ART-MAGIC.
Throwing off his sleep with a deep breath so soon as Geoffrey touched
his shoulder, Von Donck stared up at the moon, and then upon the
equally pale face of the watchman, who knelt over him and exclaimed:
"Hear the sounds along yonder valley?"
In a moment the Dutchman was on his feet, alert and listening.
"So," he snorted, when the steady tap-tap of the fairy hammers reached
his ears. "We are first here by only a little. How is that shoulder,
young fighter? Too stiff to draw a bow, or cross a sword?"
"What mean you?" asked Geoffrey.
"Frenchmen are upon us. The knaves to ride o' night when honest folk
sleep! They have forgot that the blessed echo carries far beyond them.
Now 'tis for me to contrive some snare for your executioners."
Geoffrey quaked at the ugly emphasis which the big man gave to his
words. A new feeling of security had come to him with the sealing of
his partnership with the stout Hollander; and it appeared as though his
dream of safety was to be dissipated before it had taken a concrete
form.
"What else think you?" went on Pieter, with his snorting laugh. "Shall
Roussilac allow a spy to reach New England, there to make known his
weakness, without striking a blow for his capture? See you that
straight limb on yonder pine? I tell you that slim body of yours would
have swung there ere sunrise, had you not by good luck fallen in with
Pieter von Donck."
"They shall never hang me," said Geoffrey defiantly.
"Spoken like a Dutchman," said the sailor. "But now to work. I have
as little mind as you to die out of season, for my shrift shall be as
short as yours if yonder little men pull me down. Scatter the fire,
and remove all traces of our camping-place, while I pull at my pipe and
think. The soldiers have a hard climb before them yet."
Von Donck screwed the pieces of his wooden pipe together, filled the
bowl, and taking a brand from the fire, removed to the edge of the
cataract. There he sat, puffing great clouds, his eyes settled upon
the ravine, his face stony in thought, while Geoffrey swept the fire
into the cataract and obliterated all traces of the recent struggle
with the wild cat.
"Bring me my panther hide," called Von Donck, rising with leisurely
movements. "We shall win a bloodless victory, and enjoy a laugh to
boot. Yonder lies the man to fight for us."
He pointed with the stem of his pipe into the middle of the moon.
Refusing to divulge more of his plan, Von Donck threw the pelt across
his shoulder and strode into the bush. Geoffrey followed, and the two
men struggled on for upwards of a mile, until the ground went away
sharply and the cataract thundered far below through a neck of rock
scarcely more than four feet in width. Here Von Donck halted and
steadied his body upon the brink.
"If I fail to make this jump, reclaim my body from yonder depths, and
say that I fell like a soldier," he jested.
Crossing the chasm, they descended, letting themselves from rock to
rock, and running whenever a sheep walk became visible. As they
entered the ravine the noise over the hills became more definite.
"How is it they have tracked me?" asked Geoffrey as they ran.
"I have no breath for idle talk," gasped his comrade. "They bring with
them an Indian, one of the cursed Algonquins, who shall tell when even
a bird has hopped across a stone."
The climb began, up the face of the hills to the region of the moon.
The crystal wall was nowhere precipitous. When the summit had been
attained, Von Donck flung himself between the mighty lips of the
granite face and gasped heavily. Some minutes elapsed before speech
returned to him.
"I would as soon carry a man upon my back as this weight of flesh," he
growled. "By San Nicolas, I did never so sweat in my life."
"This is open rock, without tree or shelter," said Geoffrey
wonderingly. "We could have made a better stand in the bush."
"Hasten yonder," ordered Von Donck. "Bring me as much dry wood as you
can bear, and ask no question, or I shall heave you down the face of
this cliff, which it has well-nigh killed me to climb."
When Geoffrey returned with a few dry pine sticks, Von Donck was
collecting some moist moss from the underpart of the rocks. The moon
stood above the granite nose of the colossal face, and by her light the
Dutchman drew an imaginary line from the twin projections, which became
invested by distance with an exact similitude of the human mouth, to a
hole in the rock some twelve yards away. Here he built a fire, placing
above the grass and dry sticks a pile of white moss. Then he sat down
and well-nigh choked with laughter.
"Prepare to strike a spark," he whispered. "But let no smoke arise if
you would escape hanging. The troop shall carry away with them a tale
to make these crystal mountains feared for ever."
"What plan is this?" said Geoffrey irritably. "We stand upon the most
exposed spot of these mountains, and do you propose to light a fire so
that all who are concerned may know where we may be found?"
"Control that voice and temper," whispered Von Donck. "Every sound
carries over yon ravine. Come, sit near me, and watch as pretty a
piece of art-magic as brain of man ever devised. Show not yourself
above the great face, or we are undone, and drop no spark into that
fire if you love your life."
Geoffrey crawled along the side of the face and lay flat beside the
Dutchman's knee. The latter proceeded:
"The Indians have great fear of these mountains. I promise you yonder
Frenchmen are driving their guide at the point of the sword, and
feeling none too secure themselves at entering the devil's country. A
man who fights a good sword shall sweat when a bird screams o' night.
So soon as they show themselves the old man of the mountains shall lift
up his voice, and you shall find, boy, that his tongue is mightier than
our swords."
When Von Donck had spoken a breath of wind swept the exposed ridge. As
it passed a faint groan arose from the rock, and passed, leaving them
staring at each other fearfully.
"It was but the wind," Geoffrey muttered.
"San Nicolas!" stammered the Dutchman. "This comes of playing with the
powers of darkness. 'Twas the groan of a lost spirit."
"Stay!" whispered Geoffrey. "I thought that the sound proceeded from
yonder stone."
His comrade regarded the round mass which had been indicated with
starting eyes, but when he saw nothing supernatural, crawled near and
examined it nervously, asking:
"Think you some spirit is imprisoned within?"
"See this hole?" exclaimed Geoffrey, pointing to a small aperture
visible at the base. "'Tis what they call a blow-stone, if I mistake
not. Here the wind enters and so makes the noise that we heard."
"Soft," said Von Donck, vastly relieved. "Soft, or you spoil my plan."
Setting his lips to the hole, Geoffrey sent his breath into the womb of
the rock. A subdued murmur beat upon the air and settled the matter
beyond dispute. Von Donck rocked himself to and fro, chafing his legs
with his podgy hands, scarlet with excitement.
"A hundred thousand devils, but they shall run," he chuckled. "I had
purposed to use my own voice, but this is better far."
The sound of other voices came in a murmur across the ravine.
"To the fire," whispered the Dutchman. "Nurse the flame, and let it
not burst forth until I give the word."
He scrambled up the side of the rock and looked over the giant's nose.
The opposite cliffs were bathed in moonlight, and the watcher saw two
men standing above the cataract.
"Now, boy," he muttered deeply. "Let the fire burn, and when the
flames dart up choke them with the moss."
Geoffrey complied with the mysterious command; but as he pressed the
moss down and a cloud of smoke ascended, a mighty bellowing shook the
air, and he started round to behold Von Donck lying flat along the
rock, his grotesque face and bulging cheeks pressed against the
blow-stone, his body heaving like a gigantic bellows as he pumped his
breath into the hole.
"More fire," came a choking whisper. "A strong flame, then smoke as
before."
The flames darted up and whipped the moonbeams, the smoke followed, and
again the bellowing shocked the night. Then Von Donck scrambled up,
and his triumphant voice came down:
"They run! They run!"
The trackers were fleeing wildly from the crystal hills. Had they not
seen fire and smoke belched up from the mouth of that terrible face of
granite, and heard the giant's awful roars of anger? Headlong they
went, mad with terror, leaving their ponies in the bush.
"Here is a brave victory," snorted Von Donck; and he gave vent to his
delight by turning a caracole upon the forehead of the giant.
"Now for New Netherlands and Hudson's River!" he chanted, drawing at an
imaginary cable as he danced along the great stone face. "'Tis scarce
a hundred miles down to the sea. We have but to keep clear of Indians,
and all shall be well. Yonder are ponies for us to ride, and, I doubt
not, bags of provisions hanging to the saddles. We may laugh at
pursuit, boy. The French shall not dare to return. Take now my hands
and let me see you make a holiday caper. Higher! San Nicolas, the boy
shall make a dancing-master. Ha, Pieter von Donck! Pieter von Donck!
'Tis as cunning an old rogue as ever wore shoe-leather!"