"Will you return with me now, Sir Mark? The sun is growing hot, and my
father will be waiting."
He bowed in his most courtly manner, and, taking her hand, helped her
over a fallen tree, and again across a rift in the earth, while Gil,
trembling with rage, disappointment, and mortification, stood gnawing
his lip.
"And this is woman's faith!" he cried, as he strode away. "Oh, that my
ship were fit for sea, or that I had something I could do."
He stopped, thinking for a few minutes, and then walked away straight
for the ravine, partly to pass the time, partly because he felt uneasy
about his store; while, sad at heart, poor Mace walked beside her
companion, who sighed and never ceased to try and show her how
hopelessly he was in love.
It was very unfavourable for the progress of vegetation where Gil Carr
strode over the ground, trampling down the tender forest herbage,
tearing aside the young growth, and leaving a harsh track through the
forest, till, getting nearer to his destination, he seemed to grow more
careful, and ended by waking to the fact that any one might easily trace
him by his trail.
Altering his mind then, he struck down beside one of the rivulets, and
followed its course pretty closely to the river--a small enough stream,
but one which at times carried a considerable depth of water.
A mile along here brought him to a busy nook, where, around a
goodly-sized vessel, a score of men were hard at work with hatchet and
adze repairing and restoring plank and timber that had been torn and
riven by the rocks and waves of a long cruise. It was only the hull,
every bit of rigging having been removed to lighten her for the men at
work; and seated upon a barrel, smoking, giving orders or directions,
was Wat Kilby, who rose to make his report on seeing his skipper
approach.
Gil did not stay long. He saw that his men were working hard, and that
they were well provided for in the sheltered nook by the little river
side, which he had made his vessel's port; and at last, as the evening
was coming, entered the boarded hut which formed Wat's home for the
time, partook of a rough meal with him, gave him certain orders, and
turned once more towards Roehurst, meaning to go up the ravine on the
way.
He was weary with much walking, and low-spirited. What had been a
pleasant sojourn ashore had become wearisome and full of pain, due, he
felt, rightly or wrongly, to the coming of Sir Mark, the recollection of
whom made his brows knit and his hands involuntarily clench.
These thoughts stayed him in his course, and more than once he sat down
thinking whether it would not be better to get away to one of the ports,
and charter a small vessel for a trip, so as to occupy his mind.
"And leave the field open to the enemy?" he cried, springing up. "Nay,
that's not like Gil Carr."
With sundry plans in his head, then, he now went straight on, climbing
up the rugged sides of the ravine, heedless of the growing darkness, and
at last reaching the entrance to his store.
His intention had been to glance at it, and make sure that it was all
right, and then to go on to Roehurst for the night, hoping to gain an
interview with Mace, and take her to task for her change, when he had
spoken of himself.
But as he reached the entrance his heart stood still, for his worst
fears were confirmed. The retreat that he had taken such pains to keep
a secret, and had shrouded with enough mystery to make the goings and
comings of his men an object, not of curiosity amongst the simple
superstitious people, but alarm, had been discovered, and by some one
full enough of enterprise and daring to make his way inside.
The first thing that struck his attention was a tall, stout fir-pole,
which had evidently been used as a lever to dislodge the stone that
stopped the entrance, and on going close up and peering in he could see
a dim light burning upon one of the barrels, while a figure was down
upon its knees hard at work opening a case.
"The pitiful thief!" said Gil, as a movement on the intruder's part let
the light fall upon his face. "As I thought--Abel Churr. Well, Master
Churr," he muttered, as a hard look came over his face, "you have
discovered a secret that should be paid for--with death--the due meed
awarded to a thief."
He drew his long, thin sword, and, holding it before him, stepped
cautiously forward; but altering his mind, he thrust it back into the
sheath with an impatient ejaculation, and once more peered over the
stones between them at where the marauder was busily prising open the
case.
"The fool!" muttered Gil; "if that candle burned down he would be blown
to pieces. What cursed luck that he should have found us out."
He took another step forward cautiously, to avoid being heard, lest
Churr should dash by and escape; but, once inside, the captain's person
blocked the way, and stepping boldly forward, Churr started up with a
shrill cry, like some beast when tracked to its lair.
"You dog!" cried Gil, as he dashed at him, receiving, as he did so, a
heavy blow from the iron bar with which the adder-hunter had been
wrenching open the case.
He staggered back, and Churr was springing over him, but he was too
late, for, recovering himself, Gil seized him tightly, and a fierce
struggle began.
Churr had sprung forward so sharply that Gil Carr was driven to the
narrow platform beyond the stone, and the struggle took place outside
the cave. But it was not of long duration, for Churr was no match for
the well-built, muscular young man, who, after wrestling with him here
and there, ended by wrenching from him the iron bar, and they fell
heavily on the narrow shelf of rock, from which, if either slipped, he
would go down some forty feet perpendicular, and then crash through the
bushes into the dark bed of the rivulet far below.
"What--what are you going to do?" panted Churr at last, as he was held
half over the side.
"To kill you, as I would any other thieving rat or vermin who came to
steal. But tell me first who knows of this place beside you?"
"No one, not a soul," howled Churr. Then, feeling that he had made a
mistake, he added hastily, "Only a few trusty friends."
"The first words were the truth," said Gil, sharply, as his hand sought
his belt; "the last were added to make me afraid to kill you, lest
others should come and be aware of the deed. Abel Churr, you have
learned a secret, and you must have known the risk."
"But I'll never tell, and I'll never come again. I'll never help it to
a soul, or say a word about the trade."
"Never," said Gil in a low stern voice.
It was quite dark now, and the gloom of the ravine seemed heavier than
ever as Abel Churr, who felt that his end was near, wrenched himself
slightly round to gaze shudderingly into the depths below; and then as
he fancied that he saw the flash of a knife in Gil's disengaged hand,
while the other held him tightly by the belt, he uttered a loud shriek,
that was repeated from the rock in front, to die off in whispers as if
the man condemned to death were already on his way to the unknown shore,
and his voice could be heard farther and farther as he onward sped.
Volume 1, Chapter XVI.