THE PURSUIT.
Although it did not take them long to retrace their steps to the hotel
where they had left the Englishmen and the Greek girl, they met with a
most surprising disappointment when they arrived there. They were
informed that Cavendish, Camberwell, and Flavia had just left in a
closed carriage. The carriage was pointed out to them, just disappearing
down a street that seemed to lead toward the outskirts of the city.
Only a moment was Dick Merriwell nonplused. Then he called for saddled
horses, and the money he displayed brought him the assurance that his
wants should be supplied.
“Lose not a second,” he ordered. “We must overtake that carriage.”
Buckhart was burning with impatience, but he bemoaned the fact that they
were not armed.
“Oh, for a brace of revolvers now!” he cried. “If we had the guns we
certain would take that girl away from them.”
“We’ll take her anyhow,” declared Dick grimly.
Brad did not ask how they were going to do it, for he had perfect
confidence in his bosom friend. If Dick said they would do a thing, that
settled it—it was as good as done.
So it happened that in a very few moments the two daring American boys
were mounted and riding at a breathless gallop along the street of that
Greek city.
The carriage had disappeared from view some time before, but the boys
kept on, hoping fortune might be with them.
Not far from the outskirts of the city Dick paused to question some
laborers. One of the men could speak good English, and he immediately
declared that he remembered the carriage. He directed them, and they
were soon galloping onward once more.
The street they now followed quickly brought them to the open country
outside the city. In the distance lay some low, rugged hills, which from
that point seemed rather barren and forbidding. The road led up a steep
incline.
“Pard,” said Brad, “I’m sure afraid we’ve missed them. We can’t see
anything of them anywhere.”
“Perhaps we have,” admitted Dick; “but let’s get to the top of this hill
and take a survey.”
They clattered up the hill. Near the crest, the road wound round the
shoulder of an immense bowlder, which was fully as large as a small
cottage.
Sitting on the ground with his back against the rock and his body in the
sunshine, being fully protected from the rather chill wind that swept
the top of the hill, was a ragged beggar. He held out his open palm to
them.
“Drachma,” he said. “Drachma.”
“Whatever does he mean by that?” asked Brad.
“Money,” said Dick. “Evidently he takes us for wealthy foreigners, else
he would not ask for drachma, which has a value of something like twenty
cents in our money.”
Dick produced a coin and tossed it shimmering toward the beggar, who
deftly caught it.
Then the boy began to question him, using a little “modern Greek” and
many signs. The beggar was grateful and seemed anxious to understand and
aid Dick. He even rose to his feet and drew nearer.
Dick sprang down from his horse, giving the bridle into the hand of his
companion. With his finger he swiftly drew a crude picture in a patch of
dust beside the road. It was the picture of a closed carriage.
The beggar understood in a twinkling. He nodded excitedly, jabbering in
his own language and motioning for the boys to follow him. Turning, he
ran to the point where the road disappeared round the shoulder of the
bowlder, pausing again to beckon them on.
Merriwell leaped into the saddle and the two lads rounded the rock at
the heels of the beggar. The man pointed along the road, and amid some
bare trees on a slope half a mile away the carriage was plainly seen, a
tiny cloud of dust rolling up behind it.
“Whoop!” shouted Buckhart. “There she is, pard! We’re still on the
trail!”
They did not pause to thank the beggar, but were off down the hill, the
hoofs of their horses ringing clear on the hard and stony road.
It was dangerous to ride as they rode, for that strip of road was
anything but good. Still they took chances and dashed onward.
It seemed that some one in the carriage observed them, for they soon
decided that the horses attached to the vehicle had been forced to
greater speed.
“But they can’t get away from us now!” declared Dick grimly.
“What will we do when we overtake them?” questioned Brad.
“We’ll hold them up and find out what they are trying to do with
Flavia.”
“It’s a whole lot queer they were able to get away from that hotel and
out of the city without any of that bunch of Greeks interfering.”
“I’ve been thinking of that. After following them to the hotel, it seems
that Maro, Tyrus, and their friends quit.”
“I certain am afraid the Greek of to-day is a sure enough quitter.”
“Look, Brad—look at the road yonder!”
“Horsemen, partner, and they’re riding good and hard.”
For a few moments a number of horsemen were in plain sight on another
road, and it was plain that they were pushing their mounts. They soon
disappeared from view behind an intervening ridge.
“They were Greeks,” said Dick.
“Sure thing.”
“The carriage has disappeared.”
“That’s right.”
“Brad, I think the road those horsemen were following intersects this
road somewhere beyond that ridge.”
“I judge she does.”
“The occupants of that carriage could not see those horsemen.”
“Because the ridge shut out the view of the other road.”
“Exactly. But I think the horsemen knew the carriage must come round
that ridge at the western end, and I believe they mean to intercept it
where the roads cross.”
“Partner, I allow you have figured it out proper. That being the case——”
“Tyrus and Maro are leading the horsemen.”
“I’ll bet on it.”
“In which case there is liable to be bloodshed. Camberwell and Cavendish
may be butchered by the engaged uncle and lover.”
“That’s whatever.”
“They may deserve it, but still it’s our duty to prevent it, if
possible.”
Even while riding at full gallop the boys had managed to carry on this
conversation. But now, as they reached the last declivity of the road,
and were descending into the valley between the two ridges, Dick’s horse
stepped on a loose stone and fell as if shot.
Had not Merriwell been an expert horseman that accident might have been
fatal. He shot over the head of the horse, having managed to free his
feet from the stirrups with the quickness of thought itself. Striking on
his feet, he managed to keep up for two springs, and, when he did fall,
he regained an upright position and wheeled so swiftly that it was
almost impossible to say that he had been down at all.
As the horse rose Dick had the creature by the bit and was talking
soothingly to it.
Having uttered an exclamation of dismay, Buckhart reined in as soon as
possible and turned about. An expression of relief shot over his rugged
face as he saw his friend on his feet, holding the frightened horse by
the bit.
“Good work!” shouted the delighted Texan. “It certain takes more than a
little thing like that to put you down and out, partner.”
Dick managed to fling himself into the saddle. As his feet found the
stirrups once more, he waved his hand to Buckhart.
Brad wheeled his own horse as Merriwell came alongside, and they were
off again, making for the rise beyond the hollow.
Dick, however, quickly made an unpleasant discovery. His horse had been
injured, and quickly showed signs of lameness as they struck the rise.
In fact, the creature limped and betrayed signs of distress, beginning
to fall back.
“Hard luck, Brad!” said Dick. “The beast is hurt, and will be scarcely
able to hobble in a few moments.”
The other boy drew up somewhat, turning his head to anxiously regard his
friend’s faltering mount.
“That’s right,” he said. “At first I reckoned you both had come through
all right. If the horse is that lame as quick as this, it will be plumb
done up in ten minutes’ time.”
“I’m afraid we won’t be on hand when the pursuers stop that carriage.
Ten to one I’ll ruin this horse if I try to push him.”
Always sympathetic for dumb beasts, Dick was hurt by every hobbling
stride of the animal he bestrode.
“Keep him going, pard,” urged the Texan. “This is a right desperate
case, and you’ll not be to blame for the horse if he is ruined. I’m some
anxious to see that the Maid of Athens gets a fair deal in the game, and
I’m afraid the cards are stacked against her.”
So Dick urged the faltering horse onward, and they toiled up the road on
which they had last seen the closed carriage.
Suddenly from beyond the ridge came electrifying sounds. The air bore to
their ears the distant barking of firearms.
“I judge the scrimmage is on, Dick!” palpitated Buckhart. “The battle is
taking place and we’re not in it. What a howling shame!”
“Wait, Brad!” cried Dick. “I’ve got to quit this horse. Your animal must
carry us both.”
He leaped to the ground as the Texan pulled up. With another bound he
was up behind the Texan. The lame horse was abandoned.
“Git!” cried Buckhart.
The animal bearing the double burden responded nobly. Up the road and
round the shoulder of the ridge they went.
The shooting had ceased as suddenly as it began. All was silent before
them. That silence was ominous.
“I’m afraid we’ll arrive too late,” said Dick regretfully.
Soon they were dashing down the road. To the left they caught a glimpse
of another brown highway, the one on which they had seen the galloping
horsemen. It was plain that the two roads met not far beyond.
They had made no mistake in thinking it the purpose of those horsemen to
intercept the carriage. The sound of firearms had told them that the
meeting was not of a peaceful nature. Dick dreaded yet was anxious to
know the result.
Beyond and beneath them was a gloomy hollow. But for the clatter
produced by their own horse, they might have heard the echo of hoofbeats
receding and dying out in the distance of that hollow. The nature of the
landscape concealed from their eyes the road that led through it and
into the rugged hills beyond.
Soon they came dashing into view of the carriage they had pursued. It
was overthrown on its side. One of the two horses that had drawn it was
down. The driver had managed to clear the other animal, which was taking
all of his attention. He was the only human being in sight. As they came
on, he gave them an apprehensive look, seeming on the point of
abandoning the horse and taking to his heels.
“There sure has been the old blazes to pay there, Dick!” cried Brad.
All at once, as they drew near, out from the wreck of the carriage
leaped a puff of smoke. A pistol spoke and a bullet sung unpleasantly
near the boys.
“Mighty bad shooting,” observed the Texan.
He flung the horse to a stand. Dick was the first to leap to the ground.
Advancing toward the carriage, peering forth from which he caught a
glimpse of an ashen face, he cried:
“Let up on that carelessness! Are you trying to shoot up friends?”
Immediately the head and shoulders of a man rose through a shattered
door of the carriage.
It was Sir Augustus Camberwell, and his whole appearance was that of a
man so badly frightened that he was liable to do almost any freakish
thing. He held in his hand the pistol with which he had fired at the
approaching lads. A bit of smoke still curled from the muzzle of the
weapon.
“Really is—is it you—my—my dear boys?” he chattered, seeming to shake
all over like a man with the palsy. “I—I thought it was—those ruffians
returned to—to finish me up, don’t you understand.”
“Yes, we understand,” said Dick. “You lost your wits completely. Lucky
for us that your hand shook so you couldn’t hit a house when you fired.”
“I—I hope you will pardon me.”
“We’ll have to. What’s happened here?”
“Ruffians, highwaymen, cutthroats dashed upon us! Shot down one of our
horses! Tried to murder me! Fell on Cavendish and dragged him forth!
Seized the girl! Upset the carriage! That’s about all I know, don’t you
know. I’m hurt. I fancy they thought me killed. I kept still. They left.
Cavendish is gone. Girl is gone. Confound the girl! She made all the
trouble. Cavendish was a fool! I told him so.”
“Why did you leave Athens?”
“Dangerous there. Greeks followed us to hotel. Knew a quiet place in a
little village where Charlie and the girl could stay till he got ready
to quit his foolishness. Thought the Greeks had gone to notify the
authorities, and raise a row. Thought they were satisfied after they
found where we were stopping. Saw nothing of them. Improved the
opportunity to get away.”
It was not the habit of Sir Augustus to express himself clearly and
concisely, but his condition of nervousness seemed to jerk the words out
of him in an astonishingly crisp manner.
“What do you mean by saying that Cavendish and the girl could stay in
your quiet little village until he quit his foolishness?” demanded Dick.
“Do you intend to convey the idea that he was not going to marry
Flavia?”
“Marry her?” cried Camberwell. “How ridiculous! Why, he would disgrace
his family, don’t you know!”
Dick Merriwell’s eyes blazed with anger.
“Then it is evident at last that Charles Cavendish is as great a
scoundrel as Sir Augustus Camberwell!” he said, in deep disgust.
“What, sir—what?” gasped the Englishman, in astonishment. “How dare you
use such language to me!”
“Give it to him, pard!” advised Brad, who was standing near, holding the
horse. “Tell him a few things good and plain.”
“You got off too easily,” said Dick. “They should have hanged you to the
limb of a tree—and Cavendish with you!”
Sir Augustus choked and spluttered.
“Do you know whom you’re addressing?” he fumed.
“Yes; I’m addressing an old reprobate—a miserable old toad! I know your
record, Camberwell. I know that you disgraced your family in England. I
know you have left a track of wretchedness and ruin behind you all
through life. And now you connive with a young reprobate to deceive an
innocent and trusting girl! You plot to break her heart and destroy her!
I cannot find words to tell you exactly what I do think of you. You
ought to get twenty years in a Greek prison—you and Cavendish.”
“Be careful!” snorted Sir Augustus, rising to his full height and
clambering forth from the smashed carriage, while he shook his pistol at
the daring American lad. “I have money and influence—and friends in
Greece.”
“I don’t care what you have; you have entered into a dastardly plot, and
I hope to see you properly punished.”
“I knew nothing of it to begin with,” averred the Englishman. “Charlie
sent for me. I was his father’s friend. Of course, I brought my
influence to bear to have him released. I had no part in forging the
letter. That was done before I knew Cavendish was in Athens. The girl
knew the letter was forged. Don’t think she is such an innocent
little——”
“That’s enough!” blazed Dick, taking a step toward the man.
Involuntarily Sir Augustus lifted the hand that contained the pistol.
Like a flash the boy grasped the weapon, turned its muzzle aside and
wrenched it from the grasp of the Englishman.
“You’re not fit to handle such dangerous playthings,” he said.
Brad had made a move to assist Dick, but he stopped, a grim smile on his
face, for he saw his friend needed no aid.
“Why—why, you’re worse than the ruffians!” gasped Sir Augustus.
“Look here,” said the fearless American boy, “you had better keep a
decent tongue in your vile mouth! Don’t say a nasty word about Flavia,
unless you’re anxious to get hurt. Cavendish is a rascal, like yourself.
He has led her to believe it is his intention to marry her. There is no
question about that, for she told us so. She has fled from Maro, who
would have married her any day, to this English reprobate, who only
means to deceive her. But I fancy that Cavendish will get all that’s
coming to him, for doubtless both Maro and Tyrus, the uncle of the girl,
are with the band that dropped on you here. It is mighty doubtful if you
ever set eyes on Charles Cavendish again.”
“If they dare injure him they’ll suffer for it!” cried the Englishman.
“If they are wise, they’ll set him free without delay. I hope they do
keep the girl, for he’s crazy over her, and I can’t swear he wouldn’t be
foolish enough to marry her.”
Dick turned in disgust from Camberwell to the driver, who stood looking
down mournfully at the dead horse.
“Can you speak English?” asked Merriwell.
“I spik it well,” was the answer.
“Who attacked you here?”
“It was Donatus.”
“Who is Donatus?”
“You never hear of him?”
“No.”
“He outlaw. One time Suliote chief. Price on his head.”
“And this outlaw, Donatus, led the men who attacked you here?”
“I have said it.”
“How did he happen to be so near the city?”
The driver shook his head.
“Some time he come into city. See hills yonder. He stay there much.
Think he go there now. Take Englishman. Englishman have friends perhaps.
They pay Donatus well if ever see him ’live again.”
“It’s right evident,” said Buckhart, “that Mr. Cavendish is in a very
bad scrape.”
“As he richly deserves to be,” declared Dick.