IN THE CAVE.
As he spoke those fierce words, the young Greek drew a knife. His face
was convulsed with passion and hatred for this daring American boy who,
he believed, had caused him so much trouble. He longed to rush at Brad
and stab him to the heart.
The manner of the Greek was enough to warn the Texan of his danger.
“Whoop!” cried Brad. “If the gent is anxious to enter into a carving
contest, just give me a toadsticker and I’ll show him my style. I opine
I can interest him some.”
Donatus weakly waved his hand.
“I am wearied,” he said. “I must rest. When I have rested I will say
what shall be done. Until that time, place the boy in the cave.”
“But, chief, he is——”
The wounded brigand cut Maro short with a flashing look from his still
terrible eyes.
“What I have said I have said,” he declared. “Those who dare disobey me
invite destruction.”
Then, as directed by him, Buckhart was marched away to the cave, before
which the guard still paced to and fro.
Maro sank down, his face wearing a look of bitter disappointment. Tyrus
squatted beside him, whispering in his ear:
“Be content that your life is still spared, boy. It was in wrenching the
pistol from you that Flavia caused the accidental shooting of Donatus. I
feared you would be slain for that. The girl, the Englishman, and the
hated American boy are in the cave. They are guarded. Donatus is sorely
wounded and may die. Pray the gods that we may escape with our lives.”
“And is this Donatus the man you befriended?” exclaimed Maro bitterly.
“Hush, you fool!” warned Tyrus; but the eyes of Donatus were closed and
he seemed to be sleeping.
Brad Buckhart had looked around for Flavia and Cavendish. In the
blackness of the cave he could see nothing. The men who escorted him
left him, after warning him that he would be shot down the moment he
tried to step forth, unless given permission to do so.
Then they departed. He saw their forms silhouetted for a moment against
the glow of the fire as they passed from the mouth of the cave. Then the
guard’s dark figure paced slowly across the opening.
“Well, here I am!” muttered the Texan. “I sure opine I’m in a right bad
scrape, and I’ll have to depend hugely on my pard to pull me out.”
“It is indeed a bad scrape you are in,” said the voice of a person near
at hand in the darkness of the place. “How in the world did you get
here?”
“Hello!” cried the Texan, in surprise and satisfaction. “Is that your
gentle warble I hear, Cavendish?”
“Yes, I am Charles Cavendish, a free-born Englishman, here held captive
by these dirty Greek brigands! Some one will pay dearly for it, too!”
“Fighting mad, I see,” half chuckled Buckhart. “Well, old man, this
comes of monkeying round the Maid of Athens.”
“The Maid of Athens? What are you doing, quoting Byron?”
“I opine it was Byron that made me call her that, and I’ll bet a bunch
of Texas longhorns that Byron’s maid wasn’t any prettier than Flavia.”
“Do you understand that, Flavia?” questioned the voice of Cavendish.
“Did you catch the compliment of this devil-may-care youngster who is in
the trap with us?”
“I hear heem,” was the answer, in a voice that made Brad start! “same
time the English is hard to comprehen’.”
The Texan whistled.
“So Flavia is here with us, eh? And Maro outside! I don’t quite
understand it.”
Cavendish explained as well as he could.
“I fancy I came near being shot,” he went on, “when I saw that Greek
ruffian catch Flavia in his arms. They warned me I’d be shot down the
moment I thrust my nose out of this cave, yet my blood boiled when he
clasped her. However, he kept her from Maro, and now he’s in a bad way
himself. Boy, I fear you and I will not live to see the rising of
another sun. I fear these ruffians will cut our throats. As for Flavia,
my soul shudders when I think what may become of her.”
“It shudders some, does it?” said Buckhart, with a touch of unspeakable
scorn. “Well, I opine you see now, Mr. Cavendish, what a long-eared
jackass you made of yourself by fooling round an innocent girl in this
country. You sure brought it on yourself by trying to deceive her.”
In the gloom of the cave Cavendish stirred suddenly, and Brad fancied he
could see the figure of the man risen to a standing attitude.
“Why do you say that?” hotly demanded the young Englishman. “Deceive
Flavia? How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”
“Steady, you!” growled the Texan, not a bit abashed by the evident rage
of the other. “I want you to know that my pard and myself have seen and
talked with that blear-eyed old reprobate, Sir Augustus Camberwell. We
found him in the midst of the wreckage after the brigands jumped you on
the trail. He was so nervous he was ready to shoot at his own shadow. We
chinned him some, and he gave it to us straight that the whole affair
was brought about because you met the girl by accident and took a fancy
to fool her some. He allowed you never had the least idea of marrying
her.”
Flavia had listened to all this and understood it. Now she uttered a cry
and clutched at the young Englishman.
“Charlee!” she gasped; “Charlee, it is not true?”
Cavendish placed his arm about her waist and drew her close to him.
“It is not true, sweetheart!” he declared, with deep earnestness. “I
must confess that Sir Augustus thought so, for he could not understand
that I, a son of the house of Cavendish, could possibly mean to treat in
an honorable manner a poor Greek girl of no family whatever. I tried to
tell him that I was in earnest, but I found that he would turn against
me the moment he believed it, and do everything in his power to separate
us. The only way to obtain his assistance, which I needed very much, was
to let him believe I was playing the scoundrel in this manner. That is
why I permitted him to think so.”
Needless to say Brad Buckhart had listened with deep interest to these
words. He now stepped forward and his hand found Cavendish’s shoulder.
“How about that forged letter?” he asked.
“I confess it was forged,” was the instant answer. “I met Flavia by
accident and fell in love with her at first sight. She tells me that she
loved me the moment her eyes met mine. We met several times, and she
told me of Maro, and how her uncle was trying to force her into a
hateful union with the fellow. We knew Tyrus Helorus would be enraged if
I simply presented myself and stated that I wanted Flavia for my wife,
so we concocted a scheme we fancied might work. Flavia told me all about
her father, where he was in India and all that. I secured the service of
an expert with the pen, and the rascal forged a letter purporting to be
from Flavia’s father. The letter introduced me to Tyrus, who was
directed to deliver Flavia into my care, as I would take her to her
father in India.”
“That was some slick,” commented Brad.
“But it didn’t work with Tyrus,” said Cavendish. “The old man smelled a
rat, you know. He pretended to think it all right, and he promised that
Flavia should prepare for the journey. But he whisked her away and hid
her from me. I found her, and then he had me arrested on some sort of a
complaint. I was locked up, you understand, and I’d be there now only
for Sir Augustus, who used his influence to get me out. That’s how I
became tangled up with him, don’t you know. And now here we are. What
the deuce are we going to do?”
Brad found Cavendish’s hand in the darkness and gave it a hearty grip.
“Even if I am in a right tight predicament myself,” he said, “I’m sure
glad my pard and I concluded, after leaving Sir Augustus, to try to find
out what had happened to Flavia and you. Cavendish, we may all go over
the range into the unknown country beyond, but the jig’s not up, by a
long shot.”
The Texan lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Listen: My pard and I both got into this valley, though I was the only
one seen. If those cutthroats hadn’t been miserable bad shots, I’d been
peppered full of holes. They shot all round me. Then something tripped
me as I was scooting, and they had me before I could recover. Here I am;
but Dick Merriwell is somewhere out in the valley, and I’ll wager every
hoof on the Bar Z that we hear from him before morning. You want to hold
yourself ready to move a whole lot lively when he takes a hand in the
game, for he plays his cards to win and makes no false moves. You hear
me chirp!”