TOO MUCH ZEAL.
“Take your dirty hands off her, you brute!” growled Maurice,
struggling ineffectually with the two men who were holding him down.
Milosch smiled again.
“You ze next,” he said. “We leave you at ze camp--dead, oh, yes! and
ze Roumi dogs will see how you died. Zere will be tree--four hours
while zey find ze way, but for you it will experience tree or four
days. And ze ozer girl,”--he cast a critical eye upon Eirene, who
shivered in spite of her utmost efforts to maintain a firm front,--“we
not kill her, no. We leave her also at ze camp, but living, to tell
what she see.”
The strain was too great, and, with a little gasp, Eirene fainted
away. Milosch chuckled. “Make not no mistakes,” he added impressively
to the furious Maurice. “It may be your friend achieve to discover
you--yes; but you will compensate in blood for ze ransom he hope to
defraud.”
Maurice turned away with as much impassivity as he could muster.
“Don’t you go and faint too, Zoe,” he said to his sister; “he’s only
trying to make our flesh creep. But don’t trouble about Eirene. I
don’t suppose it will hurt her to stay as she is for the present, and
it can’t be any pleasure to her to hear him talk.”
Zoe, who had been trying to get to Eirene, ceased her struggles, and
let her eyes return to the moving figures in the valley below. This
was evidently a critical moment, for the brigands were watching their
progress with strained attention. At last, when Wylie had passed a
particular point, a gasp of satisfaction showed that, in the opinion
of the band, the immediate danger was over.
“It’s the stream that has thrown him out,” muttered Maurice. “He’ll go
on ever so far looking for tracks before he guesses where we turned
off.”
“But how has he tracked us?” asked Zoe, who had now been released, and
was holding Eirene’s head on her knee, as the younger girl struggled
slowly back to consciousness.
“By the marks of our boots, of course,” said Maurice. “No one else in
the mountains wears boots, and there has been no rain since we came up
here. I say, I shall tell Wylie what I think of him when I see him
next. He has no business to sacrifice us to his grudge against the
brigands. That’s the worst of him, he’s an unforgiving brute, and the
trick they played on him the day they pretended they were going to
kill him rankles.”
“Maurice, you are absurd!” Zoe was engrossed in her ministrations to
Eirene, and could only talk in snatches. “He has some special reason
for this. I am sure of it. He may have a grudge against the brigands,
as you say, but he will wait to work it off until we are safe.”
“Then what’s he up to now?” demanded Maurice, and Zoe could offer no
explanation. Eirene laughed weakly.
“Zoe would say to him with her last breath, ‘I know you couldn’t help
it,’ and Maurice, ‘You brute! it’s all your fault,’” she said.
[Image: images/img_138.jpg
Caption:
“_Take your dirty hands off her, you brute!_” _growled Maurice._]
“And you?” asked Zoe, rather tartly.
“It is not to be my last breath, you know”--Eirene shivered again as
she rose shakily to her feet, with the help of Maurice’s hand--“but I
should say to him when we met, ‘You see, sir, the results of an excess
of zeal.’”
“Awfully scathing!” said Maurice, guiding her along the ledge. “I’m
coming back for you, Zoe; wait for me. No wonder you feel shaky, after
that sickening rascal’s talk.”
The camp seemed a haven of refuge after the experiences of the last
half-hour, and the girls sank down thankfully on their straw bed,
while Maurice seated himself on a stone at the door, and tried to make
conversation and distract their minds, not very successfully. Stoyan
succeeded where Maurice failed, however, for he made his appearance
suddenly, and saying something in his own language, threw down a pair
of leggings and moccasins before him, and held out his hand.
“He says I’m to put these on, and give him my boots,” explained
Maurice ruefully. “I’m afraid Wylie has let us in for it. He says, ‘No
sleep to-night, thanks to your friend.’”
“I suppose we had better pack up,” said Zoe, as the chief retired with
the boots.
“How I admire your common-sense, Zoe!” said Eirene, not offering to
move. “Why don’t you rest as long as you can, like me?”
“Because she knows you would look pretty blue if there were no coats
and things at the next halting-place,” said Maurice. “Come, get up.
You can luxuriate in the straw as long as they’ll let you, but we must
roll up the rugs.”
The rugs, wrapped round the scanty possessions of the party, were
Maurice’s burden, while the girls carried the coats, rolled up as
Wylie had shown them, so as to leave their arms free. But when they
were summoned to start, about an hour before sunset, the brigands made
them unfold the coats and put them on, drawing the hoods over their
heads, so that they could not be recognised from a distance. They felt
some surprise at starting in daylight, but the reason was soon
evident. They were to climb down the torrent-bed, up which they had
come to reach the valley, and not even the brigands cared to risk the
descent in the dark. Scouts had been sent to follow Wylie and the
Roumi force, and make sure that they were not returning, and these
brought word that the troops had taken up their quarters in a village
for the night, so that the move might safely be made. Going down the
torrent-bed was rather worse than going up, so far as slips and
tumbles and sudden sousings went, and the girls were bruised and
drenched when they reached the bottom. They were only allowed a moment
to wring their dripping skirts, and then the brigands set out briskly
in the dusk, taking the direction in which Wylie had gone. They knew
the rocky paths, and how to take advantage of the smoothest places,
but to the prisoners, unused to walking in moccasins, every step was a
lottery, which might prove painless, but was far more likely to be
agonising. Even when a rare stretch of comparatively soft ground
appeared, they were not allowed to take advantage of it, the brigands
casting about carefully until they found a way past it on the rocks,
lest any trail should remain to show that a number of people had
passed there after the soldiers. Darkness came on, and the prisoners
stumbled painfully along between their guards, who never stretched out
a hand to help them, but reviled them horribly when they slipped.
Regardless of dignity, the girls were reduced at last to clutching the
sleeves of the men on each side of them--more the brigands would not
permit, for fear of finding their arms encumbered in case of
danger--and even Eirene made no protest. After what seemed weary hours
of walking, the brigands suddenly stopped and closed round the
prisoners, two of the band stealing off into the darkness.
“We are going right through the village,” whispered Maurice. “Those
fellows are off to quiet the dogs.”
“And if you raise exclamation, we quiet you,” muttered Milosch,
unsheathing his long dagger.
It was some time before the two men returned, with the assurance that
all was well. The troops were comfortably quartered in the houses and
cattle-sheds, and they had located the watch-fires and the sentries,
and could guide the rest past them. Wylie and the Roumi officer were
at the house of the chief man of the place, and Stoyan breathed a
vehement and highly coloured aspiration that it had been prudent to
creep in and make an end of them. But as this was impossible if the
prisoners were to be placed in safe keeping, he repressed his
bloodthirsty inclinations, and the scouts led the party in and out
among huts and sheds, sometimes creeping on all-fours across a space
dimly illuminated by a watch-fire, sometimes pausing behind a wall
while a sentry passed. Every man among the brigands held his dagger
unsheathed, ready to strike if any of the prisoners made the slightest
attempt to raise an alarm, and the precaution was sufficient. Warmth,
shelter, safety, friends, were in the village, and with bursting
hearts the girls passed them by, and went on again into the dark cold
night. They were so tired by this time that their immediate guards
were forced to sheathe their daggers and take each of them by the
elbows to help her on, and as if to crown their misfortunes, a cold,
drenching rain began to fall. It put the finishing touch also to the
brigands’ ill-humour, and they pushed and dragged their shivering
captives roughly along, muttering angrily at every step.
“Maurice, tell them we can’t go any faster!” cried Zoe at last. “We
are keeping up with them on these awful roads, and we can’t do more.”
“Oh, that’s not what’s the matter,” returned Maurice from behind, in a
Mark-Tapleyan tone of voice. “They’re calling us names for making them
turn out of their nice comfortable camp and go wandering about the
mountains in the dark and the wet. They say they have taken such care
of us, and treated us as honoured guests, and our ingratitude is
something detestable.”
“Anybody might think we wanted to come!” said Zoe.
“Well, it certainly is our fault in a way,” said Maurice. “If we
didn’t exist, or weren’t here, they wouldn’t be running away from
Wylie.”
They relapsed into silence again, and the grumbling curses of the
brigands were the only sounds to be heard above the plashing of
footsteps and the swish of the rain. The girls were half-unconscious
with fatigue and want of sleep, and stumbled on in a kind of waking
dream. It must have been drawing near dawn, though the blank black
skies showed no sign of it, when the brigands paused again, in the
shelter of a clump of stunted trees, hardly more than bushes, and the
scouts glided forth on their errand. They returned unexpectedly soon,
and their report called forth ominous curses.
“There are soldiers holding the path in front,” explained Maurice in a
whisper to the girls. “Wylie knows what he is doing, bad luck to him!
He’s got us between two fires, with all his precautions.”
For the moment it looked as though Wylie had actually brought about
the death of his friends, for the brigands were now thoroughly roused.
“Kill the European dogs, kill them and get rid of them!” was the
murmur. “They have brought us to this pass. Let us kill them and leave
their bodies here on the track for their friend to find.” Daggers were
once more unsheathed, and revolvers drawn.
“Why don’t you pray? Are you an atheist?” demanded Eirene of Zoe,
breaking off in the middle of a catalogue of saints, whose aid she was
audibly imploring.
“No; I am praying,” said Zoe, but she felt curiously resigned. Death
would be such a rest after this dreadful night. But the reference to
Wylie, which Maurice translated under pressure, disturbed her. He
would never be able to forgive himself if he realised what he had
done. If only one of them could escape, it might make him a little
less miserable. She sat up with an effort, and grasped Maurice’s arm.
“Maurice, even if they kill us, you might escape. You can run, and
your things don’t cling so. We will make as much fuss as possible, to
give you time to get away to the soldiers.”
“Don’t be an owl,” said Maurice brusquely. “Is it likely? I ask you,
is it likely?”
“But so much depends on you. We don’t signify.”
“What depends on Maurice?” demanded Eirene, with keen curiosity. Zoe
recollected herself, in part.
“Oh, well, he is the last of the name, you know,” she said.
“The last of the name of Smith?” asked Eirene innocently.
“No--er--the last of our Smiths,” Zoe managed to say, and broke into
hopeless laughter, until Maurice shook her, and asked her whether she
wanted the brigands to think that terror had driven her mad. It seemed
that their fate was no longer in suspense, since Milosch, of all
people, had come to the rescue. This was not through any softness of
heart, but because, representing, as he did, the Thracian committee
which directed the brigands’ movements, he had been able to paint in
vivid terms the wrath and disappointment which would pervade that
august body on the discovery that the prisoners whose ransom was to
have added so largely to its funds had simply been wasted.
“There must be a way up the mountain,” he said, “so that we could turn
aside from the path without even approaching the Roumi dogs.”
“There is,” said Zeko, “but it is such a way that a man must cling to
the rocks with both hands and his toes and his teeth. How can women
climb it?”
“Women can do what they are obliged to do,” said Milosch, with his
evil grin.
“This settles it,” said Zoe, as Maurice translated the words. “If our
lives depend on our climbing up there, or even walking any farther,
why, we shall have to be killed. Look, Maurice, our moccasins are cut
to pieces, and my feet are bleeding--so are Eirene’s. We can’t walk
another step, and you can tell them so.”
It was unnecessary for Maurice to speak, however, for one of the
brigands came in to report, with much indignation, that Zoe’s feet had
left spots of blood on the track, which the rain had not quite washed
off, and the rest were forced to perceive that the girls were really
incapable of walking farther. Again there were suggestions of a short
and sharp way out of the difficulty, and again Milosch interposed as
_deus ex machinâ_.
“You say that these Roumi swine have two sentries on the path, and
that the rest are sheltering in the ruined hut below? Well, be sure
that the sentries will join the rest as soon as it is daylight, for
what sane man would stand out in the rain when he might be in shelter?
They will not expect us to break through by day, and if the saints
only grant them sleep after they have eaten, we may pass without their
even seeing us. If they should seek to prevent us, we can use the
prisoners as a screen against their bullets, and escape ourselves.”
“It is well said,” remarked the chief, whose own financial stake in
the matter was considerable. “At least we will do what we can to save
the ransom. We will remain here for the present.”
The prospect was not very cheering, for the rain dripped down from the
sodden trees on the soaked ground, and everything was wet. Maurice
took matters into his own hands. Gathering together some fallen
branches, he arranged them on the driest spot he could find, and asked
Zeko for matches. The brigands laughed grimly at the request.
“If you must kill the ladies, you may as well do it at once,” he
responded promptly, “and not leave them to die of cold and wet. No one
could distinguish smoke in this mist, even if there was any one
looking out.”
Unless the suggestion had accorded with the brigands’ own
inclinations, it would probably still have been scouted, but in the
prevailing cold and discomfort the idea of a fire appealed to them
powerfully, and they collected more sticks, and laboured strenuously
to get the wet wood to burn. It was a very smoky and cheerless fire,
at best, but it put a little warmth into the girls’ shivering frames,
and Maurice toasted the soaked morsels of black bread and dingy cheese
which were thrown to them, and induced them to eat. The brigands had
been consulting together during the meal, and at its close Stoyan
called Maurice aside, addressing him in a reasonable,
“man-and-brother” way, which amused him by its cool assumption that
their interests were the same.
“You must see clearly,” he said, “that we cannot remain here. At any
cost we must pass the soldiers in front. Out of consideration for your
sisters we have refrained from dragging them up the rocks, and you
must, therefore, make them understand that they must walk a little way
farther. Let them bind up their feet, so as to leave no track, and
once beyond the pass we shall be able to procure horses for them. We
are bound for a safe hiding-place, where they will find rest and
comfort, and women to attend upon them. Surely you can see that it is
better for them to make this slight effort than to be left dead upon
the road?”
“I do quite see it,” responded Maurice, after a moment’s thought. It
was clear that, for the moment, their interests did indeed lie with
those of the brigands, since any attempt to reach the soldiers or
delay the march meant death. He went back to the girls and explained
things to them, and they set to work wearily to tie up their wounded
feet in such rags as they could muster, replacing the torn moccasins
over them. Presently one of the scouts came in to report that the
Roumi sentries had rejoined their comrades at the ruined hut, thus
leaving the way above clear, and the march was resumed immediately,
the girls tottering as best they could on either side of Maurice, who
alone had an arm to spare for them. The brigands had all unslung their
rifles and looked to the cartridges, and were proceeding in a rough
open order, with the scouts a little way in advance. Suddenly they
came to a standstill, with an involuntary gasp of astonishment. Facing
them, climbing the slope from the ruined hut, were the Roumi soldiers,
whose surprise was equally patent with their own. It would have been
difficult to say which party had less expected to see the other, but
the brigands were prepared for the emergency, while the soldiers were
not. Their rifles were slung on their backs for convenience in
climbing, and they were scattered on the face of the slope. A sharp
order from the brigand chief confronted them with the muzzles of
twenty rifles, and with a howl of horror they turned and fled. Half of
the band pursued them--the rest remaining to guard the
prisoners--firing off their rifles and whooping with delight. The
pursuit was not a long one, for Stoyan’s whistle recalled his men
quickly, and sending one back to discover whether the sounds of the
skirmish had penetrated to the force with which Wylie was, he led the
rest forward for some distance, till they came to a place where two
tracks met. One man was sent on down the lower and left-hand path,
while the main body disposed themselves among the rocks, well out of
sight of the road, and Milosch, approaching the prisoner, said to
Zoe--
“You give ze Voivoda cutting.”
This mild horticultural request was so surprising that Zoe looked at
him in perplexity, whereupon he pointed impatiently to her dress. The
neat striped flannel coat and skirt on which she had so long ago
prided herself was now in sadly reduced circumstances, the skirt
especially having been curtailed to the most approved “mountaineering
length.”
“Oh, give them a piece of yours, Eirene, can’t you?” she said. “You
really have more left.”
“Oh no, it is yours he wants,” said Eirene quickly. “He thinks Captain
Wylie will recognise it.”
Zoe glared at her for this tactless speech, and reluctantly tore off a
strip which was hanging loose between two of the brown patches she had
put in. Watching the chief with some curiosity, she saw that he tore
it in two, and dexterously entangled one piece in a thorny bush some
little way up the ascending path on the right, and then went on up the
hill, evidently intending to do the same with the other farther on.
The intention of the manœuvre was obvious, and the prisoners did not
know whether to sigh for the deception to be practised on Wylie, or to
rejoice that his perilous presence was to be removed from them. After
some time, the brigand who had gone down the hill reappeared with an
ancient horse, very thin and almost blind, and the girls were, without
ceremony, mounted one behind the other, with the rugs as an apology
for a saddle. They and Maurice were then blindfolded, and the descent
began, the brigands displaying their usual distrust of smooth or soft
ground, and leading the horse down the rockiest places, which was good
strategy, but made exceedingly uncomfortable riding. For once, each
girl was really thankful that her companion’s eyes were unable to see
the shifts to which she was put in order to maintain her balance. At
length the descent became somewhat less steep, and the old horse
stumbled gallantly along a fairly level track, his two riders almost
asleep, in spite of their uneasy position. They stopped with a jerk at
last, and heard some one pouring forth an exciting narrative to the
chief. Maurice came up to them softly.
“It is the fellow who was sent back,” he said. “He followed the
retreating soldiers until they came to the village, and met Wylie’s
force just setting out in this direction. Wylie meant to sweep the
country, you see, and if the sentries above here had not left their
posts, the two detachments must have caught the brigands between them.
Of course, it’s just as well for us personally that they didn’t.”
“What did Captain Wylie say?” asked Zoe.
“When he heard we had broken through? Oh, Demo says, ‘Their own
Bimbashi beat the flying soldiers with his sword, but the Capitan
cursed them in bitter, biting words, far worse than any beating, for
if the evil eye ever rested on any man, it did on them!’”
“If I were Captain Wylie, I should curse myself,” said Eirene
succinctly, just as Milosch summoned her and Zoe to dismount. Followed
by Maurice, they were led a wearying round, in and out of doors, up
and down stairs, into a tower, a farmyard, a granary, and a kitchen
(as they judged by the smells that met them), until they were
hopelessly confused as to the direction in which they had come. Then
they were pushed in at a low door, and the bandages were suddenly
removed from their eyes. They were in darkness, but other senses than
that of sight convinced them that they stood in a cattle-stable.
“Oh, Maurice, the dirt!” gasped Zoe, as her foot sank into yielding
mud.
“Go on! go on!” cried Milosch behind, prodding Maurice in the back
with the muzzle of his rifle--an action which has a distinctly
disquieting effect upon the person acted on--and Zeko’s voice in front
called them to come forward. Following the direction of the words,
they saw a faint glimmer of grey, defining the shape of another
doorway, with the outline of Zeko’s beckoning arm dark against it.
Stumbling through the mud, they reached the threshold, and found
themselves in a cave or underground room hewn out in the rock. Part of
the ceiling was of rock, the rest, through which the light glimmered,
was apparently the badly fitting flooring of a room above. Sacks and
large earthenware jars, with various boxes, seemed to show that the
place was the receptacle for all the household valuables, but there
was nothing that could be called furniture. Zeko shut the door with a
bang, and they heard him piling up fodder--or something else that
deadened sound--against it on the outside. They were imprisoned
underground.