A FACE AMONG THE FERNS
In my ears rang angry shouting, the sound of heavy blows rained upon
that inner door, as I dashed out of the hut. Marjorie flashed by the
front of the sheds and took a rocky path which led off steeply to the
left. As I tore after her a man stepped out quickly from the angle of
the hut to bar my passage. But without faltering in my stride I drove
my elbow into his face and he slipped backwards, striking his head
against the split log facing of the shed with a horrid crack. I did
not stop to see what became of him but ran on, congratulating myself
that I had laid him out without using the pistol which my right hand
clutched in my pocket. For I knew that the sound of a shot would bring
the whole horde buzzing about our ears.
Daylight was coming now with great strides. The morning mists clung
sluggishly about the lower part of the steep incline leading up from
the hollow where the camp was situated. As we topped the path we came
into view of the shores of a little cove and glimpsed a long, grey
motor-launch that lay at anchor. This, as Marjorie told me afterwards,
was Sturt Bay which, I remembered, the "Sailing Directions" had
mentioned as the only practicable landing-place other than Horseshoe
Bay on the island. In that deep hollow the sheds must have been
invisible both from the land and the sea side. When, later on,
Marjorie told me that Clubfoot's men, in their talk among themselves,
always referred to the huts as "The Petrol Store," I thought I
understood why such care had been taken to conceal the camp from prying
eyes.
Now we were in the forest following a winding track. Though, on
looking back, it seems to have been the height of foolhardiness, I do
not think we could have acted otherwise. For it was essential that we
should reach the high ground undiscovered before it was fully light and
we might have wasted hours trying to find the way through these dense
woods where, though day was at hand, the shadows of the night yet
lingered.
The noises I had heard on the outskirts of the camp had ceased. The
silence made me uneasy. We relaxed our pace to a walk and went along
swiftly and softly, our feet making no sound on the spongy ground.
Suddenly, from a clump of rich green ferns, not a pace away from me, a
man's head arose. I did not require to see the heavily bruised
features to recognise Custrin. If ever the intent to kill peered out
of a man's face, it did from the quick, black eyes of the doctor of the
_Naomi_.
It happened far quicker than it takes to write it down. I could not
see his hands; but there was a warning rustle of the ferns, a sudden
change in the face, which told me he was going to shoot. The index
finger of my right hand was crooked round the trigger of my pistol as
it lay in the side pocket of my jacket....
We fired together. Something "whooshed" by my ear. In accents of
shrill surprise Custrin cried out: "Oh!" stared at me stupidly for the
fraction of a second through the blue haze that drifted on the air
between us, then pitched forward on his face into the clump of ferns.
There was a horrid gush--a convulsive movement of the hands--and the
body lay still. The woods seemed to ring with the report, and there
was a smell of singed cloth in the air. The pocket of my jacket was
smouldering....
Now silence descended once more upon the forest, broken only by a
faintly audible drip! drip! from the drooping head at my feet. Then
suddenly a distant hallo went echoing through the woods; another shout,
much nearer at hand, answered it and was answered by another until the
whole forest rang again.
I turned to Marjorie. White to the lips, she stood with her face
averted from that limp form sprawling in the ferns.
"We must make a dash for it, partner!" said I.
Docilely, like a little child, she thrust her hand in mine.
"Don't go too fast!" she pleaded, "I'm--I'm--afraid of being left
behind...."
Hand-in-hand, like the Babes in the Wood, we set off again through the
forest, pelting headlong down the track. Unmolested we reached the lip
of the clearing and dropped down into the hollow where the grave lay
bathed in the lemon-coloured light of the new day. In front of us
towered the rugged mass of rock for which we were making and my eye
sought on the topmost terrace that pillar of dressed stone which held,
as I firmly hoped, the secret of the treasure.
Panting we scrambled up the shelving slabs of stone which led to the
foot of the crag. In order to reach the first shelf I had given Garth
a back; but I guessed that the track I had seen winding aloft from the
first terrace must, somehow, find its way to the ground.
We followed the base of the rock round till, presently, we came upon a
tiny, zigzag foot-path, crumbling and precipitate, leading upwards. By
this we were out of sight of the clearing, but the sounds of pursuit
drifted across to us more plainly every minute.... the noisy passage of
men through the undergrowth, raucous shouts. They seemed to be beating
the jungle, keeping in touch with each other by calling.
The attack, when it came, would come from the rear. Therefore, I made
Marjorie go first up the path. I looked at her anxiously. She was
game all through, this girl; but her eyes were wistful and her mouth
drooped pathetically. The path, winding its way across the face of the
rock, brought us on to the first shelf and thence, from the far end,
pursued its course aloft. As we stepped out on the terrace a shout
rang out from below and at the same moment a bullet hit the rock with a
rebounding thwack right next to my ear while another whined shrilly
over our heads.
"Go on, go on!" I cried to Marjorie. Together we dashed across the
terrace and then the winding of the path brought us under cover again.
We toiled on, the path growing steeper and steeper. I kept looking
round to see if we were followed; but the grey path below us remained
deserted.
As we mounted higher I noticed that the shelves cut out of the rock
face grew narrower. The second terrace was scarcely more than twelve
feet wide. Since we had left the first terrace we had looked out over
a stern landscape of barren rock and lonely crag without a vestige of
green. But, when we were within measurable distance of the third and
topmost terrace, the path suddenly bent to the left and a magnificent
panorama of land and sea burst upon our gaze.
Far below us the belt of green jungle was spread out at our feet; the
waving green trees sloped down to the cliff-sheltered anchorage where
the white wings of sea-birds flashed in the sun; a broad belt of deep
blue sea ran out to the horizon all round. In the foreground our
narrow path zigzagged to and fro, like a fluffy grey ribbon gummed to
the rock. Just beyond we looked into the cup-shaped hollow with the
grave. Tiny figures, every detail clear-cut and distinct in that
limpid air, were dotted about the clearing. One leant heavily upon a
stick which, as we stood and gazed upon the view, he raised and with it
pointed aloft.
"Hurry, hurry!" I cried to Marjorie, but almost before I spoke a rifle
again rang out in the hollow below and the dust spurted at my feet. It
was some thirty yards to where the path, turning once more, would bring
us out of sight and we scrambled forward with the bullets "zipping"
angrily in the dust or noisily flattening themselves out on the rock.
Several of the men in the clearing seemed to be firing, for the bullets
came pretty fast.
It was a harrowing experience to be shot at at that height, perched on
a precipitate path like flies on a ceiling. I plunged forward, my
heart in my mouth. Now Marjorie had reached the bend and having
rounded it into cover, had halted, waiting for me to draw level. A
bullet struck the ground between us splashing the grey volcanic dust
knee-high and the next moment I had scrambled into safety. Then I saw
that the topmost terrace was only a few yards from us.
I turned to the girl. She had gone very white and she seemed to be
leaning for support on the rocky wall at her side. Before I could
speak she heaved a little sigh and pitched forward. I caught her in my
arms.