"LOOK OUT, COMRADE!"
"Hooray!" cried Punch, wrenching his head round and stretching one hand
towards their visitor, who stepped in, put the basket she carried upon
the bed, and placed her hand upon her side, breathing hard as if she
were in pain.
"Why, you have been running," cried Punch, looking at her reproachfully.
"It was all right on you, and you are a good little lass to come, but
you shouldn't have run so fast. 'Tain't good."
As the girl began to recover her breath she showed her white teeth and
nodded merrily at the wounded boy; and then, as if she had grasped his
meaning, she turned to Pen, caught up the basket, and began rapidly to
take out its contents, which consisted first of bunches of grapes, a few
oranges, and from beneath them a piece of thin cheese and another cake,
which lay at the bottom in company with a rough-looking drinking-mug.
These were all arranged upon the bed close beside Punch, while the girl,
as she emptied her basket, kept on talking to Pen in a hurried way,
which he took to mean as an apology for her present being so common and
simple.
Upon this base Pen made what he considered a suitable reply, thanking
the girl warmly for her compassion and kindness to two unfortunate
strangers.
"I wish I could make you understand," he said; "but we are both most
grateful and we shall never forget it, and--What's the matter?"
For all at once, as the girl was listening eagerly to his words and
trying to understand them, nodding smilingly at him the while, a sudden
change came over her countenance as she gazed fixedly past the young
soldier at the little square opening in the hut-wall behind him which
served as a window, and then turned to snatch her basket from the bed.
"What is it?" cried Pen.
"Look out, comrade--the window behind," said Punch.
Pen turned on the instant, but the dim window gave no enlightenment, and
he looked back now at the girl, who was about to pass through the door,
but darted back again to run round the foot of the bed, so as to place
it between her and the swarthy-looking Spanish peasant-lad who suddenly
appeared to block the doorway, a fierce look of savage triumph in his
eyes, as he planted his hands upon his hips and burst out into an angry
tirade which made the girl shrink back against the wall.
Not a word was intelligible to the lookers-on, but all the same the
scene told its own tale. Punch's lips parted, his face turned white,
and he lay back helpless, with his fingers clenched, while Pen's chest
began to heave and he stood there irresolute, breathing hard as if he
had been running, knowing well as he did what the young Spaniard's words
must mean.
What followed passed very quickly, for the young Spaniard stepped
quickly into the hut, thrust Pen aside, stepped round to the foot of the
bed, and caught the shrinking girl savagely by the wrist.
She shrank from him, but he uttered what sounded more like a snarl than
words, and began to drag her back round the foot of the bed towards the
door.
Pen felt as if something were burning in his chest, and he breathed
harder, for there was a twofold struggle taking place therein between
the desire to interfere and the feeling of prudence that told him he had
no right to meddle under the circumstances in which he was placed.
Prudence meant well, and there was something very frank and brave in her
suggestions; but she had the worst of it, for the girl began to resist
and retort upon her assailant angrily, her eyes flashing as she
struggled bravely to drag her wrist away; but she was almost helpless
against the strong muscles of the man, and the next moment she turned
upon Pen an appealing look, as she uttered one word which could only
mean "Help!"
Pen took that to be the meaning, and the hot feeling in his young
English breast burst, metaphorically, into flame.
Springing at the young Spaniard, he literally wrested the girl from his
grasp; and as she sprang now to catch at Punch's extended hand, Pen
closed with her assailant, there was a brief struggle, and the Spaniard
was driven here and there for a few moments before he caught his heel
against the rough sill at the bottom of the doorway and went down
heavily outside, but only to spring up again with his teeth bared like
those of some wild beast as he sprang at Pen.
A piercing shriek came from the girl's lips, and she tried to free
herself from Punch's detaining hand; but the boy held fast, checking the
girl in her brave effort to throw herself between the contending pair,
while Punch uttered the warning cry, "Look out! Mind, comrade! Knife!
Knife!"
The next instant there was a dull thud, and the Spaniard fell heavily in
the doorway, while Pen stood breathing hard, shaking his now open hand,
which was rapidly growing discoloured.
"Has he cut you, comrade?" cried Punch in a husky voice.
"No. All right!" panted Pen with a half-laugh. "It's only the skin
off--his teeth. I hit first," But he muttered to himself, "Cowardly
brute! It was very near.--No, no, my girl," he said now, aloud, as the
girl stripped a little handkerchief from her neck and came up to him
timidly, as if to bind up his bleeding knuckles. "I will go down to the
stream. That will soon stop;" and he brushed past her, to again face
the Spaniard, who was approaching him cautiously now, knife in hand,
apparently about to spring.
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Pen sternly, and still facing the Spaniard
he took a couple of steps backward towards the wall of the hut.
His assailant did not read his intention, and uttered a snarl of triumph
as he continued his cautious tactics and went on advancing, swinging
himself from side to side as if about to spring; and a dull gleam of
light flashed from the knife he held in his hand.
But the hand Pen had thrust out behind him had not been idle; and Punch,
who lay helplessly upon the bed, uttered a sigh of satisfaction, for
with one quick movement Pen threw forward his right again to where it
came closely in contact with his left, which joined on in throwing
forward horizontally the rifle Pen had caught from where it stood in the
corner of the hut, the muzzle delivering a dull blow in the Spaniard's
chest. There was a sharp _click, click_, and Pen thundered out, "Drop
that knife and run, before it's--fire!"
The man could not understand a word of English, but he plainly
comprehended the young soldier's meaning, for his right hand
relinquished its grasp, the knife fell with a dull sound upon the
earthen floor, and its owner turned and dashed away, while the girl
stood with her hands clasped as she uttered a low sigh full of relief,
and then sank down in a heap upon the floor, sobbing as if her heart
would break.
"One for him, comrade," cried Punch hoarsely. "How would it be to spend
a cartridge over his head? Make him run the faster."
"No need, Punch. This is a bad bit of luck."
"Bad luck!" said Punch. "I call it fine. Only I couldn't come and
help. Yes, fine! Teach him what British soldier means. Oh, can't you
say something to tell that poor girl not to cry like that? Say, old
man," said the boy, dropping into a whisper, "didn't see it before.
Why, he must be her chap!"