himself. “There is no
doubt about their being stranger Indians. I can understand my arms being
regarded by them as a most valuable capture, but why they did not finish
me at once, instead, of taking me away with them, is more than I can
understand, unless it be that they are cannibals.”
After examining his bonds and assuring themselves that they were tight,
the Indians lay down to sleep, but in the morning continued their journey
as soon as daylight broke. From the absence of undergrowth and of lianas
stretching from tree to tree anywhere low down, Stephen came to the
conclusion that they were following what was in the dry season a track
through the forest. The Indians were quite young men, and laughed and
talked without any of the gravity that distinguished the older men among
the natives. For some hours they paddled on, then their progress was
stopped by a deep tangle of creepers stretching from tree to tree across
their way. There was an exclamation of surprise and, as Stephen thought,
of apprehension; they began to talk rapidly and eagerly together, one
pointing in one direction and another in quite an opposite one.
“They have lost the path,” he said to himself, “perhaps they took the
wrong turn at starting.”
The argument between them was an animated one, until one pointed to a ray
of sunlight that penetrated the foliage and fell on the trunk of a tree
near the water’s level. All looked surprised and even graver than before.
The head of the canoe was turned, and they started in the direction from
which they had come, by which Stephen concluded that they had unwittingly
made half a circuit. They now paddled steadily and gravely, watching the
darts of sunlight, and evidently steering by them. Before they had gone
far the character of the forest changed, the trees grew somewhat further
apart; but an undergrowth of smaller trees rendering it extremely
difficult for them to force their canoe onward, their knives had
frequently to be brought out to cut a way through the creepers. Angry
words were frequently exchanged between them, each, it was evident to
Stephen, accusing the others of being the cause of the disaster. The
quarrel became more and more embittered, until at last two of them started
up, and, drawing their knives, fell furiously upon one another. In the
struggle they almost capsized the boat, and catching at each other to save
themselves, both went overboard together.
The struggle was continued in the water, the men stabbing each other
fiercely, while the Indian on board endeavoured in vain by his shouts to
induce them to abandon the strife. Presently one of them, struck to the
heart, threw up his arms and sank; the other turned to swim back to the
boat, but after one or two feeble strokes he too sank lower and lower, and
the water soon closed over his head. The remaining Indian stood, for a
time immovable, with terror and consternation in his face, and then he
shook his fist threateningly at Stephen, whom he evidently regarded as
being in some way the author of their misfortune, and then, taking up his
paddle, proceeded to row. His manner, however, was indecisive. He had lost
all confidence, and turned aside whenever the way was barred by creepers,
instead of trying to cut through them. At times he ceased paddling
altogether, and sat gazing restlessly around him, at other times he
paddled with feverish energy. Some water had come in over the gunwale
during the struggle between the Indians, and Stephen managed to turn
round, face downwards, to take a hearty drink.
When evening came on, the Indian was paddling almost mechanically, when
from a branch of a tree above something dropped down. For a moment Stephen
could not discern its nature. There was a swift, rapid movement, a
piercing cry from the Indian, followed by the sound of cracking bones, and
then the man was lifted bodily out of the boat. Stephen could now see two
great coils wrapped round his body, and the head of a gigantic python;
then, overcome by the horror of the scene he became unconscious. When he
recovered he found that the canoe had drifted away from the tree. He now
set to work desperately to loose his bonds, and after great efforts and
suffering severe pain, succeeded in getting one hand loose. After that the
rest was easy, and in a few minutes he was free. Seizing the paddle he
rowed away from the scene of the tragedy, and presently tied up to a young
sapling, whose head was just above the water.
His next step was to examine the contents of the canoe. It contained,
however, nothing but two or three fish dried in the sun, and some cakes,
of whose composition he was ignorant, save that they were certainly not
made of flour. Having satisfied his hunger and taken a long drink from the
water alongside, he fired his rifle three times, but no answering sound
came back. Knowing that he might only be paddling away from the river, he
stretched himself in the bottom of the canoe, and resolutely postponing
all thought of his position until daybreak, fell asleep. He awoke as soon
as it was light again, loaded and fired his gun three times, and again
listened for a response.
“It is of no use my waiting here,” he said to himself, after some thought.
“Pita has no shadow of a clue as to what has become of me, and as I may be
thirty miles away from him it would take an army to find me. I had better
try and push on until I get to dry land. I may then be able to work round
the inundations until I reach the rocky ground and can make my way along
it to the mission.” As soon as the sun rose he was able to determine the
points of the compass, and paddled steadily on, his eyes fixed upon the
trees above him. Other snakes might be lurking or wild beasts taking
refuge in the branches. That there were many of these indeed he was sure,
by the number of uneasy howls that he had heard before the sun rose.
Several times as he rowed he caught sight of leopards and jaguars in the
trees; one of the latter, unobserved until he had passed beyond the
branches, sprang down from above, narrowly missing the stern of the canoe,
and starting in pursuit as soon as it came to the surface again. Stephen,
however, was able to drive the boat through the water at a much higher
rate than the beast could swim, and it was not long before he had left it
far behind him.
He continued to paddle all day, but felt that his nerves were beginning to
fail him, and it was only by a great effort that he was able to keep a
fixed direction by the aid of the sun through the leaves. He tied up again
at night, and paddled all the next day, finding to his gratification in
the afternoon that the water now did not average more than four feet deep.
By noon the next day he saw a break in the line of water, and a few
minutes later stood on dry ground. He did not attempt to go further, but
throwing himself down fell at once into a deep sleep. It was evening when
he awoke; the fire still burned on the hearth in the canoe; he had been
careful to keep it alight by breaking off pieces of dead wood from the
trees. He now collected a large store, built up a pile a few feet beyond
the water-level, and bringing some brands from the fire set it alight. His
scanty stock of provisions was now nearly exhausted; he ate half of what
remained, and then lay down before the fire with his pistols ready at hand
in case any wild beasts should come near. The next morning he started in
what he believed to be the right direction, keeping near the edge of the
inundation. His memory of what happened afterwards was vague and
indistinct. He remembered that for several days he kept on, sometimes
plucking fruit as he went, and occasionally firing a gun three times.
Rapidly his strength failed as he went on, he often stumbled and fell from
exhaustion and hunger, and the power of thought altogether deserted him.
At times he fancied he saw men approaching, but only to find that his
imagination had converted trees into moving objects. He had long since
left the edge of the inundation. He was parched with thirst, his mind
wandered, incoherent cries proceeded from his parched lips. At last he
thought he saw a native village before him; as he drew towards it figures
came out from the huts and gazed at him. A moment later he fell headlong
to the ground, and lay there insensible.
When he came to himself he felt so weak that he could neither turn nor
raise his head, but lay wondering vaguely where he was. As he looked
upwards he thought he was still dreaming, for the well-known face of Pita
was looking down upon him.
“Do you know me?” It was certainly Pita’s voice, and being unable to move,
Stephen closed his eyelids quickly in reply to the question.
“The saints be praised!” the Indian exclaimed, using the ejaculation
common among the Peruvians. “He knows me, Hurka—he is sensible again,
after all this time.”
Hurka hurried up on the other side of Stephen. “It is true!” he exclaimed;
“he knows me also.”
The Indian brought a gourd, and poured some liquor into Stephen’s mouth.
“Do not talk,” he said; “we shall have plenty of time for that later on.”
Stephen closed his eyes obediently. Even now he was not certain but that
he was still in a dream. So many times of late he had had a vague fancy
that his Indian guides were still with him that he doubted the evidence
both of eye and ear. However, he soon went off to sleep again. When he
awoke, Hurka was at hand, and ready to pour some hot broth down his
throat. It was long before he was strong enough to ask questions, and the
Indian positively refused to talk. At last the time came when he was able
to be propped up into a sitting position on his bed, which was composed of
leaves covered with blankets.
“I am strong enough to hear about it now, Pita. Tell me where I am and how
you come to be here.”
“Hurka will tell,” the Indian replied; “it is a long talk.”
Stephen looked to Hurka, who at once began.
“When you did not return that evening, señor, Pita and I went out to
search for you. We knew where you generally sat, but you were gone. We
went to the mission, got some torches, and searching in the sand between
the rocks we found traces of Indians’ feet, and were able to follow them
up to a point nearly a mile below the falls. There they ceased, and we
were sure that you had been carried off in a canoe. As we found no sign
whatever of blood or marks of a struggle we felt sure that you had not
been wounded, but concluded that you had been suddenly seized, bound, and
carried off. We roused some of the mission Indians, and I with three of
them took to our canoe and paddled down the river for twelve hours. As we
had no weight to carry and had four paddles, we felt sure that by that
time we should have overtaken you had they held on down the river, for we
concluded by the footmarks that there were but three of them, and they had
your weight in the boat.
“They could hardly have counted on being pursued so closely, and would
not, therefore, have made any special effort. Then we turned and paddled
back, keeping close to the trees in hopes of getting some sign of where
the canoe had entered the forest. We found none, and as soon as we got to
the mission, I set out to follow Pita, who had started inland. We thought
it likely that the Indians had come across the inundations, and that he
might obtain some news as to which tribe they belonged to. Of course he
followed the high ground and passed through several Indian villages, but
he was sure that they had not come from these, for in that case they would
have gone on foot to the mission instead of taking the trouble to pass
through the forest in a canoe. He walked sixty miles the next day and then
reached the farthest edge of the inundation, and leaving the high ground
followed it.
“He had taken with him a bag of flour from the mission, and kept on for a
week; then he thought he must have gone beyond the spot where you had been
landed. He had walked, he thought, fifty miles a day, and was more than
three hundred from the high ground, and concluded that unless the canoe
had come a long distance up the river they would never have made so long a
passage through the forest. Then he went back again, keeping further away
from the water. Four days later he came upon a group of Indian huts, and
there heard that a strange white man had arrived at a village twenty miles
distant, two days before. None knew from whence he came, for he had fallen
down as soon as he arrived, and was lying ill. Pita could not understand
how you could have arrived in such a state, unless indeed you had killed
your captors after landing, and had then wandered in the forest until you
chanced upon the village. He hastened there, greatly disturbed in his
mind, in the first place, at the thought of your illness, and next because
the tribe was a very savage one and ate human flesh.
“When he entered the village the natives crowded round him. He was an
Indian like themselves, but his dress showed that he consorted with the
hated white men. Pita, however, pushed them aside, and to their
astonishment spoke to them in their own language. Pita’s mother, indeed,
had been one of that very tribe, and her father a great chief among them,
so that when he told them who he was, he was heartily welcomed and treated
with great respect. It was lucky for me that he arrived, for only the day
before I too, when I gained news of your whereabouts, had reached the
village, and upon entering had at once been made prisoner. I gathered from
what I could understand of their language that I was to be eaten. I think
that the manner in which you entered their village, and the mystery as to
how you could have come there, saved your life. It seemed to them as
something supernatural, and they were attending you carefully in order
that if you recovered they might learn from you how you had come there,
after which they would no doubt have killed you. Pita had some difficulty
in obtaining my release, but upon his saying that, although belonging to
another tribe, I was a great friend of his, they handed me over to him.
Since then we have been as natives of the village. We have taken it by
turn to nurse you, and by turns have hunted with the men.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Nigh six months, señor.”
“Six months!” Stephen repeated; “surely not, Hurka. I never could have
been ill all that time; I must have died long ago.”
“You were ill for six weeks, señor, with fever. When at last that passed
away, your mind did not come back to you. Sometimes you raved about a
great snake that was about to seize you; sometimes you thought that you
were wandering in the forest; more often you lay quiet and without saying
anything. We gave you plenty of food and you got stronger, but there was
no change in your mind. A month before your mind came back the fever
seized you again, and we had little hope that you would live; but we had
got medicine from the mission, and just when it seemed to us that you were
on the point of death, you fell into a deep sleep, and when, after lying
for twenty hours so, you opened your eyes and knew Pita, we found that
your mind had come back to you again. That is all.”
“And you and Pita have remained here for six months nursing me!” Stephen
said, holding out his hand to the Indian; “you are indeed good comrades
and faithful friends, and I owe my life to you.”
The exhaustion caused by listening to Hurka’s story prevented Stephen from
saying more, and in two minutes he dropped off to sleep. The next day he
related to the two Indians the story of his passage through the forest.
“It was wonderful indeed that you should have alighted upon my mother’s
village,” Pita said. “It was not to this that the three Indians belonged,
but to another thirty miles away. Their disappearance has been the subject
of much talk. It was at first thought that they had lost their way in the
inundation and so perished, but when their canoe was discovered at the
edge of the water-mark, long after the inundation had ceased, no one could
account for it. The village was but three or four miles from the spot
where the canoe was found, and there was no possibility of their missing
their way. They could hardly have been all three devoured by wild beasts,
unless, indeed, they had fallen in with a herd of peccaries; and this, it
is now thought, must have been their fate. Fortunately, no one associated
your coming with the discovery of the canoe.”
Gradually Stephen regained strength, but it was some weeks before he was
fit to travel again.
“I suppose,” he said one day to Hurka, “that you will follow the track
straight through the forest to the mission, instead of going all the way
round as you did.”
“I don’t know yet, señor. We shall have some difficulty in getting away.
Our skill with the bow and gun have so impressed them that they want to
make Pita their chief and keep him here, and they want to adopt me into
the tribe for the same reason. Till you began to get stronger we could
roam about as we liked alone, but of late we have noticed that we are
always watched, and Pita has been told that unless he consents to remain,
you and I will both be killed and eaten. Pita has put off giving them a
decided answer, but he cannot do so much longer; and now that you are well
enough to travel, we shall have to make off as soon as we can. He has been
told that if he and I consent to remain with them, they will take you to a
place among the hills, eight days away, where you can find much gold and
return rich to your own country.”
“It is very awkward, Hurka, but I should think that you and Pita can
contrive some plan for getting off.”
The little Indian nodded.
“We can manage that,” he said. “We have only been waiting until we were
sure that you were strong enough to travel. I know that even now you could
not go far, but once in the forest, we shall be able to outwit them and to
travel slowly. Pita and I have been hiding up a store of food for the
journey, and if you are willing we will try to make our escape to-night.
There have, for the last fortnight, been men posted round us as soon as it
became dark, but we shall be able either to crawl through them or to
dispose of any who may bar our way.”
Pita presently returned from hunting. He carried a dozen large pigeons in
his hand.
“We must go to-night,” he said briefly. “I have been told that I must give
an answer to-morrow.”
“I have been telling the señor,” Hurka said, “and he is ready to make the
attempt at once; but I wish that they had given you a day or two longer,
for there will be extra vigilance to-night.”
Pita made a gesture of contempt.
“They will but throw away their lives,” he said. “Let us go out.”
As they walked along the village the women looked curiously at them, while
men watched them closely with scowling looks.
“Do you see that large tree at the edge of the forest, señor?” Pita asked
presently; “it has lost its bark, and the trunk is white.”
“I see it, Pita.”
“Well, señor, as soon as we start to-night do you make straight for that.
We will join you there. Do not stop if there should be fighting, and have
no fear for us. The great point is for you to get to the edge of the
forest. You are not strong enough to run fast yet; but once in the forest
we shall be all right. The night is dark, for the moon will not rise till
some hours after sunset. Do you think that you will be able to find the
tree?”
“I think so, Pita. I will fix its bearings in my mind, and notice the
direction I have to take on leaving the hut. I wish I had my gun and
pistols.”
“You can have my gun when we are once in the forest, señor; but we must
fight at first with our bows. There are a hundred and fifty men here, and
as we wish above all things to hide the way we have gone, a gun must not
be fired unless we are so surrounded that escape is impossible.”
“How shall we leave the hut, Pita?”
“By the back. We will cut a hole through that mud wall as soon as it gets
dark; but we must not leave until all save the watchers are asleep, or we
should have them all down upon us instantly, on the alarm being raised.
When we are through them, Hurka and I will run in another direction, and
make a long round before we come back to the tree, so that they will not
know in which direction to seek for us. They will be sure, indeed, that we
shall take to the forest; but it would be useless for them to begin the
search for us until the morning, and they will be in no great haste, for
they will know that you are not strong enough to walk very far, and that
when they once strike on our track they will have no difficulty in
overtaking us.”
“I feel strong enough to walk a good distance,” Stephen said.
“You may feel so, señor; but you have not tried. For months your limbs
have done no work, and they will soon feel it. Besides, even had you your
full strength and vigour, the Indians could easily outwalk you, for they
would run in four hours as much as you could do in eight. If we escape, it
must be by craft, and not by speed.”
“I am quite sure that you will do all that you can, Pita, but remember
that it is my express wish that you should not throw away your lives in a
vain attempt to save mine. I will do all that I can; but if they come
close to us, and I can go no further, I charge you to leave me, and to
make your way to the river. You have already done too much for me, by
throwing away eight months of your lives in this wretched place. Few
indeed would have done so much, and it is my most earnest wish that you
should not sacrifice your lives for my sake in a hopeless struggle against
overpowering odds.”
Hurka laughed. “That is not our way, señor. We are comrades, and comrades
stick to each other to the last. You are our employer, and we have
undertaken to carry you through all dangers. You have been kind and good
to us, and our lives are yours. We shall either all get together to the
mission, or none of us will reach it. In all other matters we are ready to
obey your orders, but our lives are our own to dispose of as we choose.”
They had by this time re-entered their hut, and Pita at once began to
examine the wall, and to decide where it had best be cut through. After
some conversation with Hurka they determined to make the hole in the side
wall, near the rear corner of the hut.
“They are more likely to be watching at the back,” Hurka explained to
Stephen, “as it is there they will consider it most likely we should make
the attempt to escape. We can begin the hole as soon as night comes on,
but we must not complete it until the village is quiet. The knives will
make no noise in cutting through this soft stuff, and the moment the hole
is large enough, and the part remaining is so thin that we can push it
down, one of us will stand, bow in hand, ready to shoot any of the
watchers who may stop before it. Once out, señor, do not make straight for
the tree, or the men at the back of the house will attack you. Turn sharp
off, and run along close to the backs of the next huts until you are fifty
or sixty yards away, then strike out for the tree.”
Accordingly, as soon as it was dark the two Indians began to cut through
the wall. When they considered that they were nearly through, they thrust
the blades of the knives in. As long as they found the wall still firm
they continued to remove further portions of the earth, until, on pushing
the knife through, they found that it moved freely, and knew that they
were within half an inch or so of the outside; then they continued their
work until the hole was large enough for them to be able to issue out one
at a time as soon as the thin skin remaining was cut away. This, as they
told Stephen, would be but the work of a moment, for, starting at the top
together, they should run their knives round the edge of the hole down to
the ground, and let the whole of the wall so separated fall inside
together, when they could ease it down noiselessly to the ground. The
sounds in the village diminished, but they could, by listening
attentively, hear an occasional footstep outside.
“Will each of them watch at a given spot?” Stephen asked.
“No, there is no chance of that; the five or six men on guard will wander
round and round as they please, sometimes separately and sometimes
together—more often together, for they have never got over the mystery of
your arrival, and have, as I have noticed several times when I have
returned late, an objection to coming near the hut. I have often seen them
cross the road to the other side when they came along, in order to keep as
far away from the hut as possible. Of course, we have never given them any
explanation of your coming here, but have said that your memory is weak,
and that all we know is that you were with us at the mission, and that we
found you here.”
Presently Pita announced that the time had come. He handed his gun to
Stephen, while Hurka swung his across his back. Each of them took up their
bows, drew half a dozen arrows from the quivers, and held them in
readiness for instant use. They then placed the bows against the wall,
close to the hole, opened their long knives and thrust them through the
thin wall together, then each swept his knife down until it reached the
ground, and cut along it until the inclosed strip gave way and fell
inwards. They caught it as it moved, lowered it gently down, and then
Hurka crept through the hole into the open air.