OUT OF THE TOILS.
The mists of early night had dissolved in the valleys. Above the hills
the pale stars glittered as the night wore on. Donatus, the Suliote,
still reclined by the fire, his head pillowed on the saddle. Over him a
faithful follower had spread a blanket to protect him from the cool
night air.
The fire sank lower. Even Maro, with his heart of fire, had at last
fallen into slumber.
The guard who had passed before the mouth of the cave, now unreached by
the firelight, seemed grown weary, for he made his beat with less
frequence and regularity. Once he disappeared for such a length of time
that Buckhart was tempted, for all of the danger of being shot, to peer
forth. But before the Texan brought himself to the point of risking the
peril the guard reappeared, a blanket wrapped about him, pacing with
slow step across the opening.
Flavia slept, her head pillowed on Cavendish’s lap. The Englishman had
removed his coat and spread it over her.
“Poor girl!” he muttered, as he did so. “It’s a beastly shame! She’ll
get her death in this blooming hole!”
“Death isn’t the worst thing that can happen to her,” said the Texan, in
a whisper. “But we’ll hope for better luck. Cavendish, I’m sure afraid
something has happened to my pard. I’m afraid to wait longer for him to
move. Are you in for taking a chance?”
“What sort of a chance?”
“A desperate one. The band is asleep, though they’re all sleeping with
weapons in their hands. The guard seems to be the only one awake, and I
judge he’s half asleep.”
“Go on.”
“We’ll creep close to the mouth of the cave. The fire is down so it no
longer shines in at the opening, and we can get right close without
being seen. When the guard passes, we’ll jump him. I’ll try to get him
by the woozle and shut off his wind so he can’t peep. We’ll have to move
a whole lot hasty, and if he raises any sort of a racket to awaken the
others, it will be a run for our lives, with bullets chasing us. But
remember that the gang shoot mighty bad. What do you say?”
“Flavia?”
“Of course we’ll take her. You’ll have to explain it to her.”
“She may be killed when they begin to shoot?”
“Better that than for her to be carried off by these cutthroats.”
Cavendish shuddered. The thought of placing the beautiful girl in such
peril of instant death was horrible to him. He bent in the darkness and
gently kissed her parted lips.
“Charlee!” she murmured.
“With my life I’ll protect you!” he whispered.
“Wake her,” urged Brad impatiently. He had resolved on action, and every
moment seemed precious now.
Cavendish kissed her again and then gently aroused her. She was
frightened at first, but he succeeded in soothing her.
“You are with me, Flavia,” he said.
“My Charlee!”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I dream such terrible thing!”
“Tell her our plan,” directed Brad.
Cavendish did so.
“You may be kill, Charlee!” she whispered, in terror.
“It is the only chance. We must try it. Remain here, Flavia, while we
creep close to the mouth of the cave and attempt to overpower the guard.
If we fail and he raises an outcry, we will knock him down at least, and
try to secure his weapons. If you see us do that, come quickly and be
prepared to run with us into the darkness. Are you brave, Flavia?”
“You make me brafe, Charlee. You brafest, bes’ man in whole world!”
Even as he closed her loving lips with another kiss a surprising thing
happened. Brad saw the guard halt at the mouth of the cave and look
intently toward the dying fire and the dimly seen sleepers about it.
Then the fellow stepped into the cave!
The Texan gathered himself panther-like for the spring.
“Hist!”
The guard had paused, and from his lips came a sibilant sound.
“Englishman here? American boy here?” he asked, in a whisper.
“Whatever does this mean?” thought Buckhart, hesitating.
“Other American boy send me,” declared the guard. “He have horses ready.
He pay me to help. I am sic’ being outlaw. He gif me drachma ’nough to
make me rich. I leaf this countree, lif hones’ some other countree. I
help you ’scape. You come now! Quick!”
“Great horn spoon!” breathed the Texan. “My pard has made a move! I knew
he would! Oh, he’s a bird, you bet your boots! But I don’t see how he
worked the trick of bribing the guard.”
“Don’t be fool!” hissed the man. “No time for waste! Come now!”
He found Brad and thrust a weapon into his hand.
“Perhap’ have fight,” he said.
The Texan doubted no longer, for his fingers gripped the butt of a
pistol.
“Come, Cavendish!” he palpitated. “Here is where we prance forth and
trust to fortune and the sagacity of Dick Merriwell, the cleverest chap
on two legs. You hear me gurgle!”
They followed the stooping, muffled guard. The moment they were outside
the mouth of the cave he turned sharply to the right and hastened into
the enfolding gloom. They kept at his heels.
They had not gone far when Buckhart espied a prostrate figure on the
ground. It seemed like a dead man, and the Texan paused, not a little
startled.
“What’s this?” he whispered.
“He tied, gagged, make no trouble,” explained the guard. “I take care of
that. Horses ready this way.”
A loud cry rose behind them. They turned in alarm, but saw in the dim
firelight a man bending over the prostrate figure of the chief, who had
seemed to be sleeping.
That cry brought the brigands to their feet. The fire was stirred up.
They saw Ruteni kneeling beside Donatus.
“He is dead!” declared Ruteni sorrowfully. “While we thought him
sleeping, he died!”
Maro and Tyrus were looking on. They saw the brigands gather sorrowfully
about their dead leader. A look of great satisfaction rested on the face
of the young Greek, and, seeing this, Tyrus hastily advised him to
conceal his feelings.
After a little, Maro asked that the captives should be brought from the
cave.
Two of the brigands hastened to bring them forth, but quickly they
reappeared, declaring that the captives were not there.
Snarling forth his fury, Maro caught a brand from the replenished fire
and dashed into the cave. He was gone but a few moments when he
reappeared, almost frothing in his madness.
“I have been deceived!” he cried. “While I slept you dogs stole Flavia
away. Miserable, crawling things, where is she? Bring her to me without
delay, or I swear I’ll see that you all are delivered over to justice!”
One of the brigands swiftly approached him.
“You threaten us!” he said—“you, whose pistol slew our chief! I saw it
all! But for your weapon Donatus would be living now. This for Donatus!”
Like a stroke of lightning he drove his knife into Maro’s bosom.
* * * * *
The valley was left far behind. The stars were beginning to pale. Still
that muffled figure astride the horse in advance led them on.
They had trusted him. He had led them to the waiting and saddled horses,
and he had led them from the valley, near the entrance to which another
dark figure lay prone, but squirmed and rolled to get away from the
hoofs of the passing horses.
But Brad Buckhart could stand it no longer. He urged his horse to the
side of the mysterious figure, about whose shoulders the robe flapped in
the wind.
“Hold on here, you!” cried the Texan. “You told us my pard had bribed
you, but we reckoned we would combine with him a heap soon after leaving
that cave. Where is he?”
“When we leave cave you see man on ground, tied, gagged, still?”
“Sure thing.”
“That not him. You see ’nother man when we ride out from vallee?”
“Yes.”
“That not him. First man guard cave; other one guard vallee. American
boy say him lif with Injun in America. Him creep on both. Jump on backs.
Fix them. Tie fast and gag. Old Joe Crowfoot teach American boy trick.
Him take clothes from both men all he need. Brigands see him then in
dark think him one of them. You want see American boy? Ha! ha! ha!”
“May I be shot!” growled the disgusted Texan. “I’m the biggest fool
outside the bughouse, you hear me!”
Then, with a swift movement, he reached out, caught at the muffling robe
and jerked it away, flinging it aside.
The gray light of dawn was in the eastern sky toward which the face of
the supposed guard was turned. It was a laughing face, that of a daring
American boy—Dick Merriwell!
“Brad, you’re easy,” he cried.
“Dead easy!” admitted Buckhart. “But you’re a wonder!”
They looked back. Cavendish and Flavia had permitted their horses to
slow down. Their figures could be seen against the pearl gray of the
sky. He leaned toward her—she leaned toward him—their lips met.
Dick and Brad were too far away to hear her whisper:
“My Charlee!”
THE END.
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