Leaving the body of the wretched man where they found it, they continued
to search among the trees; but nowhere could they discover any trace of
the elder guide.
"His body cannot be far away," said Harry. "They fell together."
It was then that, at the sound of a faint cry from somewhere far above
them, all three looked up. And the sight they beheld was appalling.
Hundreds of feet above the place where they stood, sheltered by a cranny
in the face of the cliff, there grew a gnarled and twisted shrub, a kind
of withered tree. In the midst of this, caught like a fish in a net,
was a man who, even as they watched him, moved, twisting like a thing in
pain.
Cortes scanned the face of the cliff; but, look where he might, he could
discover no way by which it was possible to ascend to the place where
his brother was suspended in mid-air.
Running back several yards, he regarded the precipice above the withered
tree. It was equally inaccessible from above. Then he raised his hands
to his mouth and cried out in a loud voice, calling upon his brother by
name.
The answer came in a voice so weak that Cortes had to hold a hand to an
ear in order to catch the words.
"I am in pain. My arm is broken. Can you not come to my assistance?"
The younger brother looked about him in despair.
"Can nothing be done?" asked Harry.
"Let me think," said Cortes, and lifted a hand to his eyes. On a sudden
he cried out to his brother. "Can you hold out for two days?" he asked.
"For two days!" came the answer. "It is too long."
"You must!" cried the other. "Take the belt from your waist and bind
yourself to the tree. Then, when your strength is gone, you will not
fall."
Whilst the elder man obeyed these injunctions, Harry turned to Cortes.
"What do you intend to do?" he asked.
"We have no rope," said the guide. "Fernando is at least fifty feet
from the path above, and there is no rope fifty feet in length nearer to
this place than Kano or Sokoto. However, there is—as you know—a
rope-like creeper that grows in the bush. I intend to go back as far as
the jungle."
"Can you get there in time?" asked Braid, incredulously.
"My wound is now healed," said the man, "my strength returned. I can
but do my best."
Cortes looked up again at his brother.
"Courage!" he cried. "In two days I return."
So saying, he bounded off upon his way. As they watched him pass down
the valley, springing from rock to rock, it was apparent that he meant
to do all that was humanly possible to effect the salvation of his
brother. Even as they looked, his figure grew smaller in the distance,
and in a few minutes he was lost to view.
To describe in detail the journey of the younger guide across the
mountains would be tedious. The thing can be summed up in a few words:
it was magnificent, heroic. Mile upon mile he covered without pausing
for breath. For the most part he kept to the valleys, where the
atmosphere was stifling and humid, crossing the mountains only when by
doing so he could cut off several miles.
He had food with him, but he seldom stopped to eat. Now and again he
drank at a mountain stream, but seemed to grudge the time even for this.
At sunset he was still bearing onward. He had cast aside the greater
part of his clothing, and the perspiration poured off him, and the veins
stood out upon his temples like knotted strands of cord. For all that,
he went on and on beneath the stars, whilst the moon marched in the
heavens. It was a race for the life of his brother.
As Cortes hastened on his way, his thoughts continually went back to the
perilous situation in which he had left Fernando, and every thought was,
as it were, a spur to his endeavour. No sooner had he pictured in his
mind’s eye that struggling, writhing figure, hanging, as it were,
betwixt earth and sky, than he shot forward with renewed energy,
clenching both fists and teeth in his strong determination.
At last, breathless, exhausted, he sighted the extremity of the great
West African bush. Through this, forcing his way among the thickets, so
that the sharp thorns tore his naked flesh, he was obliged to travel for
many miles before he found the right kind of creeping plant, and,
moreover, one long enough to suit his purpose.
To cut this from the tree around which it was twined, and roll it into a
great coil which he suspended around his neck, was the work of not many
minutes; and then he set forth upon his return journey to the margin of
the desert.
He was already much exhausted, and his load was very heavy. But hour by
hour he struggled onward, leaving the jungle far behind, mounting to
higher altitudes. Nightfall found him still upon his way. Repeatedly
he stumbled, and then, on a sudden, he fell full length upon the ground.
He lay quite still for several seconds, then rose slowly to his knees,
lifting his eyes and hands towards the stars. For a moment he prayed
silently; and, seeming to gather courage from his prayer, he rose to his
feet and went on.
Soon after midnight the sky became overcast. A high wind got up and
blew from the mountains, bitter cold after the tropic heat of the bush.
Then the skies opened and the rain came down in sheets. But Cortes
still held on, struggling towards his goal, fighting manfully against
his own failing strength.
And in the meantime, throughout these two fearful days, Jim Braid and
Harry waited in suspense. They could do nothing to help the man who
hung, hour after hour, upon the brink of the other world.
Acting on his brother’s advice, Fernando had undone the belt around his
waist, and with this had lashed himself to the stoutest branch of the
tree. Words fail to describe the torture he must have suffered; for,
not only did he endure great pain from his broken arm, but he was
tormented by a raging thirst. His cries for water were piteous to hear.
They had no means of assisting him. They could do nothing but look on
in helplessness, praying for the return of the younger brother. On the
second night the rain came—in torrents, as it can only rain in the
tropics—and Fernando was able to moisten his parched lips by sucking
his drenched clothes.
Wishing to get nearer to the poor fellow, in the hope that they might be
able to comfort him, at least with words, Harry and Jim Braid climbed
the spur and moved along the ledge at the top of the precipice until
they were immediately above the withered tree. There, lying down upon
their faces, they cried out to him to be of good courage, reminding him
that the dawn approached, that his brother would soon return.
Daybreak is the hour when Life is nearest Death. It was shortly before
sunrise that Fernando himself gave up all hope, and called upon God to
take charge of his departing soul. He said that he was quite ready to
welcome Death; he desired nothing more than to have an end to his misery
and suspense. And, even as the words left his lips, the figure of his
brother was seen approaching along the ledge.
At the feet of Harry Urquhart, Cortes sank, exhausted. The object of
his mission fulfilled, he lost consciousness and drifted into a faint.
With all dispatch they uncoiled the long, snake-like creeper. Passing
one end over a jutting pinnacle of rock, they lowered the other towards
Fernando. It was more than long enough to reach the place where he lay.
With great difficulty the poor fellow managed to untie his belt and make
fast the end of the creeper around his waist. And then they had to wait
a long time, until Cortes, who had recovered consciousness, was able to
assist the two boys in hauling up the rope.
This was no easy matter, since they had neither a good foothold nor much
space upon the terrace. But in the end they succeeded, and the rescued
man lay panting on the ledge. He was immediately given water to drink;
and when he had drunk, a smile slowly overspread his face, and he looked
at the brother who had saved his life. But no word of gratitude ever
passed his lips; his thanks—far more eloquent than words—were in his
eyes. And the dark eyes of a half-caste are the most expressive and the
most beautiful in the world.