THE SECRET OF THE THICKET.
The night was close and still with the silence that intensifies
sound tenfold. Eustace thought he could not have had worse luck.
His temptation was to hurry; common sense bade him hold himself in
check. Panic urged him to risk everything, and make a bolt for it.
But Bob's precept was ringing in his mind--there were two sides to
the question; he might bolt, but where to in the dark? It was
useless to dash headlong into trees and make for nowhere in
particular. The plan was to get as far away as possible in the
dark, unheard, so that by daylight he would be out of sight, and
able to quicken his pace to some purpose.
Gliding, halting, scarcely breathing, he pulled himself along, and
great beads of perspiration started on his forehead and trickled
down into his eyes.
The darkness was useful in one way, but it had its disadvantages.
He had no idea what progress he was making, and it seemed ages
before his hand came against what he thankfully realized was the
bark of a tree. Almost simultaneously there was a blinding flash of
lightning, so vivid that for a full moment the sleeping camp lay
revealed, and Eustace had time to grasp the fact that he was well
within the outskirts of the wood. The crash of thunder almost
overhead brought him to his feet. Now was the time to make some
pace, in the dense darkness, under cover of that merciful noise.
Eustace was not the least afraid of thunder and lightning; he was
used to tremendous storms, and loved nothing better than to stand
out on the veranda to watch one raging round among the hills or out
at sea. Now it was a positive blessing. Every flash showed him
where he was, and he took care to have a tree trunk between himself
and the camp. Then during the thunder bursts he made his way
swiftly forward, groping cautiously like a blind man. His spirits
rose with the excitement, and all his courage came back to him.
By the time the storm had grumbled itself away into the distance he
knew he was well out of sight of the camp, and he dared to sit down
to wait for dawn. Without the aid of the lightning it was folly to
plunge farther into the scrub.
In spite of a stern resolve not even to let himself doze, the tired
boy must have slept awhile, sitting with his back against a tree.
There was just a first glimmer of light penetrating the thick
foliage above when he opened his eyes with a sudden definite
feeling of something having roused him.
Very much on the alert, instantly he raised his head, and sat
listening with held breath. He was beginning to think he must have
been mistaken, when there came a sound that made his hair stand on
end and his blood run cold. He got up swiftly but softly, and
stood, still backed by the tree, staring into the gloom. The sound
seemed to come from what looked like a dense thicket not very far
to the right, but as yet it was not light enough to distinguish
objects from each other.
"Is it some animal, or a native, or what can it be?" Eustace
questioned, feeling most horribly shaky.
There was a long pause, and then the silence was once more broken
by a deep, heavy groan--something like a long sobbing sigh.
The boy was paralyzed with horror. Besides which, to have moved, to
have gone forward, would have been useless in this half light. He
could have done nothing, seen nothing. There was nothing for it but
to wait till daybreak. He could not bring himself to sit down
again; there is always a feeling of being ready for anything when
one is standing.
There was another long interval, and then this awful sound came
once more--slow, laboured, intensely painful. There could be no
doubt that something or some one was suffering inexpressibly not
twenty yards away. The voice was like the voice of a man having a
nightmare, and trying to call some one to help him. The third time
the sound came Eustace almost fancied it contained a word--"Help."
Five times he heard it, and every time it was exactly the same in
tone and duration. Each time he became more persuaded that it was a
muffled cry for help.
The light was coming at last. Soon he would be able to venture
forward and find out what horrible secret the thicket held.
The boy sank down on his knees and prayed with all his might for
strength to face whatever it might be for at the thought of the
ordeal before him he could have turned and fled. He stood up again
as white as a sheet, but resolute, and ashamed of the temptation.
"Who is there?" he demanded in a hoarse, shaky voice unlike his
own.
His throat was parched, his lips dry. He had not spoken a word for
two nights and a day; it was scarcely wonderful speech was
difficult.
There was no answer for a full minute, and then came that same
groaning cry again, not as in answer to the question, but at its
own regular interval.
Following the curve of the thicket a little way, behind a thick
group of trees Eustace came to a sudden standstill with a cry of
dismay; for there, standing almost upright in the thickest of the
scrub, was the figure of a man, his bare head bowed down upon his
breast so that his face was invisible, his arms hanging down at his
sides.
It struck Eustace at once as strange that he should be standing
making this terrible sound. It would not have surprised the boy
nearly so much to have found him lying down--indeed, that he had
expected. Bracing himself to the task, Eustace went closer.
"I say," he said in a loud voice, "what's up?"
The man made neither sign nor movement. Could he be tied there to a
stake? the boy wondered. Was he deaf and blind?
"I say," Eustace said, almost shouting now, "can't you see me?"
Fighting down his own horror of the situation, he pressed a little
closer, to find the man's shirt torn to shreds, his arms pinioned
down to his sides by something that looked like small cords.
"It's the 'wait-a-bit' cane!" Eustace exclaimed aloud, shrinking
back sharply with a quick horror of being entrapped by it himself.
Here was an awful state of affairs. A wretched wayfarer caught and
held like a fly in a spider's web, and not a soul at hand to help.
To go back to the natives was out of the question. With their
reputation for cruelty and hatred of white men it would be worse
than useless to appeal to them. What was to be done? What would Bob
have done under the circumstances?
With a gasping cry Eustace crept closer again, and bending low he
strained to catch a glimpse of the man's face without going too
perilously deep into the thicket.
"Bob," whispered the boy, "Bob, is it you? Oh, speak to me--is it
you?"
Little fool that he had been not to think of it before. But somehow
these last hours of terror, centred only upon himself and his own
means of escape, had blunted his intelligence to everything
else--even to the remembrance of Bob. He was mad with himself for
it now--so mad that all thought of personal danger fell away from
him. He had room for nothing but the realization that this must be
Bob indeed standing here helpless and dying of privation.
Oh the folly of having waited for the light! But Eustace stayed for
nothing more now--not even to look at the two sides of the
question. He dashed against the bushes like a little mad thing,
recklessly fighting his way towards the imprisoned man.
"Bob, Bob!" he said in a voice choked with sobs.
It was difficult to grasp that this huddled, helpless figure was
Bob, the big, the strong. But when at last Eustace saw the white,
drawn face he knew there was no mistake about it.
There came that awful groan again, but this time Eustace did not
shrink back.
"It's all right, Bob," he said huskily. "I've come now. I'm going
to help you all I can. You shan't die--you shan't--you shan't."
He spoke the last words through set teeth, for he had taken out his
clasp-knife, and was hacking at the cruel bonds with all his might.
It needed no explanation to tell Eustace how Bob had got there. The
thing was as plain as daylight. He must have been riding fast, and
inadvertently struck against some "wait-a-bit," which rebounded
like a bit of twisted elastic, and caught him in such a grip that
he was powerless to free himself. Bolter passed on from beneath,
and the more he fought and struggled the tighter he became
entangled. Had his arms been free it would have been different; but
the strength of the cane was marvellous--moreover, it was covered
with vicious thorns. That Bob had fought desperately for his life
was to be seen by the condition of his shirt and his deeply-scored
skin. He was now in a state of more than semi-unconsciousness from
exhaustion and starvation; still, at intervals, he half roused
himself to call for help, as he must have been doing for days.
It was no easy matter to saw through the cane, which was wound
again and again round him. But bit by bit Eustace worked at it,
with a ferocity that was bound to tell. He was mad with fear for
Bob, and madness is said to increase strength extraordinarily.
More by good luck than good guidance the boy was not caught in the
meshes himself, for he took no care.
As the last coils were cut, and Bob was bereft of his main support,
he fell gradually to the ground, lying in the pathway Eustace had
made to reach him, and from there the boy could not move him an
inch. Perhaps owing to the change of position Bob had stopped
groaning at last; but though Eustace called him, and implored him
to speak, if only a word, he made no sign.
"I suppose it is faintness," Eustace thought in deep trouble, for
this was something so terribly new in Bob. He did not seem the sort
of fellow who could ever be ill.
Something ought to be done for him, and that quickly; this much
Eustace knew. At home he would have rushed for water; but here
where there was none--where there was nothing--what was he to do?
If only he were a man, and carried a brandy flask, as his father
always did! A sudden brilliant idea struck him--perhaps Bob carried
a flask himself!
It was the work of but a few seconds to search him, and to the
boy's joy he found a little flask full of spirit. It was not very
long since Eustace had had a practical demonstration of what to do
with some one in a faint. He remembered Mrs. Robertson's treatment
of his mother the night of their fright about Becky.
So first he moistened the dry blue lips, then put a few drops
between them. Oh, it was a tedious, terrifying business--too long
to describe; and nothing scared Eustace more than the choking and
gasping with which Bob came to himself at last. But it was the
turning-point and saving of his life.
It took Bob a long time to pull himself sufficiently together to
make a sign to Eustace that he knew him. He was far too weak to
speak at first; but after a long, dazed study of the boy's white,
miserable face, Bob's lips parted in a pitiful attempt at a smile.
To his own after-annoyance and shame, whenever he remembered it,
Eustace flung himself face downwards on the ground and fairly
sobbed. What fear for his own safety and all the horrors he had
gone through had no power to do, the relaxation of this tension of
anxiety about Bob did.
"Say, old chap," came in a far-away whisper to his ears, "don't!"
It pulled him up short. Bob's eyes were closed, and he looked so
like fainting again that Eustace gave him more brandy.
It had a good effect; but later, not even when he had regained his
full consciousness, could Bob move hand or foot; he was as stiff as
a log. Just as he had been bound rigidly upright, so he remained
now lying at full length.
"Guess I'm pretty helpless," he said in a thin, weak voice. "I
shall have to be oiled before I can move." Then, after a little
while, when he had been lying staring at his companion meditatively
some minutes, he said, "Just explain what you are doing here, will
you?"
From the very beginning--the return of Bolter--Eustace told the
story of the last few days, and Bob listened with growing eagerness
in his eyes.
"So you lost yourself finding me," he said at the end. "And there
isn't a doubt you've saved my life, old boy."
But even this assertion did not cheer Eustace.
"I'm afraid I haven't, though," he said miserably, "because you see
we are lost."
"Not a bit of it," Bob said. "If I had any legs I could walk you
out of the wood in two hours. I know the way perfectly."
"Do you?" Eustace exclaimed. "Then what did you come here for?"
"Merely to see if it was true there were any natives in the
neighbourhood," was the answer. "I never got as far as the camp,
but my shouts brought a whole lot of them gibbering round me. It
seemed to amuse them to see me there; but they threatened to kill
me if I went on shouting, so I had to shut up and hope for the
best. They have come each day in little batches and watched me
awhile, then slipped away. At last I began to feel so bad that I
rather wished they would come and finish me off, to put me out of
my misery; so I began calling again. But I suppose my voice was too
weak to matter; they knew I couldn't be heard. Anyhow, the beggars
didn't touch me. I dare say they'll come again to-day."
Eustace looked scared.
"Oh, I say," he exclaimed, "I hope they won't. They'll take us
prisoners, and goodness knows what they'll do to us. We must get
away from here before they come."
"You must," said Bob, "but I can't. You'll have to take my compass,
and keep going due west with it all the time. You'll know where you
are the minute you get out into the open."
Eustace stared at him blankly.
"But I couldn't go and leave you," he exclaimed.
"Why not?" asked Bob with a smile.
"How could I," Eustace said warmly, "and you in danger? I just
won't go. Nothing shall make me."
There was a curious light in Bob's eyes as they rested on the slip
of a lad kneeling beside him.
"Good old man," he said, "you can't do me any good by staying. For
both our sakes you must go, and as fast as you can."
"But suppose while I am away--" began Eustace desperately.
"We've got to chance that," said Bob bravely. "You couldn't save my
life if you stayed; you could only die too, and what would be the
good of that?"
"I would rather," said Eustace chokily.
"Well, I wouldn't," Bob said firmly. "We mustn't think about
ourselves in it at all. You've got to go home and set the dear
home-folks' minds at rest about us. They'll know no peace till they
hear, one way or another. Then, of course, they'll set out to fetch
me. You'll guide them. If I am here, well and good. If I am not,
don't you forget I wouldn't let you stay. You did the only thing
you could for me by obeying orders."
Eustace hid his face in his hands because his lips were trembling
so; he felt sick, and shaky all over.
"O Bob," he said, "must I?"
"For my sake, laddie," said Bob softly.
Eustace stood up, but kept his head turned away that Bob should
still not see his face.
"I do wish," said Bob lightly, "that you could give me a nice slice
of beef before you go; I'm so hungry."
It was a little bit of chaff to help the boy to pull himself
together. It worked quite a miracle, for Eustace's face cleared
instantly.
"Why, how stupid of me!" he said. "I can give you something to eat.
It was what I couldn't finish of my own."
Out of his pockets he pulled the unappetizing lumps of food he had
secreted, and kneeling again, he began feeding the helpless man as
if he had been a baby.
"Upon my word, you are a magician," said Bob, keeping up a cheery
tone, although he could little more than whisper. "But eat some
yourself; turn and turn about."
"I don't want any," said the boy.
"Obey," said Bob briskly, with his kind smile.
So they made their strange meal together. It was a small one, but
quite enough for Bob after his long starvation.
"I ate every leaf and berry within my reach," he told Eustace, "or
I don't think I should be alive to tell the tale. Lucky for me,
they were none of them poisonous. When they were done I started on
chewing twigs, but they didn't go far."
At last Eustace had no excuse to linger. Very unwillingly he rose
to do Bob's behest. He had never heard of anything so awful as
leaving him like this to his fate. It seemed the worst kind of
desertion--something that he would be ashamed of all the days of
his life.
Bob made him take his watch and chain with the compass on it.
"Keep the compass afterwards if you like," Bob said, "and give my
love to every one."
Eustace turned sharply away; he could stand no more.
"Good-bye," he said thickly; "I feel a beast."
He took two quick strides forward, and walked right into some one.
It was the great native chief.