A LEAP FOR LIFE
When Tim had ridden three or four miles farther, and felt at ease as far
as the pursuers were concerned, he came upon the three stampeded horses
again. They were peacefully browsing on some scanty herbage at the
edge, quite content, no doubt, to be free from their human burdens. At
the sound of the engine they once more took to flight, and the violent
play they made with their heels suggested to Tim that they indignantly
resented the disturbance of their meal.
He was now riding so fast that he could soon have overtaken the animals,
in spite of the upward gradient. But if he did so, he would either run
the risk of coming into collision with one of them, or drive them over
the edge of the track on the left, and down the somewhat steep and
dangerous slope to the river. It occurred to him that he might do
better to moderate his pace and keep fairly close on their heels. They
might prove useful. The cross-track to which he would come presently
was somewhat looser than that on which he was riding. If the enemy
happened to be at the cross-roads beyond, the horses and the dust they
raised might serve him as a temporary screen. So he opened his air
throttle a little, and closed the petrol throttle to the same extent,
maintaining a speed that would keep the horses on the run without
exposing him to the risk of being overtaken.
He soon found that there was a certain disadvantage in following upon
the heels of the horses. On coming into the cross-track, he was
enveloped in a cloud of dust, thick enough to prevent his seeing more
than a few yards ahead. The dust and the bodies of the animals
completely shut out the view, and he realised that as he neared the fork
he would be quite unable to tell what awaited him there. He thought it
advisable to drop a little behind. No doubt the horses would turn to
the left when they reached the crossroads, and gallop towards the Inca
camp--the place which for some days past they had associated with
fodder. If the enemy had not actually passed the fork and marched down
the eastern track, he might manage to turn into it unperceived under
cover of the dust-cloud, and soon ride out of danger.
Slackening down until he had doubled his distance from the horses, he
noticed on his right hand a belt of trees which, if his memory was not
at fault, extended for nearly a mile along the southern edge of the
cross-track until it joined the eastern path. With one eye on the
horses and the other on the trees he watched for the branching of the
tracks. It came sooner than he expected. Suddenly the horses swerved to
the left; a few seconds afterwards he turned to the right, and felt the
machine quicken under him on the downward incline.
At that instant he heard the loud crackle of rifles behind him. Posted
among the trees just above the fork there was a body of men who,
watching with astonishment the maddened gallop of three riderless
horses, caught a faint glimpse of the motor-cycle as it emerged from the
whirling dust. They fired too hurriedly to hit the mark. At the sound
of the shots Tim bent double and let the machine go. Riding at the rate
of thirty miles an hour he knew that the enemy could not catch him on
horseback on this particular portion of the track. But when he came to
the foot of the hill, and began to climb a long rise, he glanced round
and saw a large troop of horsemen dashing down in pursuit. They were a
long way behind, and unless some accident befell the machine, he was
sure that he could outpace them with ease.
The track wound frequently. For long stretches he was hidden from the
pursuers. Looking back now and then he noticed with satisfaction,
whenever they came in sight, that he was steadily increasing the
interval between him and them. He might have run away altogether if he
had driven the machine at full speed; but the track was very rough, and
he felt that he must watch it carefully if he was to avoid the risk of a
second puncture, or of collision with some boulder. Downhill he often
had to check his pace, and so could not take full advantage of the
descents to give him impetus for the upward gradients of the switchback.
But as mile after mile was covered he became less and less fearful of
being caught; and when, at the end of a long, straight stretch, he saw
that the enemy were at least two miles behind, he was perfectly easy in
mind, and only wondered why they had not given up the hopeless chase.
His former journeys on this track had made him pretty familiar with the
landmarks, and as he rode up a long incline, he knew that he would soon
be in sight of the wooden bridge over the ravine, beyond which the party
of Japanese were posted. A few miles of switchback, and then he would
have a downward run home. But on rising slowly over the crest, he was
staggered to see a troop of some twenty horsemen halted no more than
half a mile in front of him. The track dipped to within about a hundred
yards of the spot where they were standing, then bent somewhat sharply
upwards, and disappeared over the brow rather more than half a mile
ahead.
Tim instantly realised the desperate position into which he had come
unawares. His first impulse was to screw on his brakes and dismount, to
avoid rushing headlong among the enemy. But in a flash he saw that to
do so would be simply to give himself into their hands, or into the
hands of the men behind him. There was no escape either on the right or
the left. The only possible course was to ride on and take his chance.
Setting his teeth, and crouching almost flat over the handle-bar, he
opened the throttle, and shot down the hill, sounding his hooter
violently all the way.
If he had had the leisure to calculate the possible result he could
scarcely have anticipated the success of his action. The horsemen
instinctively edged away to the sides of the track, and on to the edge
of the rough moorland which bounded it on the east. Some had the
presence of mind to whip out their pistols, but as the cycle raced
towards them with ever-quickening speed they found themselves in trouble
with their horses, which began to quiver and sweat and prance at the
strange sight and the terrifying sounds. Down flew the cycle, Tim
gripping the handle-bar hard, no longer able to pick his course, but
keeping the middle of the track, rough or smooth. He was unconscious of
jerks and jolts; blind to the risk of puncture; in that critical
half-minute he thought of nothing but the task of steering so as to
avoid collision with the enemy, a disaster which they on their part were
no less anxious to escape.
He was upon them, in a whirl of dust raised by the wind of his flight.
A thrill shot through every fibre as he skimmed danger by a hair's
breadth. One of the horses was cavorting on his hind legs, and his
rider, almost as frantic as the animal, turned him into a whirligig by
hard tugging at the bridle. A few shots were fired by the other
troopers, but no man could take steady aim from the back of a rearing
horse, at an object flashing by at forty miles an hour. With a rush and
a whizz Tim was past.
But his momentary joy at having got through vanished as he felt the
slackening of speed enforced by the steep incline beyond. On his former
journey he had dismounted and wheeled the machine. There was a great
hubbub behind him. The throbbing hum of his engine was smothered by the
clatter of the horses' hoofs, and the yells of their riders spurring
them on. Short as the ascent was, its angle was so sharp as to
neutralise in great measure the impetus he had gained downhill. Moment
by moment the machine flagged, and, without looking behind, he was
conscious that the pursuers were gaining. He feared that his engine
power would not suffice to bring him to the top, upon which he fixed his
eyes as it were imploringly. How far away it seemed!
He pressed the pace to the uttermost. The machine toiled up and up; the
uproar behind grew louder. He was beginning to despair. The cycle
seemed to be crawling. Would the engine hold out? At last, with what
appeared to be a final heave, it crept over the crest. The downward
slope had begun, and the cycle dropped down with a rush which carried it
easily to the top of the farther rise. With a sigh of thankfulness Tim
knew that he had now increased his lead.
At this point the track began to wind round the face of the cliff on his
right. A few minutes would bring him within sight of the bridge. But
there was still one long climb before him, and here, if the pursuers
could last the pace, they would have the advantage of him. He glanced
back; they were just rounding the curve, perhaps a quarter-mile distant.
This was the crisis of the chase. As the cycle laboured up the hill,
Tim was aware that the gap was rapidly diminishing. When he gained the
top, he had scarcely fifty yards to spare. But now for three or four
hundred yards the track was level, and the horsemen yelled with rage as
they saw their quarry once more slipping from their clutches. They had
no chance against him on the flat. By the time he reached the point
where the track dipped to the mile-long descent to the bridge, they had
lost more than a hundred yards.
The bridge was not yet in sight. The track bent to the left somewhat
sharply. In ordinary circumstances Tim would now have clapped on the
brakes, but he was strung up to attempt any feat of daring, and after
the first hundred yards of the hill he contented himself with closing
the throttle. He swung perilously round the bend, and looking ahead,
saw the bridged ravine three-quarters of a mile away. A horseman was
galloping towards it--doubtless one of his vedettes. But why was he
dashing so desperately towards the bridge?
Tim lowered his eyes, for he wore no goggles, and the wind created by
his pace made them smart and tingle. He was halfway down the slope when
a dull report below him caused him to look up again. Where, a few
seconds before, the bridge had been, there was now a cloud of smoke.
His orders had been carried out only too thoroughly: the bridge was
blown up!
He was thunderstruck. Reckless and impulsive as he was, prone to play
many a mad prank on his bicycle, he had never attempted such a feat as
now, in the twinkling of an eye, he saw himself committed to. The ravine
was more than thirty feet across. He would reach it in half a minute.
No power on earth could check his descent. He must either plunge into
the chasm, fifty feet deep, or leap the gap.
How can his sensations be described! Every second his speed was
quickening. The steepness of the slope induced the feeling that he was
dropping into space. He was conscious of the strange heaving sensation
that a person feels on descending in a rapidly-moving lift. His body
seemed to be flying upward. The air rushed past, scarifying his flesh,
catching his breath, stunning his ears so that he did not hear the
report of a dozen rifles across the gap. Down, down, faster than an
express train, as fast as a racing motor-car, his body rigid, his mind
working swifter than the electric flash--down to he knew not what.
On either side of the bridge the ground had been cleared. He must avoid
the ruins of the bridge; he would steer to one side of it. As he
swooped meteor-like towards the gap the space on his right widened out,
and the ground made a slight ascent to the brink of the ravine. A touch
on the handle-bar altered his course a point or two. Barely conscious
of the rise, breathless and dizzy, he shut his eyes at the fateful
moment--and the machine shot off the brink of the ravine like a stone
from a catapult. For a fraction of a second he was in mid air, the
wheels whirring beneath him. Then there was a tremendous thud as they
struck the ground 011 the opposite side. The machine raced up the
incline; the speed slackened; instinctively he applied the brakes; and
in a few more seconds he fell rather than jumped from the saddle, and
dropped panting, a mass of quivering nerves, upon the track.
A group of Japanese flocked about him. One gave him water from a mug.
All were trembling with excitement. When he had collected himself, and
inquired what had become of the pursuers, he learnt that, as they rode
headlong down the hill behind him, two of the horses had slipped and
brought their riders to the ground. The rest had reined up at the
volley from the Japanese. Apparently none had been hit, but recognising
that further pursuit was hopeless, they had stood watching the last few
hundred yards of the cycle's flashing course. The Japanese had been too
much amazed and alarmed to fire again. Both the parties looked on as at
a thrilling spectacle. After the cycle had made its leap their amazement
held them motionless for a while. Then, at a second volley, the enemy
wheeled round and galloped away.
Tim asked why the bridge had been fired. The vedette explained that,
descrying the heads of a large number of horsemen over the tops of the
bushes on the crest of the hill, he had dashed back to give the alarm
according to orders. The cycle, being lower, had been invisible to him.
His comrades were so eager to carry out their instructions that even
when Tim came into view they were too much occupied to see him, and only
when the match was kindled, and they ran back to a position of safety,
did they perceive with horror that they had, as they thought, cut off
their master's chance of escape. Tim waived away their humble
apologies; they had obeyed orders; and now that the strain of his
nerve-shattering experiences was relaxed, he could afford to smile. The
eastern track, at any rate, was impassable to the enemy.