FREE WHEEL
Romana gasped when Tim declared his intention.
"It is madness," he said. "Your father charged me to have care of you.
I must forbid it."
"I don't care what you say. I am going to get my bike. Do you know
that it cost L60 in London? Besides, I am not going to let the
Prefect's fellows have it."
"But consider," said Romana anxiously. "I don't deny you may steal in
and get it; they are keeping very poor watch; but what then? You would
have to bring it out----"
"I'd manage that."
"And then how get it to our camp? The track is very difficult, for
miles too rough for you to ride. There are sure to be sentries at the
eastern entrance; and as for the gully by which we came, you know how
hard our task was in daylight: we could not possibly carry the machine
down in the darkness."
"All that's perfectly true, but I am not going to leave it with these
rascals, so we've just got to think it out."
He had to admit that the gully and the western track, by which they had
just come, were impossible. The only other route was the path which he
had travelled when first brought by his captors to the camp, and when he
had returned home after being ransomed. The entrance, as Romana had
said, would undoubtedly be guarded; and judging by the position of the
outposts whom they had passed on the way up, there would be a
corresponding picket on the path below.
The path itself was difficult enough. For more than a quarter of a mile
from the camp it was a steep descent. Then for about two miles it
dropped more gradually, becoming from that point onward a sort of
switchback with a generally downward trend until it reached the level
not far from Durand's house. Having twice travelled along the path, Tim
knew it well enough to feel sure that he could ride along it even in the
darkness without much risk. The difficulty was threefold: to secure the
bicycle unnoticed; to pass the sentry at the entrance; and to evade the
picket at the foot of the hill. Romana, who knew the weaknesses of his
countrymen, admitted that the sentry in all probability would be asleep;
but the members of the picket would certainly be awake: among two or
three there would be conversation.
"Well then," said Tim, "if the sentry is asleep I'll chance the rest.
But you won't be in it. We came out to scout, and you must get back and
tell them what we have learnt: it isn't much."
"Your father will blame me severely if I return without you," said
Romana.
"You can tell him you protested. Besides, I'll very likely be back
before you. If I get away safely I'll make a round to the river, and
when I get there I can go so fast that I may overtake you somewhere up
the road--provided the petrol lasts out. It must be getting low; I'd
forgotten that; and we've no more. After this the machine will be
useless."
"Then why not leave it, senorito? It will be useless to the enemy
also."
"Don't go over it all again! I mean to have the bike; that's settled.
You get back. I'll allow time for you to reach the horses before I do
anything. You had better start at once."
Romana knew that further expostulation would be useless. He had had
much experience of his young master's firmness. Reluctantly he took his
leave, and crept back over the hill-side. Tim listened for his
footsteps, and hearing nothing he felt much encouraged. If Romana could
move silently, so could he. But for assurance' sake he took off his
boots and slung them round his neck by their laces.
He waited a long time. The sky was moonless, a deep indigo blue, so
dark that the starlight did not enable him to read the face of his
watch. It was essential he should not start upon his own hazardous
adventure until Romana was out of danger, and he had waited probably
twice as long as was necessary before he ventured to move. There were
no sounds from the enclosure except the occasional stamp of a horse's
hoof or the rattle of a chain. Even the sentry on his right had
apparently ceased to trudge his monotonous beat. The other sentry, if
there was one, at the entrance to his left, had not moved. Once or
twice he thought he heard slight sounds from down the path: the fact
that outposts were stationed below rendered it probable that the sentry
above would not consider it necessary to be on the alert. Perhaps,
thought Tim with a gush of hope, there was no sentry there at all!
At last, having heard no alarm from the direction in which Romana had
gone, he decided to start. He stole cautiously along and down the
hill-side until he came to one of the tall rocks that stood at the
entrance. Here he paused a moment to listen. There was no sound.
Creeping round the rock, at two more strides he was within the
enclosure. The breeze no longer woke fitful flames from the embers of
the camp fires.
It was pitch dark: otherwise he might have seen the form of a sentry
dozing on a ruined buttress near the entrance. In the absence of light,
the only means of finding the cycle was to steal along by the wall until
he came to it. Luckily he had to pass no horses: the animals would have
been more easily disturbed than the men.
He moved as quickly and quietly as possible, but his heart was in his
mouth more than once as he made the round. It was perilous work,
picking his way in the darkness among the sleeping men. They were
placed irregularly, some close to the wall, some at a little distance
from it, some actually touching it. One man murmured in his sleep as
Tim passed; another, flinging out an arm with a dreamer's sudden
violence, struck it against Tim's leg, and growled an imprecation. But,
no doubt supposing that he had hit a comrade, he suspected nothing, and
rolled over. At the blow Tim felt an impulse to shout aloud and run;
but he kept a tight rein upon his nerves, and went on without further
alarm.
At last he reached the bicycle. There was no sleeper within a few yards
of it. He passed his hand over it rapidly to make sure that it was
complete. Then, bracing himself for the ordeal, he wheeled it between
several of the men towards the centre of the courtyard. At this tense
moment he had reason to be glad of the care which he had always spent in
keeping the machine well oiled. This, and the fact that it was a
free-engine model, made it noiseless.
Looking now eastward, he was just able to discern the two pillars of
rock that stood high above the level of the adjacent wall at the
entrance. Guided by them, he pushed the machine straight across the
courtyard, skirting one of the dead fires. He passed between the rocks:
he was now on the track: and the heedless sentry slumbered on.
Tim was breathing hard in his excitement. The first danger was past:
what was he now to do? He stood beneath one of the tall rocks,
thinking. Should he try to creep past the outpost stationed, as he
suspected, at the foot of this, the steepest part of the track? Or
should he mount and run the gauntlet? The men were probably not asleep:
whether awake or not they would hear his machine approaching. It seemed
perhaps the safer course to wheel the bicycle down at the side of the
track, and not mount until he was within a few yards of them, when he
might hope to dash past before they were ready to deal with him.
He was moving slowly downhill when an accident caused a change of plan.
A loose piece of rock, displaced by the front wheel, bumped and rattled
down the track, making what seemed a terribly loud noise in the still
night air. The slumbering sentry awoke and let out a shout. There were
faint answering shouts from below. It was Hobson's choice for Tim now.
He vaulted into the saddle, and the cycle sped down the steep descent.
He did not switch on the engine; indeed, he had some trouble in keeping
the machine in hand with the brake. At renewed sounds of alarm ahead he
allowed the speed to increase. It was a gamble with fate. If the
outpost, deliberately or unawares, blocked the track at the foot of the
hill, nothing could save either Tim or any person or thing he might
strike. If the space was clear, nothing could arrest his course but a
shot, so long as he retained control of the machine. Favoured by the
darkness he might escape, even should the men fire at him.
Down he flew, steering by guesswork. He heard shouts and the plunging of
horses ahead; then saw dimly several dark forms. They appeared to
stretch across the track. He could not have checked now if he had wished
to. He dashed on, as it were into their midst. On the left he grazed a
man about to mount; on the right passed within a few inches of a horse;
and while he was still in the throes of nervous anxiety and even terror,
the machine had borne him safely through the outpost. He could hardly
believe in his good fortune. But there was no doubt about it. He had
now to face only the dangers of the track ahead.
These were formidable enough. It was a mad ride at the best: a boulder
of any size, and there were many, would hurl him to destruction.
Fortunately the track here was fairly straight. At one slight bend he
narrowly shaved a tree; a little farther on the machine bumped into a
transverse depression, probably the dry channel of a rivulet, and he
just averted a side slip. His fortune held good. As he drew farther
from the enemy he reduced his speed, and when the downward incline
became less steep, and almost insensibly merged in a rise, he jumped
off, lighted his lamp, and for the first time started the engine.
The men of the outpost, meanwhile, were scarcely aware of what had
happened. The sentry's shout had alarmed them, but they knew not what
to be prepared for. There was no firing, so that the Mollendists could
not be attempting a surprise. While they were mounting, they were
vaguely conscious that something had approached and passed them,
swiftly, with scarcely a rustle. Only when the ghostly object was
already two or three hundred yards down the track did it flash into the
mind of one of them that this must be the machine which he had seen
hauled out from under a heap of brushwood in the camp. None of his
comrades could ride: it must have been purloined by an audacious
Mollendist. Then the pursuit began. But the horsemen had to pick their
way carefully in the darkness. Even before Tim gained the switchback
portion of the track he had hopelessly distanced them. And having now
his lamp to guide him, he was able to avoid obstacles, and dashed up and
down the slopes at a great speed.
Presently he came to the forking of the paths, and turned to the right,
intending to ride on to the river, and make his way up the channel until
he was several miles west of the camp. He had ridden only a few yards
along this path, however, when it suddenly struck him that the tracks of
his wheels would be clearly visible in daylight, and would guide the
enemy to the situation of his friends. Instantly he slowed down,
wheeled round and, returning to the fork, ran some little distance along
the path in the direction of San Rosario. Then, dismounting, he walked
the cycle a little farther; this would have the effect of making the
wheel tracks more shallow. On reaching a particularly hard stretch of
the path, he lifted the machine on to the rocky ground at the side, and
partly wheeling, partly carrying, made his way slowly back towards the
cross path leading to the river.
Here he listened for sounds of pursuit. There were none. The horsemen
had given it up. He debated whether to try to obliterate the few traces
he had made before the necessity of hiding his trail occurred to him.
But he reflected that in the deceptive light of the lamp he might leave
still more compromising signs, whereas the obvious retracing of his
course might suffice to lead the enemy off the scent. Accordingly he
let the wheel marks remain, and, carrying or pushing the bicycle over
many yards of the sloping ground above the track, he again mounted, and
hastened on to the river bank. There he turned to the left in the
direction of San Rosario, but after riding a short distance he stopped,
wheeled the machine down the sloping bank between the bushes, and then
started upstream through shallow water. When he had thus covered about
a mile, he pulled on his boots, remounted, and set off along the sandy
foreshore.
Remembering suddenly that the river was in full view from the ridge on
his right hand, which led directly to the captured camp, he put out his
light. He wished he had done so as soon as he turned northward, and
felt very uneasy lest the enemy should have seen the lamp from above,
and hurried down the gully to intercept him. The sandy bed being
whitish, he was able to ride rapidly without a light. A stream
trickling into the river from the right indicated the gully. He dashed
past, half expecting to be assailed with shots; but there was no sign of
an enemy, and he felt that, except for some unforeseen contingency, his
dangers were over.
He kept to the river bed for several miles after leaving the vicinity of
the camp. Then, however, he had to mount the bank and take the track
leading to Mollendo's hut. By this time he was very tired, and the
necessity of dismounting frequently, to push the machine up the steeper
and more rugged stretches of the path, taxed his strength severely. To
make matters worse, the petrol gave out, and riding, even in level
places, was no longer possible. But he pressed on doggedly at a snail's
pace. At last, when the sky behind him was beginning to lighten with
the dawn, he saw three figures emerging from the gloom on the track
ahead. In a few minutes Romana and two other men met him, and relieved
him of his burdensome machine. Soon after, exhausted but very happy, he
dragged himself into the hut, greeted his father and Senor Mollendo with
a smile, and, dropping on to an extended rug, fell instantly asleep.