Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Real Gold, by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
REAL GOLD, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
A CHAT IN A BOAT.
"Bother the old fish!"
"Yes; they won't bite."
"It's no good, Perry; they are having their siesta. Let's get in the
shade and have one too."
"What! in the middle of the day--go to sleep? No, thank you. I'm not a
foreigner."
"More am I; but you come and live out here for a bit, and you'll be
ready enough to do as the Romans--I mean the Spaniards--do."
"Not I, Cyril, and I don't believe fish do go to sleep."
"What? Why, I've seen them lie in shoals here, perfectly still; basking
in the hot sunshine, fast asleep."
"With their eyes shut?"
"Gammon! Fish can't shut their eyes."
"Then they can't go to sleep.--My! it is hot. I shan't fish any more."
Two boys sitting in a boat half a mile from the shore, and sheltered by
a ridge of rocks from the tremendous swell of the vast Pacific Ocean,
which to north and south curled over in great glistening billows upon
the sand--in the former instance, to scoop it out, carry it back, and
then throw it up farther away; in the latter, to strike upon sheer rocks
and fly up in silver spray with a low deep sound as of muttered thunder.
Away to the west there was the great plain of smooth damasked silver,
lost at last in a faint haze, and all so bright that the eyes ached and
were dazzled by its sheen. To the east, the bright-looking port of San
Geronimo, with a few ships, and half-a-dozen long, black, red-funnelled
screw-steamers at anchor; beyond them wharves and warehouses, and again
beyond these the houses of the little town, with a few scattered white
villas rising high on terrace and shelf of the steep cliffs. The place
looked bright and attractive seen from the distance, but dry and barren.
Nothing green rested and refreshed the eye. No trees, no verdant slope
of lawn or field; nothing but sand in front, glittering rock behind.
Everything suggested its being a region where no rain fell.
But, all the same, it had its beauty. More, its grandeur, for
apparently close at hand, though miles away in the clear distance, rose
the great Sierra--the mighty range of mountains, next to the Himalayas
the highest in the world--and seeming to rise suddenly like a gigantic
wall right up into the deep blue sky, cloudless, and dazzling with the
ice and snow.
The two boys, both of them, though fair by nature, tanned now of a warm
reddish brown, were of about the same age, and nearly the same physique;
and as now they twisted the stout lines they had been holding round the
thole pins of the boat, which softly rose and fell with a pleasant
lulling motion, the first who had spoken unfastened the neck-button of
his shirt.
"Hullo! Going to bathe?"
"Bathe! No, thankye. I should wake up the sharks: they'd bite then."
"Ugh!"
"Yes, you may shudder. They grow fine about here. Why, before I'd made
a dozen strokes, you'd hear me squeak, and see me go down and never come
up again."
"How horrid! You don't mean it, though, do you?"
"Yes, it's true enough. I'm going to have a nap."
As the boy spoke, he lay back in the stern of the boat, and placed his
broad Panama hat over his face.
"I say, Perry, old chap!" he continued, with his voice sounding whistly
through the closely-woven hat.
"What?"
"If you smell me burning, wake me up."
"All right," said the lad addressed as Perry; and resting his elbows on
his knees, he sat gazing up at the huge towering mountain nearest at
hand for a few minutes, then:
"Cil!"
"Hullo!" drowsily.
"Don't go to sleep, old chap; I want to talk to you."
"I can't go to sleep if you talk. What is it?"
"I say, how rum it seems for it to be boiling hot down here, and all
that ice and snow to be up there. Look."
"Yes," said Cyril, "'tis its nature to. I don't want to look. Seen it
before."
"But how far is it up to where the snow is--a thousand feet?"
"What?" cried Cyril, starting up into a sitting position, with his hat
falling off.
"I said how far is it up to where the snow is?"
"I know you did," cried the boy, laughing, "and you said, was it a
thousand feet?"
"Yes, and it was stupid of me. It must be twice as high."
"Perry Campion, you are a greenhorn. I say: no offence meant; but my
dear, fresh, innocent, young friend, that snow is three miles high."
"Well, I know that, of course. It must be much more to where it is."
"Sixty or seventy," said Cyril, whose drowsiness had departed, and who
was now all life and eagerness. "The air's so clear here that it's
horribly deceiving. But I didn't mean that: I meant that the snow's
quite three miles straight up perpendicular in the air."
"Nonsense!"
"But I tell you it is. If you were to rise straight up in a balloon
from here, you'd have to go up three miles to get on a level with the
snow."
Perry Campion looked fixedly at his companion, but there was no
flinching.
"I'm not gammoning you," said Cyril earnestly. "Things are so much
bigger out here than they look."
"Then how big--how high is that mountain?" said Perry.
"Nearly four miles."
"But it seems to be impossible."
"It isn't, though," said Cyril. "That one's over twenty thousand feet
high, and father has seen much bigger ones up to the north. I say,
squire, you've got some climbing to do. You won't hop over those hills
very easily."
"No," said Perry thoughtfully. "It will be a climb."
"I say: whereabouts are you going?"
"I don't know. Right up in the mountains somewhere."
"But what are you going for?"
"I don't know that either. To travel, I suppose."
"Oh, but the colonel must be going for something," cried Cyril. "I
believe I know."
"Do you? What?"
"Well, you don't want me to tell you. I suppose the colonel has told
you not to tell anybody."
"No," said Perry quickly. "He has not told me. Why do you think he's
going?"
"Prospecting. To search out a good place for a mine."
Perry looked at him eagerly.
"The Andes are full of places where there might be mines. There's gold,
and silver, and quicksilver, and precious stones. Lots of treasures
never been found yet."
"Yes, I've heard that there are plenty of minerals," said Perry
thoughtfully.
"And besides," said Cyril, grinning, "there's all the gold and silver
that belonged to the Incas. The Indians buried it, and they have handed
down the secret of the different places to their children."
"Who have dug it up and spent it," said Perry.
"No. They're too religious. They dare not. They keep the secret of
the places till the Incas come again to claim their country, and then it
will all be dug up, golden wheels, and suns, and flowers, and cups, and
things that the Spaniards never found. That's it; your father's going
after the treasures. But if he is, you'd better look out."
"Why?"
"Because if the Indians thought you were after that, they'd kill you in
no time."
Perry looked at him searchingly.
"Oh, I mean it," said Cyril. "Father has often talked about it, and he
says that the Indians consider it a religious duty to protect the
hiding-places of these treasures. There was a man took a party with him
up into the mountains on purpose to search for them."
"Well? Did he find anything?"
"Don't know. Nobody ever did know."
"How was that?"
"He never came back. Nor any of his people."
"Why? What became of them?"
"I tell you they went up into the mountains and never came back. The
Indians know what became of them."
"But was no search made for them--no examination made of the Indians?"
cried Perry, looking aghast.
"Search! Where? Indians! What Indians?" said Cyril sharply. "You
forget how big the place is, and what great forests and wilds there are
over the other side."
"But it sounds so horrible for a party like that to disappear, and no
more to be heard of them," said Perry.
"Yes, but the Indians are savages, and, as father said, they think they
are doing their duty against people who have no right in the country, so
your father will have to look out. I wish I were going with you, all
the same."
"You're safer in San Geronimo, if it's as bad as you say," cried Perry.
"Oh, it's bad enough, but I shouldn't mind."
There was silence for a few minutes, during which time both lads sat
gazing dreamily up at the vast range of mountains before them, with its
glittering peaks, dark cavernous valleys, and mysterious shades, towards
where the high tablelands lay which had been the seat and home of the
barbaric civilisation of the Incas, before ruin and destruction came in
the train of the Spanish adventurers who swept the land in search for El
Dorado, the City of Gold.
Perry Campion was the first to break the silence.
"How long have you been out here, Cyril?--Cil, I say, I shall call you
Cil."
"All right, I don't mind, only it won't be for long. You go next week,
don't you?"
"Yes, I suppose so," said Perry, glancing again at the mountains.
"Wish I were going with you. What did you say?--how long have I been
out here? Nearly four years. Father sent me over to England to be
educated when I was six, and I was at a big school at Worksop till I was
twelve, and then he sent for me to come out here again."
"Weren't you glad?"
"Of course. It was very jolly at school; but school isn't home, is it?"
"Of course not."
"Father said I could go on reading with him, and it would brush up his
classics, which had grown rusty since he turned merchant."
"Wasn't he always a merchant, then?"
"My father?" cried Cyril. "No, he was a captain in the army, and had to
give up on account of his health. The doctors said he was dying. That
was twelve years ago; but he doesn't look like dying now, does he?"
"No, he looks wonderfully strong and well."
"Yes. This place suited him and mother because it was so dry."
"And then he took to being a merchant?"
"Yes; and ships off drugs, and minerals, and guano, and bark."
"What! for tanning?"
"Tanning! Ha! ha! No, no; Peruvian bark, that they make quinine of.
Physic for fevers."
"Oh! I see."
"It's very jolly, and he makes plenty of money; but I do get so tired
sometimes. I should like to go to sea, or to travel, or something. I
hate being always either at studies or keeping accounts. I wish I were
going along with you."
"To be killed by the Indians," said Perry drily.
"I should like to catch 'em at it," cried Cyril. "But I'd risk it.
What an adventure, to go with your father to hunt out the places where
the Indians buried the Incas' gold!"
"My father did not say he was going in search of that," said Perry.
"No; he's too close. But that's it, safe enough; you see if it isn't.
Only think of it--right up in the grand valleys, where it's almost dark
at mid-day, and you walk along shelves over the torrents where there
isn't room for two mules to pass, and there are storms that are quite
awful sometimes. I say, I'd give anything to go."
"I wish you were going, Cil."
"You do?" cried the boy excitedly. "I say: do you mean that?"
"Of course I do," said Perry, looking amused at his companion's
eagerness. "We've got on right enough together since we have been
staying at your house."
"Got on? I should think we have," cried Cyril. "Why, it has been no
end of a treat to me for you to be at our place. I can't get on very
well with the half-Spanish chaps about here. They're gentlemen, of
course, with tremendously grand descents from Don this and Don that; but
they're not English boys, and you can't make English boys of them."
"Of course not."
"Ah, you may laugh," continued Cyril, "but would you believe it? I
tried to get up a cricket club, and took no end of pains to show them
the game, and they all laughed at it, and said I must be half mad.
That's being Spanish, that is! It's no wonder their country's left all
behind."
"Then the cricket was a failure?" said Perry.
"Failure? It ended in a fight, and I went home and burned the stumps,
bats, and balls."
"What a pity!" cried Perry.
"That's what father said, and it did seem too bad, after he'd had the
tackle brought out from England on purpose. I was sorry afterwards; but
I was so jolly wild then, I couldn't help it."
"How came there to be a fight?" said Perry after a pause, during which
he watched the frank, handsome face of his companion, who was looking at
the great peak again.
"Oh, it was all about nothing. These Spanish chaps are so cocky and
bumptious, and ready to take everything as being meant as an insult.
Little stupid things, too, which an English boy wouldn't notice. I was
bowling one evening, and young Mariniaz was batting. Of course he'd got
his bat and his wits, and he ought to have taken care of himself. I
never thought of hitting him, but I sent in a shooter that would have
taken off the bail on his side, and instead of blocking it, he stepped
right before the wicket."
"What for?" said Perry.
"Ah, that's more than I know," said Cyril; "and the next moment he
caught it right in the centre of his--er--middle."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Perry merrily.
"It knocked all the wind out of him for a minute, and then, as soon as
he could speak, he was furious, and said I did it on purpose--in
Spanish--and I said it was an accident that all people were liable to in
cricket, and that they ought to be able to defend themselves. Then he
said he was able to defend himself."
"That meant fighting," cried Perry, growing more interested.
"Of course it did, but I wasn't going to notice it, for the mater said I
was to be very careful not to get into any quarrel with the Spanish
fellows, because they are none too friendly about my father being here.
They're jealous because he's a foreigner, when all the time there isn't
a more splendid fellow living than my father," cried the boy warmly.
"You don't half know him yet."
"Well, what happened then?" said Perry, as he noted the warm glow in the
boy's cheeks and the flash of his eyes.
"Oh, Mariniaz appealed to three or four of the others, and they sided
with him, and said that they saw me take a long breath and gather myself
up and take a deadly aim at his chest, and then hurl the ball with all
my might, as if I meant to kill him."
"What rubbish!" cried Perry.
"Wasn't it? You couldn't teach chaps like that to play cricket, could
you?"
"Of course not. They didn't want to learn."
"That was it; and they egged Mariniaz on till he called me an English
beast, and that upset me and made my tongue loose."
"Well?"
"He said he knew from the first I had a spite against him, and had been
trying to knock him over with the ball; and, feeling what a lie it was,
I grew pepper, and told him it wasn't the first time an English ball had
knocked over a Spaniard, for I got thinking about our old chaps playing
bowls when the news came about the Armada."
"Yes?" cried Perry, for Cyril had stopped.
"Well, then, he turned more yellow than usual, and he gave me a
backhanded smack across the face."
"And what did you do?" cried Perry hotly, for the boy once more stopped.
"Oh, I went mad for a bit."
"You--went mad?"
"I suppose so. My mother said I must have been mad, so I expect I was."
"But you don't tell me," cried Perry impatiently. "What did you do?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do: tell me."
"I can't recollect, and I never could. I only know I turned very hot
and saw sparks, and that there was a regular banging about, and
sometimes I was up and sometimes I was down; and then all at once I was
standing there, with Mariniaz lying on the ground crying, and with his
nose bleeding. Another chap was sitting holding his handkerchief to one
eye, and two more were being held up by some of the players, who were
giving one of them some water to drink, while the other was showing them
a tooth which he held in his fingers."
"Then you'd whacked four of them?" cried Perry excitedly.
"I don't know," said Cyril, with his face screwed up. "I suppose I had
been knocking them about a bit, and they wouldn't fight any more. They
all said I was an English savage, and that I ought to be sent out of the
place; and then I began to get a bit cooler, and felt sorry I had
knocked them all about so much."
"I don't see why you should," cried Perry.
"But I did. It made such an upset. There was no end of a bother. My
mother cried about it when I went home, and said I should never look
myself again; and when my father came home and saw me with bits of
sticking plaster all over my face and knuckles, he was in a regular
passion, for he had been hearing about it in the town, and had words
with the other boys' fathers. Then he made me tell him all about it
from the beginning, sitting back, looking as fierce and stern as could
be, till I had done; and I finished off by saying, `What would you have
done if you had been me?'
"`Just the same as you did, Cil, my boy,' he cried, shaking hands; and
then my mother looked astonished, and he sat back in his chair and
laughed till he cried. `Why, mother,' he said, `they tell us that the
English stock is falling off. Not very much, eh? One English to four
Spanish.'
"`But it's so terrible,' my mother said. `Yes,' said my father,
`fighting is very disgraceful. No more of it, Cil, my lad; but I've
made a mistake: I ought to have made a soldier of you, after all.' I
say, though, Perry, I do wish I were going with you, all the same."
"I tell you what," cried Perry; "I'll ask my father to ask yours to let
you go with us."
"You will?" cried Cyril, making a rush.
"Mind! we shall have the boat over."
It was a narrow escape, but by sitting down they made the boat right
itself.
"Yes, I'll ask him to. I say, though, it isn't so dangerous as you say,
is it?"
"They say it is, particularly if you are going to hunt for the gold the
Indians have buried."
"But I don't know that we are. Would you go, even if it is so
dangerous."
"Of course I would," cried Cyril excitedly. "I do so want a change.
Ahoy! Hurray! Dinner!"
"Eh? Where?" cried Perry.
"Look. Father's hoisting the flag."
He pointed in the direction of one of the white villas up on the high
cliff slope, where a union jack was being run up a tall signal staff by
a figure in white, clearly seen in the bright sunshine, while another
figure was evidently using a telescope.
"There's my father watching us," said Perry, shading his eyes.
"Lend a hand here and help to haul up this stone," cried Cyril, and
together the boys hauled up the heavy block which served for an anchor.
Five minutes after, they were rowing steadily for the wharf--Incas'
treasure, perils from Indians, fights with Spanish boys, and heights of
snow peaks forgotten in the one important of all questions to a hungry
youth--_Dinner_.
CHAPTER TWO.
A FAILURE.
Dinner was over at Captain Norton's. Mrs Norton had left the
dining-room, after begging her son and his visitor not to go out in the
broiling heat. The boy had promised that he would not, and after he had
sat listening to Colonel Campion's--a keen grey-haired man, thin, wiry
in the extreme, and giving promise of being extremely active--talk to
his father about the preparations for his trip up into the mountains,
Cyril gave Perry a kick under the table, and rose.
Taking the sharp jar upon his shin to mean telegraphy and the sign,
"Come on," Perry rose as well, and the two boys, forgetful of all
advice, went and sat in the dry garden, where every shrub and plant
seemed to be crying out for water, and looked as if it were being
prepared for a _hortus siccus_ beloved of botanists, and where the sun
came down almost hot enough to fry.
Here the boys had a long discussion about the promise Perry had made in
the boat; after which they waited for an opportunity.
Meanwhile, as the two gentlemen sat chatting over their cigarettes,
Captain Norton, a frank, genial, soldierly-looking man, said:
"So you mean to take all the risks?"
"Risks!" said the colonel, turning his keen eyes upon the speaker, as he
let the smoke from his cigarette curl up toward the ceiling. "You an
old soldier, and ask that?"
"Yes," said Captain Norton. "I have been here a long time now, and know
something of the country."
"Are the risks so very great, then?"
"To an ordinary traveller--no: to a man going with some special object
or search--yes."
"I did nut say that I was going on a special search," said Colonel
Campion quickly.
"No, but everything points to it; and as you came to me with letters of
introduction from an old friend and brother-officer, I receive you as my
friend, and treat you as I would a brother."
"And as the man whom you treat as a brother, I am very reticent, eh?"
"Very," said Cyril Norton's father; "and if I try to know why you are
going upon so perilous a journey, it is not from curiosity, but because
I am eager to save you from running into danger."
Colonel Campion held out his hand, which was taken, and the two men sat
for a few moments gazing in each other's eyes.
"If I spoke out, Norton, you would immediately do everything you could
to prevent me from going, instead of helping me; so I am silent, for I
have made up my mind to go, and no persuasion would stop me."
"Then you are going on an insane quest of the treasures of gold said to
have been buried by the Incas' followers to preserve them from the
Spaniards."
"Am I?" said the colonel quietly.
"I take it for granted that you are; so now, listen. It will be a very
dangerous search. That the gold exists, I do not doubt; and I feel
pretty sure that the Indians have had it handed down from father to son.
Where this gold is hidden in the mountains is a sacred trust, which
they in their superstitious natures dare not betray. It means death to
any one who discovers one of these hoards."
"If found out," said the colonel, smoking, with his eyes half shut.
"He would certainly be found out," said the captain, "and if you persist
in going, you must run the risk; but I beg of you not to take that boy
Perry with you, to expose him to these dangers."
"What am I to do with him, then?"
"Leave him with us. He will be happy enough with my boy Cyril; and my
wife and I will take every care of him."
"Thank you, Norton," cried the colonel warmly; "I am most grateful. But
you are wrong: he would not be happy if he stayed here and I went alone;
I believe he would prefer running all risks with me. How odd!" added
the colonel, smiling; "here he is, to speak for himself."
For at that moment the door was softly opened, and Perry stood there,
looking startled.
"Come in, boy, come in," cried the colonel.
"I--I beg; our pardon; I thought Captain Norton had gone."
"No, and we were just talking about you."
"About me, father?"
"Yes; Captain Norton thinks it would be too risky and arduous a journey
for you up into the mountains, and he says you are to stay here and make
yourself happy with Cyril till I come back."
The lad looked delighted.
"Oh father!" he cried. Then, quick as thought, his manner changed.
"It is very good of Captain Norton," he said gravely, "but I could not
stop here and let you go alone."
"Don't be hasty, Perry, lad," said the captain kindly. "There, I'm
going down to the wharf; you and your father chat it over, and we'll
talk about it when I return."
He left the room, passing out through the veranda.
"Well," said the colonel, looking away at the window, "I think he's
right, and you had better stay, Perry."
"I don't think you do, father," replied the boy. "Besides, you promised
to take me."
"Um! Yes, I did, my lad; but circumstances have altered since then.
They say it's dangerous up there among the Indians."
"Then you had better not go, father," said Perry quickly.
"I have undertaken to go, and I am going," said the colonel firmly. "I
gave my word."
"And you can't break it, father?"
"No, my boy, not honourably."
Perry laughed softly.
"Hullo! What does that mean, sir?" cried the colonel. "Glad I am going
into danger?"
"Of course not, father," said Perry. "I was only laughing because you
promised to take me, and you can't break your word."
The colonel leaned back and laughed.
"And I've come with a petition, father," said Perry.
"Petition?"
"Yes; you said that it would be nice for me to be with Cyril Norton."
"Yes, I rather like the lad. He's a rackety, wild young dog, but
there's a good deal of the gentleman about him. But what do you mean!
You said you did not want to stay here."
"Yes, father, but he wants to stay with us."
"Stay with us? We're not going to stay here."
"I mean, go with us. He is wild to go. Take him with us, father. I
should like it so much."
"Why, Perry, my boy, you're mad," said the colonel. "If the journey is
so risky that Captain Norton wishes me to leave you here, do you think
it likely that he will let his son go?"
"Perhaps he would with you, father. He trusts you."
"Not to that extent."
"Try him, father. It would be so nice to have Cil with us."
"Nice for you, sir--double responsibility for me."
"You wouldn't mind that, father, and we would help you so."
"Yes, nice lot of help I should get from you."
"You don't know, father; but, I say, you will ask him?"
"Ask him yourself, sir," said the colonel firmly; "here he is."
For at that moment steps were heard in the veranda, and Captain Norton
appeared.
"Don't let me disturb you," he said; "I came back for some bills of
lading.--Well, Perry, you're going to stop and keep Cil company, eh?
I'll have the big boat out and newly rigged for you boys. You can fish,
and sail, and--"
"But I'm not going to stay, sir," said Perry quietly.
"Not going to stay! I'm very sorry. But you must think better of it.
Sleep on it, my lad. That journey in the mountains will be too arduous
for a lad like you."
"Oh no, sir. I'm light and strong, and--"
"Yes? And what? You are afraid of outstaying your welcome? Nonsense,
boy; you'll be conferring a favour upon us. I shall be glad for Cil to
have your company. He likes you."
Perry exchanged glances with his father, who nodded, and his eyes seemed
to say, "Now's your time."
"Yes, sir, and I like Cil. We get on together, and--and he wants to go
with us!"
Perry uttered the last words hurriedly, and then wished that he had not
said them, for the captain looked at him quite fiercely.
"What!" he exclaimed.
"Cil said he would give anything to go with us, sir, and I promised to
ask my father if he would take him."
"Well," said Captain Norton sternly, "and have you asked him?"
"Yes, sir."
"What does he say?"
"He says no," said the colonel firmly. "There is no doubt, I suppose,
that I am going to run some risks, and I begin to feel now that I am
hardly warranted in exposing my own son to these dangers. I should
certainly not be right in exposing the son of a friend to them, even if
that friend consented, which he would not. Am I right, Norton?"
"Quite right," said the gentleman addressed.
"Then we need say no more about it," cried the colonel. "Pray, my boy,
help us by dissuading your new friend from thinking about so mad a
project. We must not make Captain and Mrs Norton regret their kindness
to us."
"No, father. I understand," said Perry.
"Then there is an end of the matter," said the colonel.
"Not quite," said their host, smiling, "I am still hoping that you will
stay with us, Perry."
"No, sir," said the boy, very firmly now, "I am going with my father. I
wish, though, you would let Cil come too."
"Impossible, my lad," said the captain.
"Then now let's change the subject," said the colonel. "I do not start
yet for a week, and plenty of things may occur to alter all our opinions
and determinations."
"They will not alter mine," said the captain firmly. "If you both alter
yours, I shall be very glad. There, I must go now."
Captain Norton gave Perry a friendly nod, and left them once more.
"There, Perry, you hear?"
"Yes, father, but he may alter his mind."
"Don't expect it, my lad; Captain Norton is firm as a rock in all he
decides upon."
"So is Cyril, father."
"Not quite," said the colonel, smiling; "the stuff is soft yet, and will
have to yield. There, go and tell him you have failed."
"Yes, father," said Perry sadly.
"And you mean to go with me?"
"Of course, father."
"Very well," said the colonel, and Perry left the room.
CHAPTER THREE.
PREPARING TO START.
"Well, did you ask him?" cried Cyril eagerly, as Perry went out into the
parched garden, the boy pouncing out upon him from behind a patch of
dry-looking shrubs.
"Yes, I asked him, and then your father came in."
"Yes," said Cyril eagerly, "I saw him, and kept in hiding, because I
thought it best to leave it for you to do. Well, what did your father
say?"
"He as good as said no."
"Yes, at first," cried Cyril. "I knew he would. But he came round."
"And then your father came in."
"Yes?"
"And my father made me ask him what he had to say about it."
"Yes? Do go on, old chap. You are so slow."
"The captain was quite angry, and wouldn't listen to the idea for a
moment."
"That was because he had made his plans for you to stay with me. But he
came round, didn't he?"
"No," said Perry sadly. "He was firm as a rock, and they are both dead
against it. I should have liked for you to come, Cil."
There was a dead silence; and as Perry looked at his companion, he saw
that his brow was full of deep lines, and that the boy's face looked
hard and set, the eyes fixed, and the lips tightened together into quite
a hard crease.
Perry looked at him for a few moments, feeling pained to see the way in
which the lad took his disappointment.
"I'm so sorry, Cil," he said at last.
Cyril did not seem to have heard him, and after a pause Perry spoke
again.
"Perhaps your father will give way before we go."
"What?"
Perry started, the word sounded so sharp and harsh.
"I say perhaps he'll give way before we go."
"No, he won't. He never does. Father says a thing, and means it."
"It's very disappointing," said Perry, "but it's of no use to fret."
Cyril laughed bitterly.
"You're going," he said sharply. "It can't disappoint you."
"Yes, it can. I am disappointed. I don't care about going so much now
without you."
"Then stop here with me," cried Cyril sharply.
"I can't," was the reply. "You wouldn't give up going if you were me.
Don't let's think any more about it now, but go and do something."
Cyril made no reply, but walked straight away out of the garden and then
down towards the harbour, while Perry watched him for a few minutes
sadly, and then followed slowly, missed sight of him, and after quite a
long search found him sitting on the edge of his wharf, where the sun
beat down most fiercely, and staring straight out to sea. "Cil!" said
Perry, after going close up, but without exciting the slightest notice
of his presence.
There was no reply.
"Cil--don't be sulky with me."
"Not sulky," came with quite a snap.
"Well, angry then. It isn't my fault. I wish you could come."
"Didn't say it was your fault."
"Then why do you take it like that?"
Cyril turned upon him quite fiercely.
"What's the good of talking?" he cried. "You can't understand. You go
sailing about with your father and seeing things everywhere. I never go
even into the forest. It's horrible always shut up here with
book-keeping and classics. I wish sometimes I was only one of the
Indians, like that one yonder."
Perry felt disposed to say, which one? for there was a second Indian
close by; but wishing to brighten his companion, and turn the current of
his thoughts, he merely said:
"Well, I shouldn't wish to be a she Indian."
"Those are not shes--they're both men," said Cyril sharply.
Perry looked at the pair incredulously, for they certainly had a most
feminine aspect, being broad of figure and face, plump-cheeked, and with
thick long hair cut square across the forehead and allowed to hang down
behind. Their eyes were dreamy-looking and oblique, their faces
perfectly devoid of hair, and to add to their womanish look, they wore a
loose kind of cotton garment, which hung down from their shoulders
nearly to their ankles.
"I say, what are they doing?" said Perry, as he stared at the pair.
"Taking snuff. That's their way. They carry some in a little bag, and
when they want to take any, they put the powder in that little
siphon-like pipe, and hold it to their nose, and another one blows it
up. That one sitting down's the guide father is getting for you.--Here,
hi!"
The Indians looked round, nodded, finished the snuff-taking business,
and then came deliberately toward the boys.
"They're Antis," said Cyril, as Perry watched the two sleepy-looking
Indians curiously, and noted that they were both about his own height.
The men came close up, and stood there smiling, waiting to be spoken to;
and as Perry had hoped, their presence took Cyril out of himself for the
time.
"Been to see my father?" said Cyril in a mongrel kind of Spanish.
One of the Indians nodded.
"And his father too?"
The man replied that he was going now. So Cyril interpreted the few
words.
"That's the worst of them; and it's so hard to make them understand
exactly what you mean. He didn't know what I meant, and had not been--
What say?" For the Indian had muttered something which he repeated.
"Wants to know if I'm going too," said Cyril bitterly; and he shook his
head at the Indian, when both smiled and looked pleased.
Cyril gave his teeth a grind. "You beggars," he cried in English,
"looking glad because I'm disappointed.--And I've given that first chap
many a good tuck out, and lots of tobacco dust for snuff, and paid him
no end of times for birds he has shot with his blowpipe, besides buying
butterflies and eggs he has brought down out of the mountains. All
right, though; I'll serve them out.--I say," cried the boy, and a
complete change came over him, "can you speak Spanish?"
"I? No, not a word."
"That's a pity. You'll have to learn a few words, so as to be able to
talk to these chaps. But you'll soon pick them up--some Indian, some
Spanish, and some half-and-half. Wait a moment; I want to talk to this
chap about--about your going."
He began to speak to the man in a low voice, and then grew more and more
eager, while the Indian began by smiling and looking amused, but,
directly after, shook his head, and seemed to be refusing something
which Cyril was asking. Then Perry saw the lad put his hand in his
pocket and give the Indian a good two-bladed pocket-knife, whose
keenness he demonstrated to the great interest of the Indian, who tried
it on one of the heavy posts by the wharf, and then transferred it to
his pocket with a smile of satisfaction, nodding his head now to
everything Cyril said.
Their conversation lasted for some time, and Perry began to grow
impatient after he had satisfied his scrutiny of the two Indians'
appearance, and wondered why they should disfigure themselves by
painting horizontal lines from their noses across their cheeks.
"There," cried Cyril, speaking rather excitedly, "it's all right now.
He says he'll take great care of you, and wait upon you as if you were
his father, and always find the best places for sleeping, and mind you
don't tumble down into any of the great gaps. But, I say, Perry, old
chap, you do wish I was going, don't you?"
"Of course I do."
"Ah, well, I suppose I must give in and make the best of it, mustn't I?"
"I'm afraid so."
"And you can't write to me and tell me how you are getting on. There
are no post-offices up there."
"No, I suppose not."
"You suppose not!" cried Cyril, laughing, and looking as if his bitter
fit had quite passed away.
"Why, you're going where you'll hardly see a soul, unless you meet a
party coming down from the mines, or bringing bales of bark. There, I'm
not going to look grumpy any more, but I did feel savage for a bit."
"That's right. Let's make the best of it while we're together, and do
some more fishing, or have a mule ride or two."
"No," said Cyril decisively, "that's all over now. Father told me this
morning that I should have to work and help you make all your
preparations, for there would be no end to do. Come along. They're
going up to see your father now."
The two Indians were both moving off, and the boys followed to the
house, where they were witnesses to the meeting, Captain Norton having
followed shortly, and acting as interpreter between the parties.
"It is rather awkward," he said, "but I daresay you will soon pick up
enough of their jargon to make them understand."
"Oh yes," said the colonel. "I could gather the man's meaning from the
Spanish words he used."
"Then you will soon manage. Of course, if you had been a Spaniard, it
would have been easy enough."
"I shall not worry about that part of the business," said the colonel,
"so long as the man is willing, and will do his best. But we shall want
two others to attend to the mules."
"He understands that. He is going to bring another trustworthy fellow.
He proposed doing so himself."
"And they can manage the mules?"
"Oh yes, you may trust them. This man, Diego, as we call him, has been
in the habit of coming down from the mountains for years to trade and
sell. I consider that I was very lucky in getting him for you. When
will you start, shall I tell him?"
"On the sixth day from now."
"That is soon, is it not?"
"No; that ought to be time enough to get our mule-packs ready, and a
sufficiency of stores. I have everything else."
"Don't hurry," said Captain Norton. "You are very welcome here, and I
shall regret your going."
"I know that," said the colonel warmly, "but I am eager to begin, and
shall be restless till I start."
The captain nodded, and said a few words to the Indians, who replied,
and then took their departure, it being fully understood that they would
be there, ready, on the sixth morning.
"Ha!" exclaimed the colonel, "that is satisfactory.--Now then, Perry, my
boy, call up John Manning to unpack the luggage, and we'll make our
selection of what we mean to take. Captain Norton will keep in store
for us all that we decide to leave, and he will help us with his
experience in making our selection.--And you will help too, Cyril, will
you not?"
"Of course, sir."
"Thanks. Sorry I can't take you, my lad, but your father is right."
Those next five days passed almost like magic. Six highly-bred mules
were selected by Captain Norton's help, and furnished with packages and
hide ropes, besides more for riding purposes.
"But we shan't be able to manage so many, sir," said John Manning, a
lithe, dry-looking man of about forty, who had been the colonel's
servant when he was in the army, and had stayed with him ever since, to
Perry's great disgust; for the lad declared that he was the most
disagreeable fellow under the sun, since he was always grumbling.
It was quite true, for he found fault with everything to the two boys;
though silent, as if he were still in the ranks, in the presence of the
colonel. But he quite won Cyril's heart in one of his grumbles, and
always after, during their preparations, the boy declared that he was
capital fun, and that he liked him.
"There, young gentlemen," said John, "that's as much toggery as I can
get in the colonel's soft portmanter, and you'll have to make shift,
Master Perry, if you want any more flannels and things."
"Oh, there'll be enough, John," said Perry. "A fellow don't want
collars and cuffs up in the mountains."
"But there ain't enough, sir. The man must ha' been a hijot as made
that portmanter. If it had been six inches longer, it would have held
ever so much more."
"Why, of course it would," said Cyril contemptuously.
"It ain't my business," continued the man; "I'm only a servant. But
what ought to ha' been done was to have had Mr Cyril here with us, and
filled a portmanter up with his things. Then they'd ha' balanced quite
easy on the mule's back."
"Yes, that's what ought to have been done," said Cyril excitedly.
"I wish you'd hold your tongue, John," cried Perry angrily.
"All right, sir. Cut it out, if you like. We're in savage lands, and
there's no magistrates to stop it, for all I know. But there, sir,
that's all I can do as I see."
"How are you getting on?" cried the colonel, joining them. "All packed
now?"
"Yes, sir," said John Manning, drawing himself up stiffly.
"Did you oil the rifles and pistols?"
"Oh yes, sir; I went all over the armoury. Everything's in perfect
order."
"And the cartridges?"
"Some in every package, sir; so that you can always get a few."
"That's right."
By this time the captain had had an abundance of the most portable and
useful provisions packed, simplicity having been especially studied; and
on the evening of that fifth day, it was felt that nothing more could be
done.
"I can think of nothing else to help you, Campion," said Captain Norton.
"No, you have done wonders for me. There's only one thing I wish."
"What is it?"
"That you were coming too."
"Colonel Campion!" cried Mrs Norton, as the boys exchanged glances.
"I beg your pardon, madam," said the colonel. "I will not be so
selfish. No, I do not wish that.--Come, boys, make the most of your
last hours together. Shall you be up to see us off in the morning,
Cyril?"
"Of course," said the boy with a sigh.
"To be sure," said the captain; "and we'll ride a few miles with you--
eh, Cil?"
"No, thank you father, I'd rather not," said the lad dolefully. "I'll
bid them good-bye here.--Coming out, Perry?"
"Yes," said the latter.
"Don't be long, my lad," said the colonel. "I want you to get to bed in
good time. You must be up by four."
"Breakfast will be ready by then," said Mrs Norton.
"All right, father," said Perry, and the two lads went out into the soft
moonlight, to be accosted directly by John Manning.
"I was looking for you, Master Perry, sir," he said. "I've been
a-making of my will, and want you to see me sign it, and witness it."
"You want to sign your will?" cried Perry, laughing.
"Yes, sir; this here's going to be my last journey, I'm afraid, for one
o' them mules has marked me down. He means to kick me over the first
pressy pass we comes to."
"Don't let him," cried Cyril. "If he's going to, shove him over
instead."
John Manning stared.
"Thankye, sir, I will. Now, do you know, I never thought o' that."
"Come along, Cil," said Perry, laying his hand upon his companion's
shoulder, and they strolled along to where they could look over the
sparkling lights of the town, away across the glittering ocean, with its
broad path of silver, and then back up to the huge mountain, whose icy
top flashed in the brilliant moonbeams, while every here and there the
deep ravines marked the sides with an intense black.
They neither of them spoke, both feeling too sad at heart, but stood
there, rapt in thought about the coming morrow, till they were
interrupted by the coming of John Manning.
"Colonel says it's lights out, young gentlemen," he said respectfully.
"There's allers something wrong in this world.--You ought to ha' been
with us, Master Cyril, sir, in this forlorn-hope job. But, I suppose,
we must make the best of it."
"Yes," said Cyril bitterly. "I suppose we must."
A quarter of an hour later the lads were in their bedrooms, listening to
the hum of the mosquitoes, and feeling weary, but restless in the heat.
Cyril felt as if he could not sleep for thinking of the coming day, but
all the same, he went off soundly in spite of his depressing thoughts,
and woke up with a start, to find that his father was standing by his
bedside.
"Half-past three, my lad," he cried. "Up with you, and act like a man.
Show our visitors that you can be unselfish, and let's start them
happily upon their expedition."
Cyril tried to say, "Yes, father," cheerfully, but not a word would
come.
"Sulky?" said Captain Norton rather sternly. "I'm sorry that you turn
like that. I'll talk to you this evening, Cyril, my boy."
The boy drew his breath hard, but he said no word, only began hurriedly
to dress, as his father left the room.
CHAPTER FOUR.
THREE SHADOWS.
"Hallo, sir," cried Captain Norton, as they stood outside in the
enclosure where the mules were being loaded, "where's the a other man?"
The Indian guide looked a little troubled, but spoke out quickly in his
half-Indian, half-Spanish jargon.
"He will come. He will meet us soon in the mountains."
"Is that to be depended upon?" said the colonel harshly; for the absence
of one man of his force jarred upon his military precision.
"Yes. I have always found the Antis trustworthy."
"But we shall be a man short for the mule-driving."
"No," said Cyril quickly. "They want no driving. All you have to do is
to start the leading mule, and the others will follow right enough."
"One more thing," said the colonel, who had had many a weary march
across the hot dusty plains of India. "Ought we not to take water?"
"No; the Indians will take you from spring to spring. They know all the
streams and falls in the mountains."
The mules were laden after a good deal of squealing and kicking, and,
during the process, John Manning shook his head, and confided to Perry
that the big leading mule with the bells had squinted round and shaken
one hind-leg at him.
"He means me, Master Perry, sir. I ought to have got that will done."
"Nonsense! it's all right," cried the boy; and soon after, an
affectionate farewell was taken of the Nortons, it being decided, at the
last moment, that the captain should not accompany them. Then the
little mule train started in the darkness up the bridle road leading
straight away for the mountains, Cyril sending a cooee-like call after
them as they reached the first turn of the zigzag road, and, ten minutes
after, they were slowly rising above the town, which still lay in the
darkness below.
The guide went first quite out of sight with the leading baggage mule,
the others following; then the colonel walked next, beside his mule,
with John Manning behind him; lastly, followed Perry with his mule, and
the second Indian came last of all.
The road was fairly wide at first, giving room for three mules to have
walked abreast, but their habit was to keep in single file, and, in
spite of all efforts on Perry's part, his animal followed the example of
others, and walked close to the edge.
As the day broke, John Manning noticed the trouble his young master was
taking, and he shook his head.
"'Tain't no good, sir; I've been a-trying as hard as a man can try to
get the crittur to walk like a Christian, and he won't. One of 'em 'll
go over the edge directly, and kill hisself, and serve him right."
But the mule team plodded on, in their slow patient way, higher and
higher, while from time to time the travellers stopped to gaze back away
over the town, at the glittering, far-spreading sea, till all at once,
after surmounting the last zigzag up the side of the mountain, the
leading mule turned a sharp corner and disappeared from Perry's view,
the others following, just as if they had entered a door in the side of
the mountain. But, upon leaching the spot, Perry found that they had
entered a chasm in the slope--a huge rift, not twenty feet wide, and
made quite dim by the distance to where it opened upon the sky; while
below, it rapidly ran together, and closed some forty feet beneath the
ledge along which the path ran, and with a swift gurgling stream
hurrying downward to the shore.
It was Perry's first sight of a mountain stream whose waters came direct
from the melting snow of the heights above, where winter always reigned,
but he could see little but an occasional flash as the mules plodded on
close to the edge of the path, which, as it rose, grew narrower and more
rugged. And, as they still ascended, and the walls on either side of
the gorge shut out the light, the boy shuddered, and wondered whether
the way would become more dangerous, for, if so, he felt that he dared
not mount and ride where a false step on the part of the mule would send
him down headlong from the shelf-like track, twenty--forty--why, it must
be a hundred feet down to the stream!
"Two, I should say, boy," said the colonel, for Perry had involuntarily
spoken aloud. "Don't take any notice of the depth; you'll soon get used
to it. Look at the mules, how they keep to the very edge."
"Yes, it's horrible, father. The guides ought to train them to keep
close to the wall."
"The mules know best, boy. They are used to carry loads which spread
out on either side, and they avoid the wall because it is as dangerous.
They might catch their burden against it, and be jerked off."
"I don't think I shall ever get used to such paths as this."
The colonel laughed.
"Not in half a day," he said. "In a short space of time you will run
along them as fearlessly as if you were on an English road."
"But are there many like this?"
"Pooh, this is nothing, Perry. You are going up into a land of wonders,
where everything is so vast and grand that you will have no time to feel
nervous."
"But what are we going for?" asked Perry.
The colonel turned and looked his son full in the eye. Then, smiling:
"Wait," he said. "You will know in good time."
Perry felt abashed, and wished that he had not asked, mentally
determining not to question his father again, while, as he recalled his
conversations with Cyril, he began to feel that his new friend's ideas
must be right. Directly after, he felt sure that they were, for John
Manning edged up to him, where the path was a little wider, and said in
a whisper:
"Master won't tell you, then, Master Perry?"
"Won't tell me what?" said Perry rather shortly.