A FRIEND IN NEED.
At the point where Jordan, Speake, and Tirzal had vanished into the
wood, Bob and Dick found a faint path--a path so little traveled and so
blind that it could not be seen from the deck of the _Grampus_, even
when she was hauled close to the shore.
“It’s as plain as a handspike,” remarked Dick, as he and Bob made their
way along the path, “that Jordan and the others took a slant in this
direction.”
“That’s the kind of a guess I’d make,” said Bob. “By following the
path, though, we don’t want to forget that they got into trouble. When
you’re on a road that leads to trouble, Dick, you’ve either got to
leave it or else be mighty careful.”
“I don’t know how we’d get through this jungle if we didn’t follow the
path. Tirzal claims to know the country. If that’s a fact, then it’s
queer he couldn’t pilot Jordan and Speake around any stray groups of
insurrectos.”
“Our failure to see anything of the schooner while we were off the
coast, or anything of a launch from the schooner while we were coming
up the river, rather gave Jordan the idea that Fingal and Cassidy were
on the wrong track. But I’m inclined to think Jordan was wide of his
trail. They must have sent word here and enabled the revolutionists to
fix up some sort of a trap.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how surprised I am at the way Cassidy is
acting--that is, if he’s gone into partnership with Fingal, for the
purpose of backcapping our plans to save one of our own countrymen.
What sort of a two-faced rascal is Cassidy, anyhow? He must be mighty
sore to act like that. But maybe you’re mistaken, Bob.”
“I hope I am,” returned Bob gravely. “I always liked Cassidy, and I
hate to see a good man go wrong in such a way as that.”
The boys had dropped their voices to an undertone. While they talked,
they hurried along the dim, winding path, keeping their eyes constantly
ahead.
Owing to the close growth of trees, but very little sun filtered to the
ground below, and a twilight gloom hovered over the narrow way. Bob
was in advance, and suddenly he halted, whirled on Dick and pulled him
behind a matted vine that hung from a tree beside the path.
“Hist!” whispered Bob, in his chum’s ear. “I can hear voices around the
turn in the path ahead. Some one is coming this way. Crouch down and
perhaps they’ll go past without seeing us.”
Scarcely breathing, the two boys knelt behind the matted vine, each
holding his weapon ready in case they should be discovered and
compelled to fight for their freedom.
It was not long before the men whom Bob had heard came straggling
around the turn in the path. To their amazement, no less a person than
Fingal was at the head of the column. The light was none too good for
making observations at a distance, but there could be no mistaking the
burly form in the dingy blue cap and coat and dungaree trousers.
Fingal slouched along with the thwartship roll of a sailor with stable
ground under him. At his back came half a dozen nondescript men, of
various shades of color from coal black to light yellow.
These men, no doubt, formed part of the rebel army. They were all
barefooted, their clothes were ragged, and they wore straw hats. Each
had a machete strapped about his waist, but there the uniformity of
their accouterments ceased. Two had no arms apart from the machetes;
one of the remaining four had a long-barreled, muzzle-loading rifle,
and the other three had revolvers. Fingal had no rifle, but there was a
belt about his waist that supported a six-shooter over his hip.
The file was still talking as it passed the two boys, but it was
Spanish talk, and neither Bob nor Dick could understand anything that
was said.
Without seeing the boys, the file swept on and vanished around another
bend. Bob drew a long breath of relief.
“We’re out of that mess, Dick,” he murmured, getting up and stepping
back into the path. “I guess we’ve settled all doubts about Cassidy and
Fingal. Fingal’s here, and I’ll bet something handsome Cassidy can’t be
very far off.”
“Cassidy’s trying to down us,” growled Dick, “and that’s as plain as
the nose on your face. The old scoundrel! He ought to be trussed up at
a grating and pounded with the ‘cat’ for this. I never thought it of
him! Where do you suppose that pack is going?”
“They’re looking for the _Grampus_, I guess.”
“And the old _Grampus_ is ten feet under water! If Gaines is next
to his job, he’s fixed things so they won’t be able to see even the
periscope ball.”
“Trust Gaines to do everything possible. I don’t think the submarine
is in any particular danger, but we couldn’t help her any if she were.
We’ll keep on and see where this trouble road lands us.”
“All right! Luck seems to be on our side, so far, and here’s hoping
that it will stay with us.”
Bob once more took the lead and set the pace. The ground they were
covering had a slight inclination upward, and the path continued to
wriggle, serpent fashion, through the dense growth of timber.
It was the almost impenetrable screen of the woods that suddenly
plunged the boys into difficulties. Rounding an abrupt turn, beyond
which it was impossible to see because of the dense foliage, Bob and
Dick plunged recklessly into full view of an encampment. It was a large
encampment, too, and pitched in the midst of a big clearing. The place
was not a hundred yards off, and Bob, pulling himself short up, got
a glimpse of black soldiers lolling and smoking under rough canvas
shelters.
For an instant he halted and stared; then whirled face about.
“Back, Dick!” he exclaimed. “Run, run for your life!”
The words were hardly necessary. The boys had been seen and a wild
clamor came from the encampment. A fizzing sputter of firearms awoke
echoes in the timber, and scraps of lead could be heard slapping and
zipping through the leaves.
“We might be good for three or four,” panted Dick, as he stretched his
legs along the path, “but we have to knock under when the whole rebel
army gets after us.”
“Save your breath!” cried Bob. “Run!”
“Where? That other pack, with Fingal, is ahead.”
“Never mind. The largest force is behind.”
The dark-skinned rebels were tearing along like madmen. The boys,
looking over their shoulders, could see them wherever the path
straightened out into a short, straightaway stretch. At such times,
too, some one of the pursuing rabble let fly with a bullet. The bullets
went wild, for there is no such thing as accurate shooting by a man who
is on the run.
The boys were holding their own--perhaps doing a little better.
“We can distance ’em,” puffed Dick, “if they’ll only give us a little
time. We’ll be around the next turn and halfway to the one beyond
before they show up again.”
Dick had hardly finished speaking before he came to a sudden halt.
“Keep on!” panted Bob.
“Can’t! We’re between two fires! That other gang has heard the firing
and is coming back. Let’s get behind trees and do the best we can for
ourselves. Oh, this _is_ a fix!”
Bob was able to hear the men racing along in advance of them, and the
larger force behind was drawing nearer and nearer.
The outlook was dark, and the only thing left for the boys to do seemed
to be to dig into the dense undergrowth and take their chances of being
tracked down.
With one accord they sprang toward the left-hand side of the path. The
timber, in that direction, seemed a trifle less thick than on the right.
Before they had vanished they heard a guarded voice calling from the
right:
“Bob! Bob Steele!”
Startled at hearing his name, the young fellow paused and whirled
about. His astonishment grew. A woman--a young woman--had emerged
through the trailing creepers and was beckoning wildly.
“This way!” she called, still in the same guarded tone. “Quick, if you
want to save yourselves.”
A moment more, and Bob and Dick both recognized the speaker. She was
not one whom they would have trusted had circumstances been other than
they were. Just then, however, but little choice was left them.
“It’s that or nothing,” muttered Dick, and he and Bob charged back
across the path and followed the girl into a tangle of bushes.
Hardly had they vanished when both parties of pursuers pushed into
sight from right and left.