UNWELCOME COMPANIONS
The lads indeed found themselves in an awkward predicament. Just the
faintest thread really bound them to life, for they saw in the cruel
expression in the eyes of the Filipino officer that nothing would
delight him so much as to have these white men shot. Phil very much
feared that in spite of his cordial words this boyish native had before
now guessed the truth. However there was nothing to do but remain
silent and inactive. Phil had a great desire to speak to Sydney in
English, but he feared this dapper little Filipino might have learned
enough of that language to understand what he might say.
With his cold eye on the midshipmen the native officer gave a gruff
command to his men behind him on the porch. Phil’s hand moved a hair’s
breadth, and the revolver muzzle on his hip pointed squarely at the
body of Colonel Salas, while his finger pressed ever so slightly the
trigger. For the fraction of a second their eyes met. Then the lad saw
with relief that the soldiers had lowered their guns and were filing
through the door into the house. With a deft motion he allowed his
revolver to slip noiselessly back into its holster.
Colonel Salas had already turned and was leading the way up the steps,
Maria and her brother following, and the midshipmen bringing up the
rear.
“Do you think he suspects us?” Sydney whispered.
“He must,” Phil answered hurriedly. “Be careful, Syd,” he added
anxiously. “We’ve got to fight our way out. There seems no other way.
There are twenty of them against us two.”
At the top of the steps Salas turned and looked questioningly at the
midshipmen. Phil dared not meet his eye for fear that the little native
would see the anxiety which he strove to hide.
On the floor of the big room a cloth had been spread and a repast set
out.
With a graceful wave of his thin hands Colonel Salas made a sign for
all to be seated and took, himself, the place beside Maria. Phil sat
on the other side of Maria, while Sydney and little Juan were placed
opposite.
Their brisk ride had given them all an appetite, but the terrible
predicament in which they now found themselves had quite taken away
their relish for food. The lads did their best to appear undisturbed,
but any one with half an eye could have seen the restlessness behind
their forced tranquillity.
It is not the Filipino custom to talk while eating, and it was not
until his dish was emptied that Colonel Salas broke the awkward silence.
“Your English friends are very fond of adventure,” he said suddenly.
“Our camp is only a league up the river, and would be well worth a
visit. I did not intend to return so soon, but I shall be glad to take
you there. You can return to-day or remain until to-morrow morning.
It is the strongest fortified camp in the islands, and has never been
successfully attacked. You can see where three Spanish regiments were
annihilated by having rocks rolled down upon them.”
Phil’s heart beat faster. Here was the very opportunity he had wished
for. If they could only see this camp with their own eyes; photograph
the surroundings in their minds; test the depth of the water and the
width of the channel, would it not be worth the fearful risk they
would run? Then the thought of Espinosa drove the possibility of such
a hazardous undertaking from his mind. They would then surely be
recognized even if they had not been already, and he shuddered to think
of the penalty. What was his astonishment when Maria agreed gladly to
the plan.
“That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” she cried in English, appealing to
the utterly bewildered lads.
“Bueno! We can ride to ‘El Salto de Diablo’ (the devil’s leap), and
there I shall have ‘bankas’ ready to take us to the foot of the trail,”
Salas returned delightedly as he left them to instruct his men sleeping
on the shady porch at the back of the house.
“Do you realize what you are doing?” Phil muttered excitedly. “At any
moment he may discover who we really are. Suppose word should come
to him from the city? We must not accept his invitation,” he ended
hurriedly.
“I fear,” Maria whispered, “that he already suspects who you are, and
for that reason I have accepted. If I refused we are already in his
hands, and what can we do against his twenty rifles?
“We must act it out, and, if opportunity offers, escape. Above all,
don’t show by sign or word that you suspect him and don’t show how much
Spanish you know,” she ended fearfully, as she saw Salas approaching
with several of his men.
Phil’s heart beat like a trip-hammer at this disquieting belief of
Maria. She was certainly keen. By what system of argument had she
arrived at such a conclusion? To Phil Salas had appeared to believe the
story told by the girl. Sydney and Juan had listened attentively to her
words.
In a short time the party were in motion. A horse had been captured
from the herd of those that had run wild during the absence of their
owner, and Salas sat it well. Phil thought he had never seen such a
graceful horseman. The wild horse reared and plunged in its efforts to
unseat the rider, but he could not be disturbed. The native followers
formed about them, and the party moved slowly along the uneven road.
After a half hour’s ride, Salas ordered a halt at the base of a bluff
several hundred feet high. The midshipmen gazed with inward emotion at
the towering cliffs ahead of them, through which ran like a torrent the
muddy Tubig River.
“From here we must go by banka,” the outlaw explained. “My men will
go on foot, for they are accustomed to the rough trail; but for the
señorita it would be impossible.”
One of the natives approached his chief timidly, and spoke a few short
sentences in a frightened voice.
On hearing the man’s words, Salas’ face darkened in anger and he struck
him brutally with his heavy whip. The startled native recoiled in
terror from his incensed master.
“He tells me that there is but one banka ready,” he explained
apologetically; “the other bankas are at the foot of the trail two
miles up the river. The ones we used this morning I left at the ranch.
I am sorry, but as only five can go in this boat some of the party
must walk. Who shall it be?” he asked abruptly.
“There are just five of us,” Maria suggested enthusiastically. “My
brother and I are at home with a paddle and surely the señor colonel
has often propelled his own boat.”
Salas glanced keenly at the girl’s face. He saw nothing there save
youthful eagerness for adventure.
“As you wish,” he replied carelessly. “It’s a tedious journey: two
miles against the swift current. My men are used to it.”
But Maria’s mind was set upon their going together. Phil pondered upon
what her plan might be. The river was now narrow and the colonel’s men
would always be within hail.
“What shall we do with our horses?” Phil questioned. “Are we to return
here?”
“I shall leave some men here with them,” the Filipino leader assured
him. “We shall either return by the way we came or else over the trail.
“Vamos,” he concluded, waving his hand toward the large canoe which two
of the natives were holding close up to the steep river bank.
Maria took her place in the bow while the others distributed themselves
evenly upon the frail low seats, grasping their paddles ready to
balance the boat when it was cast adrift in the swift current.
Salas stood undecided upon the bank; his men had gone over the trail
leading through the almost impenetrable jungle between them and the
high palisade upon which was the outlaw’s stronghold.
“Leave the horses here,” he said finally to his two men, “and go back
to the palm grove and bring up one of the canoes we left there this
morning.”
Phil from his seat in the stern of the banka caught a significant look
flung to him out of the eyes of the girl who was seated in the bow, her
head bent gracefully backward regarding the Filipino leader. In the
rear of Maria was little Juan, his small hands grasping a paddle, much
too large for his strength.
“Give the señor your paddle, Juan,” the girl ordered, then turning
to Salas she added persuasively, “Sit behind Juan, señor. I’m afraid
he might fall overboard and I don’t know what my father would do if
anything should happen to him.”
The outlaw smiled and took the empty seat, taking from the boy’s
unwilling hands the large paddle.
“Bueno,” he exclaimed, while the two men released the boat, pushing it
gently away out into the stream.
Under the strong strokes of four paddles, for the midshipmen were both
expert, having owned canoes at the Naval Academy, the native boat swept
swiftly through the water. To avoid the strength of the current the
canoe was steered close in to the steep bank under the protecting shade
of the overhanging trees. Great crocodiles basking on the muddy banks
were passed, the animals slinking away as the boat approached, their
long tails lashing furiously in their haste. Monkeys filled the trees,
whistling and jabbering fearlessly as the boat passed under them.
While Phil exerted himself manfully at his paddle, his thoughts busily
sought a plan to escape the enforced hospitality of Salas. A great fear
filled his mind as he dwelt upon the horrors of imprisonment among
these lawless men. To Sydney and him it would eventually mean death,
and to Maria and her little brother a long and dangerous imprisonment
and harsh treatment. But why had not Salas made them prisoners at once
if he suspected their real identity? Phil did not guess that the outlaw
had read defiance and action in the midshipmen’s eyes, and alert as the
outlaw’s faculties had become to scent danger even though carefully
concealed, he had detected the stealthy motion of Phil’s hand when he
had been confronted by his men. Salas was not a coward, but he had
realized instantly that if he ordered his men to open fire, unless the
first shots killed the Americans, he himself would fall the victim of
their vengeance. So he was biding the time when he would have them safe
without danger to himself.
The boat had now covered nearly half the distance. Phil wondered what
he could do. The slight figure of the outlaw, seated upon the low
thwart just in front of him, was so temptingly close and apparently
so unconscious of any threatening danger. The native’s revolver lay
in its holster just within reach of the lad’s hand, the flap securely
buttoned upon its polished handle. Phil realized that when Salas
expected treachery his first act would be to capsize the canoe. Being
a strong swimmer the native doubtless believed he could reach the
bank first and have at his mercy those still struggling in the water.
To attempt to unbutton the flap of the holster and take the revolver
without the owner’s knowledge was impossible. Phil needed both of his
hands to wield the heavy paddle and if he stopped paddling Salas would
at once suspect treachery. His heart rose in his throat and his pulses
throbbed painfully as a bold plan flashed suddenly into his thoughts.
It seemed the one chance of escape. At the rate the boat was going it
would soon be at the foot of the trail to the stronghold where Salas’
men would be waiting in force to escort them up the steep incline to
the top of the mountain. A huge crocodile lay asleep about a hundred
yards ahead and this sight had awakened the plan to action in Phil’s
mind.
“Go slowly,” he whispered loud enough to be heard by all in the boat.
“Let’s see if we can’t get a shot at that big crocodile over there.”
Salas slowly drew in his paddle, laying it across his knees, while his
hand went back to the holster strap.
“You keep paddling slowly, Syd, and the señorita can prevent us from
capsizing when we fire,” the lad continued eagerly. His own revolver
still rested in its holster, while his eyes were bent upon the outlaw’s
hand fumbling with the buttoned flap. Mentally he measured the slight
figure before him and then the frail boat in which they were seated.
The terrible risk he was running came to him almost overpoweringly.
Overboard in this river full of hungry crocodiles was unnerving enough
to those who could swim, but Maria had said that her small brother
could not, and for him death in this swift current would be assured.
With his own paddle resting on his knees he braced his feet cautiously
but firmly on the round of the bilge so as to put an equal pressure
on each side. The outlaw, with his eyes on the crocodile as yet
undisturbed in his doze, had succeeded in releasing the flap; his thumb
and forefinger grasped lightly the revolver handle, drawing it slowly,
thoughtfully, from its cover. Phil’s hand was partly raised, as if he
held his revolver ready to shoot at the formidable animal. He muttered
a silent prayer that the crocodile would not awake before his plan had
succeeded. He felt that out of the corner of his eye the outlaw was
watching him, but Phil’s hope was that his act would be so swift and
unexpected that Salas would have no time to avoid it and jeopardize the
lives of those in the boat.