The truth came upon them all in the nature of a shock. They could not
think how it was that they had overlooked so simple a deduction, so
obvious a fact.
Cortes, by reason of the extreme slimness of his form, was the only one
of their number who could manage to squeeze himself through the narrow
opening. The stone above the circular hole in the roof, or ceiling,
could not be moved from the inside. The hiding-place that they had
deemed so secure a refuge was nothing but a death-trap.
Peter Klein turned in anger upon the guide.
"So much for your wisdom," he cried, "so much for your oath!"
The man’s eyes flashed. His hand went to the knife he carried in his
belt. One half of him was a savage, and the other half a Spaniard.
"Do you think," said he, "that I thought my brother would be killed?"
"So far as I can see," said Klein, "it is all the same to you."
"There you prove yourself a fool," answered the other hotly. "You think
I do not love him because I do not weep like a woman and gnash my teeth.
Understand this—the heart of a Spaniard is like a deep pool, the
surface of which is still. We feel; we love. Also, I warn you again,
we can hate."
The spy dared not face the man’s blazing eyes.
"I warn you," Fernando went on, his voice rising as passion swayed him,
"if you hold me up to ridicule, you die. I am ready enough to admit
that my judgment was at fault—that I forgot that, without my brother,
we were unable to leave the cave—but to be put to scorn by such as you
is more than I will endure!"
Peter Klein fell back before the fiery onslaught of the man’s words as
though he had been struck. The half-caste stood upright, every muscle
taut, his eyes ablaze, his clenched teeth showing in the blackness of
his long moustache. Then he hurled his knife upon the floor.
"Why do I waste words upon such as you?" he cried, as if in anguish.
"You are not worthy of my anger!"
"I cannot yet understand," said Harry. "If the sheikh is so formidable
an adversary, why did you send your brother into the night dressed in
Klein’s clothes?"
"I spoke high words of the prowess of the Black Dog," said Fernando,
"but all the time I believed in my brother. Cortes was a fine shot,
second only to the sheikh himself. Moreover, he was agile, one of the
finest stalkers who ever lived. I knew, when I was sitting by the fire,
that we would soon hear a shot. You thought that I was sleeping, but I
was praying to the Holy Virgin that the first shot would be fired by my
brother, and that the Black Dog would lie in his own blood, his life
ended, the Book of Fate closed upon his evil deeds. When I heard the
double report, my heart sank within me. I knew that my brother had been
outwitted—that the victory lay with the sheikh."
"And in the meantime," said Harry, "we are buried alive!"
"The fault is mine," said the guide. "I should have asked my brother to
remove the stone at the entrance before he went, in case of any mishap.
I forgot to do so. I ask forgiveness."
"There is nothing to forgive," said the boy. "In such a country as
this, encompassed upon every hand by death and dangers of all kinds,
there are a thousand things to think of. I would be the last to blame
you."
"You are generous," said the man. "The English, with all their faults,
are the most generous race on earth; and because they are just, I honour
them. We have food and water to last for some days. We can but put our
trust in Providence."
Of the days that followed it is unnecessary to tell in detail. In the
gallery, shut out from the outside world, from the pure air of the
mountains and the sunlight, existence was a living death. For all that,
it was wonderful for how long they retained their strength. Indeed, it
is a remarkable fact that a man can go for many days with little food,
if he has water to drink and is not asked to undergo great physical
exertion. But at last Peter Klein grew so weak, and the beating of his
heart so slow, that Harry feared he was dying.
It was during these days that the boys came to love the wizened
half-caste in whose hands was their fate. Fernando’s courage knew no
bounds; it was as if his will-power was invincible. Never once did a
word of despair or hopelessness leave his lips.
They longed for the open air, for freedom. Days and nights were all the
same to them, except that sometimes the sunshine, sometimes the
moonshine, invaded the depths of their prison through the great fissures
in the wall. As time went on it was difficult not to give up hope.
At last, one night, Fernando rose to his feet and approached Harry, who
found it impossible to sleep.
"My friend," said he, "the sands are running down, but I think that I
can save you."
"How?" asked the other.
"Look at me!" cried the man. "I am little better than a skeleton. I
think I can creep through the opening in the wall."
Assisted by Braid, he crawled to the fissure, and there endeavoured to
pass through. It is true that he had wasted away terribly, but the
opening was very narrow, and his frame was larger than his brother’s.
For an hour he struggled vainly. At last, he gave it up.
"It is no good," said he. "I cannot do it. We are lost. Nothing
remains but death."
They resigned themselves to their fate. They were far past all
complaint. Even Klein was silent; he no longer moaned and deplored his
unhappy lot. Even he had learnt to prepare himself for death.
Three more days passed, and at the end of that time Fernando himself lay
upon the floor in a kind of faint.
It was bitterly cold. They had no fire. They had burned all their
wood. Only a little water remained. The prospect before them was
horrible to contemplate. They were destined to be driven mad by thirst.
For some time Harry walked backward and forward. Then fatigue overcame
him, and, lying down upon the floor, he immediately fell asleep. When
he awoke it was daylight. He went to the bucket of water to divide the
little that remained into four equal parts. To his astonishment, he
found that the bucket was empty.
He uttered a loud exclamation, which brought Braid to his elbow.
"What has happened?" asked Jim.
"Our last drop of water," said Harry, "has been stolen."
There was little doubt as to who was the thief. Neither Harry nor Jim
nor Fernando could have been capable of such treachery. Harry turned
fiercely upon Peter Klein.
"Do you deny this?" he asked.
"Yes," said Klein; "I do."
They examined his pannikin and found that the inside was wet. There was
also a drop of water upon the floor by the place where he had been
sitting. Without a doubt, during the earlier part of the night, the man
had pretended to be asleep until the three others were buried in
slumber. Then he had stolen all that remained of their water.
Fernando rose slowly to his feet, drew his long knife, and, tottering
from weakness, approached the German spy.
"Death," said he, "is too good for you! But, weak as I am, you die!"
Harry held out his hand.
"Let him be," said he. "His cowardice will avail him little. He will
only live to see us go before him. He has done no more than prolong the
agony of his death!"
The guide returned, growling like a dog, and sat down upon the floor.
During that day hardly a word was spoken. They sat in silence, waiting
for the end. Towards afternoon a raging thirst began to consume them;
their blood grew hot in a kind of fever; their tongues clave to the
roofs of their mouths.
And at nightfall they lay down to die. Fernando was now in a kind of
stupor. For an hour he never moved, but lay like one already dead. Both
Braid and Klein fell asleep, but Harry found sleep impossible.
Knowing that the end was drawing near, he resolved to commend his soul
to the Almighty, and, burying his face in his hands, he began to pray.
For some minutes he prayed silently, making his peace with God. When
his prayer was finished he felt happier. He sat for some time with his
hands clasped about his knees, looking upward at the round stone which
confined them in their prison.
And as he looked the stone moved as if by magic, silently. Through the
round hole above, the light of the moon streamed down into the darkened
vault.