ON THE RIVER
No word was spoken during this cautious, extraordinary voyage
underground. The boat drifted slowly through the narrow channel,
unlighted and practically unguided. Two of the men sat at the rowlocks,
but the oars rested idly in the boat. With their hands they kept the
craft from scraping against the walls.
The pseudo-Julius supported his charge in the stern of the boat; Peter
Brutus sat in the bow, a revolver in his hand, his gaze bent upon the
opaqueness ahead. A whispered word of encouragement now and then passed
from the lips of the hopeful American into the ear of the almost
pulseless girl, who lay up against his knee.
"We'll do it--sure!" he whispered once, ever so softly.
"Yes," she scarcely, breathed, but he heard and was thrilled. The rope
had dropped from her arms; she had taken the handkerchief from her mouth
at his whispered command.
At last the boat crept out into the rainy, starless night. He drew the
skirts of his own mackintosh over her shoulders and head. A subdued
command came from the man in the bow; the oars slipped into the deep,
black waters of the river; without a splash or a perceptible sound the
little craft scudded toward midstream. The night was so inky black that
one could not see his hand before his face.
At least two of the occupants opened up their throats and lungs and
gulped in the wet, fresh air. Never had anything been so glorious to
Truxton King as these first tremendous inhalations of pure, free air.
She felt his muscles expand; his whole body grew stronger and more
vital. Her heart was pounding violently against his leg; he could feel
its throbs, he could hear the quick, eager panting of her breath.
It was now that he began to wonder, to calculate against the plans of
their silent escort. Whither were they bound? When would his chance come
to strike the final, surprising blow? Only the greatest effort at
self-control kept him from ruining everything by premature action; his
exultation was getting the better of him. Coolness and patience were
greater assets now than strength and daring.
The boat turned in mid-stream and shot swiftly up the river, past the
black fortress with its scattered sentry lights, where slept a garrison
in sweet ignorance of the tragedy that was to come upon them when the
sun was high. The lights of the city itself soon peeped down into the
rain-swept waters; music from the distant cafés came faintly to the ears
of the midnight voyagers. A safe haven at their very elbows, and yet
unattainable.
The occasional creak of an oar, a whispered oath of dismay, the heavy
breathing of toilers, the soft blowing of the mist-that was all; no
other sound on the broad, still river. It was, indeed, a night fit for
the undertaking at hand.
Truxton began to chafe under the strain. His uneasiness was increased by
the certain conviction that before long they would be beyond the city,
the walls of which were gradually slipping past He could not even so
much as guess at their destination. There was also the likelihood of
encountering reinforcements, sent out to meet the boatmen, or for
protection at the time of landing. A hundred doubts and misgivings
assailed him. To suddenly open fire on the rascals went against the
grain. A dashing, running fight on shore was more to his liking. An
ill-timed move would foil them even as success was in their grasp.
He considered their chances if he were to overturn the frail boat and
strike out for shore in the darkness. This project he gave up at once:
he did not know the waters nor the banks between which they glided. They
were past the walls now and rowing less stealthily. Before long they
would be in a position to speak aloud; it would be awkward for him. The
situation was rapidly growing more and more desperate; the time was near
at hand when the final effort would have to be exerted. He slipped the
revolver from his pocket; somehow he was unable to keep his teeth from
chattering; but it was through excitement, not fear.
Suddenly the boat turned to the right and shot toward the unseen bank.
They were perhaps half a mile above the city wall. Truxton's mind was
working like a trip-hammer. He was recalling a certain nomad settlement
north of the city, the quarters of fishermen, poachers and
horse-traders: a squalid, unclean community that lay under the walls
between the northern gates and the river. These people, he was not slow
to surmise, were undoubtedly hand in glove with Marlanx, if not so
surely connected with the misguided Committee of Ten. This being the eve
of the great uprising, it was not unlikely that a secret host lay here
awake and ready for the foul observance of the coming holiday; here, at
least, chafed an eager, vicious, law-hating community of mendicants and
outcasts.
He had little time to speculate on the attitude of the denizens of this
unwholesome place. The prow of the boat grated on the pebbly bank, and
Peter Brutus leaped over the edge into the shallow water.
"Come on, Julius--hand her over to me!" he cried, making his way to the
stern.
As he leaned over the side to seize the girl in his arms, Truxton King
brought the butt of the heavy revolver down upon his skull. Brutus
dropped across the gunwale with a groan, dead to all that was to happen
in the next half hour or more.
King was anxious to avoid the hullaballoo that shooting was sure to
create on shore. Action had been forced upon him rather precipitously,
but he was ready. Leaning forward, he had the two amazed oarsmen covered
with the weapon.
"Hands up! Quick!" he cried. Two pairs of hands went up, together with
strange oaths. Truxton's eyes had grown used to the darkness; he could
see the men quite plainly. "What are you doing?" he demanded of Loraine,
who, behind him, was fumbling in the garments of the unconscious Brutus.
"Getting his revolver," she replied, with a quaver in her voice.
"Good!" he said exultantly. "Let's think a minute," he went on. "We
don't dare turn these fellows loose, even if we disarm them. They'll
have a crowd after us in two minutes." Still, keeping the men covered,
he cudgelled his brain for the means of disposing of them. "I have it.
We must disarm them, tie them up and set 'em adrift. Do you mind getting
out into the water? It's ankle deep, that's all. I'll keep them covered
while you take their guns."
"Nice way to treat a friend," growled one of the men.
"A friend? By George, it's my Newport acquaintance. Well, this is a
pleasure! I suppose you know that I'll shoot if you resist. Better take
it quietly."
"Oh, you'll shoot, all right," said the other. "I told them damn fools
that a Yankee'd get the better of 'em, even if they ran a steam roller
over him two or three times. Say, you're a pippin! I'd like to take off
my hat to you."
"Don't bother. I acknowledge the tribute."
Loraine Tullis was in the water by this time. With nervous haste she
obeyed King's instructions; the big revolvers were passed back to him.
"I've changed my mind," said Truxton' suddenly. "We'll keep the boat.
Get in, Miss Tullis. There! Now, push off, Newport."
"What the devil--" began Newport, but King silenced him. The boat slowly
drifted out into the current.
"Now, row!" he commanded. With his free hand he reached back and dragged
the limp Brutus into the boat. "'Gad, I believe he's dead," he muttered.
For five minutes the surly oarsmen pulled away, headed in the direction
from which they came.
"Can you swim?" demanded King.
"Not a stroke," gasped Newport. "Good Lord, pal, you're not going to
dump us overboard. It's ten feet deep along here."
"Pull on your left, hard. That's right. I'm going to land you on the
opposite shore-and then bid you a cheerful good-night."
Two minutes later they ran up under the western bank of the stream,
which at this point was fully three hundred yards wide. The nearest
bridge was a mile and a half away and habitations were scarce, as he
well knew. Under cover of the deadly revolver, the two men dropped into
the water, which was above their waists; the limp form of Peter Brutus
was pulled out and transferred to the shoulders of his companions.
"Good-night," called out Truxton King cheerily. He had grasped the
oars; the little boat leaped off into the night, leaving the cursing
desperadoes waist-deep in the chilly waters.
"See you later," sang out Newport, with sudden humour.
"We'll go south," said Truxton King to the girl who sat in the stern,
clutching the sides of the boat with tense fingers. "I don't know just
where we'll land, but it won't be up in Devil's Patch, you may rest
assured of that. Pardon me if I do not indulge in small talk and
bonmots; I'm going to be otherwise employed for some time, Miss Tullis.
Do you know the river very well?"
"Not at all," she replied. "I only know that the barge docks are below
here somewhere. I'm sure we can get into the city if we can find the
docks. Let me take the oars, too, Mr. King. I can row."
"No. Please sit where you are and keep your eyes ahead. Can you see
where we're going?"
"I can see the lights. We're in mid-stream, I think. It's so very dark
and the wind is coming up in a gale. It's--it's going to storm. Don't
you think we'd better try for a landing along the walls? They say the
river is very treacherous." She was trembling like a leaf.
"I'll row over to the east side, but I don't like to get too close to
the walls. Some one may have heard the shouts of our friends back
there."
Not another word passed between them for ten or twelve minutes. She
peered anxiously ahead, looking for signs of the barge dock, which lay
somewhere along this section of the city wall. In time, of course, the
marooned desperadoes might be expected to find a way to pursue them, or,
at least, to alarm watchful confederates on the city side of the river.
It was a tense, anxious quarter of an hour for the liberated pair. So
near to absolute safety, and yet so utterly in the dark as to what the
next moment, might develop--weal or woe.
At least the sound of rapidly working rowlocks came to the girl's ears.
They were slipping along in the dense blackness beneath the walls,
making as little noise as possible and constantly on the lookout for the
long, low dock.
"They're after us," grated Truxton, in desperation. "They've got word to
friends one way or another. By Jove! I'm nearly fagged, too. I can't
pull much farther. Hello! What's this?"
The side of the boat caromed off' a solid object in the water, almost
spilling them into the wind-blown river.
"The docks!" she whispered. "We struck a small scow, I think. Can you
find your way in among the coal barges?"
He paddled along slowly, feeling his way, scraping alongside the big
barges which delivered coal from the distant mines to the docks along
the river front. At last he found an opening and pushed through. A
moment later they were riding under the stern of a broad, cargoless
barge, plumb up against the water-lapped piles of the dock.
Standing in the bow of the boat he managed to pull himself up over the
slippery edge. It was the work of a second to draw her up after him.
With an oar which he had thought to remove beforehand, he gave the boat
a mighty shove, sending it out into the stream once more.
Then, hand in hand, they edged slowly, carefully along the gravel-strewn
dock, between vast piles of lumber and steep walls of coal. It was only
necessary to find the railway company's runways leading into the yards
above; in time of peace there was little likelihood that the entrances
to the dock would be closed, even at night.
Loud curses came up from the river, proclaiming the fact that the
pursuers had found the empty boat. Afterwards they were to learn that
"Newport's" shouts had brought a boatload of men from the opposite bank,
headed by the innkeeper, in whose place Loraine was to have encountered
Marlanx later on, if plans had not miscarried. She was to have remained
in this outside inn until after the sacking of the city on the following
day. The girl translated one remark that came up to them from the
boatload of pursuers:
"The old man is waiting back there. He'll kill the lot of us if we don't
bring the girl."
By this time King had located the open space which undoubtedly afforded
room for the transfer of cargoes from the dock to the company's yards
inside the walls. Without hesitation he drew her after him up this wide,
sinister roadway. They stumbled on over the rails of the "dummy track,"
collided with collier trucks, slipped on the soggy chutes, but all the
while forged ahead toward the gates that so surely lay above them.
The pursuers were trying for a landing, noisily, even boisterously. It
struck Truxton as queer that these men were not afraid of alarming the
watchmen on the docks or the man at the gate above. Suddenly it came to
him that there would be no one there to oppose the landing of the
miscreants. No doubt hundreds of men already had stolen through these
gates during the night, secreting themselves in the fastnesses of the
city, ready for the morrow's fray. It is no small wonder that he
shuddered at the thought of it.
There was no one on the wharf--at least, no one in sight. They rushed up
the narrow railway chutes and through one of the numerous gateways that
opened out upon the barge docks. No one opposed them; no one was
standing guard. From behind came the sound of rushing footsteps.
Lightning flashed in the sky and the rumble of thunder broke over the
desolate night.
"They'll see us by the lightning," gasped Truxton, almost ready to drop
from faintness and exhaustion. He was astounded, even alarmed, to find
that his strength had been so gravely depleted by confinement and lack
of nourishment.
They were inside the city walls. Ahead of them, in that labyrinth of
filthy streets lay the way to the distant square. His arm was now about
her waist, for she was half-fainting; he could hear her gasping and
moaning softly, inarticulate cries of despair. Switch-lights blinked in
the distance. Off to the right of them windows showed lights; the clang
of a locomotive bell came to them as from a great distance.
Their progress was abruptly halted by the appearance of a man ahead,
standing like a statue in the middle of the network of tracks. They
stumbled toward him, not knowing whether he was friend or foe. One look
into their faces, aided by the flare of a yardman's lantern, and the
fellow turned tail and fled, shouting as he did so.
Following a vivid flash of lightning, two shots were fired by the men
who were now plunging up through the gates, a hundred yards or more
away. The same flash of lightning showed to King the narrow, muddy
street that stretched ahead of them, lined with low, ugly houses of a
nondescript character. Instead of doing the obvious thing, he turned
sharply to the left, between the lines of freight cars. Their progress
was slow; both were ready to drop; the way was dark and unknown to
them.
At last they came to the end of their rope: they were literally up
against the great city wall! They had reached the limits of the railway
yards and were blocked on all sides by they knew not how many rows of
cars. Somewhere off to the right there were streets and houses and
people, but they did not have the strength to try to reach them.
A car door stood open in front of them. He waited for a second flash of
lightning to reveal to him the nature of its interior. It was quite
empty. Without hesitation he clambered in and pulled her up after him.
They fell over, completely fagged.
A few minutes later the storm broke. He managed to close the door
against the driving torrents.
She was sobbing plaintively, poor, wet, bedraggled sweetheart--he called
her that, although she did not hear him.
"We've fooled them," he managed to whisper, close to her ear. "They
won't look here. You're safe, Loraine. 'Gad, I'd like to see any one get
you away from me now."
She pressed his arm, that was all. He found himself wondering what
answer she would give to Vos Engo when he took her to him to-morrow.
To-morrow! This was the 26th! Would there be a to-morrow for any of
them--for Vos Engo, for Tullis, for the Prince? For _her_?
"There will be time to warn them in the morning," he thought, dulled by
fatigue. "We can't go on now."
"Truxton," he heard her saying, tremulously, "do you think we can do
anything for them--the Prince and those who are with him? How can we lie
here when there is so much to be done?"
"When the storm abates--when we are rested--we will try to get away
from here. Those devils know that I will give the alarm. They will have
hundreds of men watching to head us off. It means everything to them.
You see, I know their plans. But, Loraine, dear little girl, brave as
you are and willing as I am, we can't go on until we've pulled ourselves
together. We're safe here for awhile. Later on, we'll try to steal up to
the city. They will be watching every approach to the Castle and to the
Tower, hoping to stop me in time. We must out-fox them again. It will be
harder, too, little girl. But, if I don't do any more, I pledge you that
I'll save you from Marlanx."
"Oh, I know you will. You must, Truxton."
"I'd--I'd like to be sure that I am also saving you from Vos Engo. I
hate to think of you throwing yourself away on one of these blithering,
fortune-hunting noblemen." She pressed his arm again. "By Jove, it's
great fun being a hero, after all--and it isn't so difficult, if the
girl helps you as you helped me. It's too bad I couldn't do it all by
myself. I have always counted on rescuing you from an Ogre's castle or
something of that sort. It's rather commonplace as it is, don't you
think?"
"I don't--know what--you're talking about," she murmured. Then she was
fast asleep.
The storm raged; savage bursts of wind rocked the little freight car;
the rain hissed viciously against their frail hotel; thunder roared and
lightning rent sky and earth. The weary night-farers slept with
pandemonium dinning in their ears.
He sat with his back against the side of the car, a, pistol in one hand,
the other lying tenderly upon the drenched hair of the girl whose head
rested upon his leg. She had slipped down from his shoulder; he did not
have the desire or the energy to prevent it. At his side lay the
discarded whiskers. Manfully as he had fought against the impelling
desire to sleep, he could not beat it off. His last waking thought was
of the effort he must make to reach Dangloss with the warning.
Then the storm abated; the soft drip of rain from the eaves of the car
beat a monotonous tattoo in the pools below; the raw winds from the
mountains blew stealthily in the wake of the tornado, picking up the
waste that had been left behind only to cast it aside with a moan of
derision.
Something stirred in the far end of the car. A still, small noise as of
something alive that moved with the utmost wariness. A heavy, breathing
body crept stealthily across the intervening space; so quietly that a
mouse could have made but little less noise.
Then it stopped; there was not a sound inside the car except the deep,
regular breathing of Truxton King. The girl's respiration was so faint
that one might have thought she did not breathe at all. Again the sly,
cautious movement of a heavy body; the creaking of a joint or two, the
sound of a creature rising from a crouching position to the upright;
then the gentle rubbing of cloth, the fumbling of fingers in a stubborn
pocket.
An instant later the bluish flame of a sulphur match struggled for life,
growing stronger and brighter in the hand of a man who stood above the
sleepers.