I see the reptiles, whispered Bevan, as Tom joined them. They are mustering for an attack on the south side. Just what I wish, he added, with a suppressed chuckle, for Ive got a pretty little arrangement of cod-hooks and man-traps in that direction.
As he spoke several dark figures were seen gliding among the trees. A moment later, and these made a quick silent rush over the clearing to gain the slight shelter of the shrubs that fringed the streamlet.
Just so, remarked Bevan, in an undertone, when a crash of branches told that one of his traps had taken effect; an from the row I should guess that two have gone into the hole at the same time. Ha! thats a fish hooked! he added, as a short sharp yell of pain, mingled with surprise, suddenly increased the noise.
An there goes another! whispered Tolly, scarcely able to contain himself with delight at such an effective yet comparatively bloodless way of embarrassing their foes.
And another, added Bevan; but look out now; theyll retreat presently. Give em a dose o slug as they go back, but take em low, ladsabout the feet and ankles. Its only a fancy of my dear little gal, but I like to humour her fancies.
Bevan was right. Finding that they were not only surrounded by hidden pit-falls, but caught by painfully sharp little instruments, and entangled among cordage, the Indians used their scalping-knives to free themselves, and rushed back again towards the wood, but before gaining its shelter they received the slug-dose above referred to, and instantly filled the air with shrieks of rage, rather than of pain. At that moment a volley was fired from the other side of the fortress, and several balls passed close over the defenders heads.
Surrounded and outnumbered! exclaimed Bevan, with something like a groan.
As he spoke another, but more distant, volley was heard, accompanied by shouts of anger and confusion among the men who were assaulting the fortress.
The attackers are attacked, exclaimed Bevan, in surprise; I wonder who by.
He looked round for a reply, but only saw the crouching figure of Tolly beside him.
Wheres Brixton? he asked.
Bolted into the hut, answered the boy.
Betty, exclaimed Tom, springing into the little parlour or hall, where he found the poor girl on her knees, you are safe now. I heard the voice of Gashford, and the Indians are flying. But I too must fly. I am guilty, as I have said, but my crime is not worthy of death, yet death is the award, and, God knows, I am not fit to die. Once morefarewell!
He spoke rapidly, and was turning to go without even venturing to look at the girl, when she said
Whatever your crime may be, remember that there is a Saviour from sin. Stay! You cannot leap the creek, and, even if you did, you would be caught, for I hear voices near us. Come with me.
She spoke in a tone of decision that compelled obedience. Lifting a trap-door in the floor she bade her lover descend. He did so, and found himself in a cellar half full of lumber and with several casks ranged round the walls. The girl followed, removed one of the casks, and disclosed a hole behind it.
It is small, she said, quickly, but you will be able to force yourself through. Inside it enlarges at once to a low tunnel, along which you will creep for a hundred yards, when you will reach open air in a dark, rocky dell, close to the edge of the precipice above the river. Descend to its bed, and, when free, use your freedom to escape from deathbut much more, to escape from sin. Go quickly!
Tom Brixton would fain have delayed to seize and kiss his preservers hand, but the sound of voices overhead warned him to make haste. Without a word he dropped on hands and knees and thrust himself through the aperture. Betty replaced the cask, returned to the upper room, and closed the trap-door just a few minutes before her father ushered Gashford and his party into the hut.
Chapter Five
When our hero found himself in a hole, pitch dark and barely large enough to permit of his creeping on hands and knees, he felt a sudden sensation of fearof undefinable dreadcome over him, such as one might be supposed to experience on awaking to the discovery that he had been buried alive. His first impulse was to shout for deliverance, but his manhood returned to him, and he restrained himself.
Groping his way cautiously along the passage or tunnel, which descended at first steeply, he came to a part which he could feel was regularly built over with an arch of brickwork or masonry, and the sound of running water overhead told him that this was a tunnel under the rivulet. As he advanced the tunnel widened a little, and began to ascend. After creeping what he judged to be a hundred yards or so, he thought he could see a glimmer of light like a faint star in front of him. It was the opening to which Betty had referred. He soon reached it and emerged into the fresh air.
As he raised himself, and drew a long breath of relief, the words of his deliverer seemed to start up before him in letters of fire
Use your freedom to escape from deathbut much more, to escape from sin.
I will, so help me God! he exclaimed, clasping his hands convulsively and looking upward. In the strength of the new-born resolution thus induced by the Spirit of God, he fell on his knees and tried to pray. Then he rose and sat down to think, strangely forgetful of the urgent need there was for flight.
Meanwhile Gashford and his men proceeded to question Paul Bevan and his daughter. The party included, among others, Fred Westly, Paddy Flinders, and Crossby. Gashford more than suspected the motives of the first two in accompanying him, but did not quite see his way to decline their services, even if he had possessed the power to do so. He consoled himself, however, with the reflection that he could keep a sharp eye on their movements.
No, no, Bevan, he said, when the man brought out a case-bottle of rum and invited him to drink, we have other work on hand just now. We have traced that young thief Brixton to this hut, and we want to get hold of him.
A thief, is he? returned Bevan, with a look of feigned surprise. Well, now, that is strange news. Tom Brixton dont look much like a thief, do he? (appealing to the by-standers). There must be some mistake, surely.
Theres no mistake, said Gashford, with an oath. He stole a bag o gold from my tent. To be sure he dropped it in his flight so Ive got it back again, but that dont affect his guilt.
But surely, Mister Gashford, said Bevan slowly, for, having been hurriedly told in a whisper by Betty what she had done for Tom, he was anxious to give his friend as much time as possible to escape, surely as youve come by no loss, ye can afford to let the poor young feller off this time.
No, we cant, shouted Gashford, fiercely. These mean pilferers have become a perfect pest at the diggins, an we intend to stop their little game, we do, by stoppin their windpipes when we catch them. Come, dont shilly-shally any longer, Paul Bevan. Hes here, and no mistake, so youd better hand him over. Besides, you owe us something, you know, for coming to your help agin the redskins in the nick of time.
Well, as to that I am much obliged, though, after all, it wasnt to help me you came.
No matter, exclaimed the other impatiently, you know he is here, an youre bound to give him up.
But I dont know that hes here, an I cant give him up, cause why? hes escaped.
But I dont know that hes here, an I cant give him up, cause why? hes escaped.
Escaped! impossible, there is only one bridge to this mound, and he has not crossed that since we arrived, Ill be bound. Theres a sentry on it now.
But an active young feller can jump, you know.
No, he couldnt jump over the creek, unless he was a human flea or a Rocky Mountain goat. Come, since you wont show us where he is, well take the liberty of sarchin your premises. But stay, your daughters got the name o bein a religious gal. If theres any truth in that shed be above tellin a lie. Come now, Betty, tell us, like a good gal, is Tom Brixton here?
No, he is not here, replied the girl.
Where is he, then?
I do not know.
Thats false, you do know. But come, lads, well sarch, and heres a cellar to begin with.
He laid hold of the iron ring of the trap-door, opened it, and seizing a light descended, followed by Bevan, Crossby, Flinders, and one or two others. Tossing the lumber about he finally rolled aside the barrels ranged beside the wall, until the entrance to the subterranean way was discovered.
Ho! ho! he cried, lowering the light and gazing into it. Heres something, anyhow.
After peering into the dark hole for some time he felt with his hand as far as his arm could reach.
Mind he dont bite! suggested Paddy Flinders, in a tone that drew a laugh from the by-standers.
Hand me that stick, Paddy, said Gashford, and keep your jokes to a more convenient season.
Ah! then tis always a convanient season wid me, sor, replied Paddy, with a wink at his companions as he handed the stick.
Does this hole go far in? he asked, after a fruitless poking about with the stick.
Ay, a long way. Moren a hundred yards, returned Bevan.
Well, Ill have a look at it.
Saying which Gashford pushed the light as far in as he could reach, and then, taking a bowie-knife between his teeth, attempted to follow.
We say attempted, because he was successful only in a partial degree. It must be remembered that Gashford was an unusually large man, and that Tom Brixton had been obliged to use a little force in order to gain an entrance. When, therefore, the huge bully had thrust himself in about as far as his waist he stuck hard and fast, so that he could neither advance nor retreat! He struggled violently, and a muffled sound of shouting was heard inside the hole, but no one could make out what was said.
Och! the poor cratur, exclaimed Paddy Flinders, with a look of overdone commiseration, whatll we do for im at all at all?
Lets try to pull him out, suggested Crossby.
They tried and failed, although as many as could manage it laid hold of him.
Sure he minds me of a stiff cork in a bottle, said Flinders, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, an what a most awful crack hell make whin he does come out! Lets give another heave, boys.
They gave another heave, but only caused the muffled shouting inside to increase. Och! the poor craturs stritchin out like a injin-rubber man; sure hes a fut longer than he used to behim that was a sight too long already, said Flinders.
Lets try to shove him through, suggested the baffled Crossby.
Failure again followed their united effortsexcept as regards the muffled shouting within, which increased in vigour and was accompanied by no small amount of kicking by what of Gashford remained in the cellar.
Im afeared his legsll come off altogether if we try to pull harder than weve done, said Crossby, contemplating the huge and helpless limbs of the victim with a perplexed air.
What a chance, boys, suddenly exclaimed Flinders, to pay off old scores with a tree-mendous wallopin! We could do it aisy in five or six minutes, an then lave im to think over it for the rest of his life.
As no one approved of Paddys proposal, it was finally resolved to dig the big man out and a pick and shovel were procured for the purpose.
Contrary to all expectations, Gashford was calm, almost subdued, when his friends at last set him free. Instead of storming and abusing every one, he said quietly but quickly, Let us search the bush now. He cant be far off yet, and theres moonlight enough.
Leading the way, he sprang up the cellar stair, out at the hut-door, and across the bridge, followed closely by his party.
Hooroo! yelled Paddy Flinders, as if in the irrepressible ardour of the chase, but in reality to give Brixton intimation of the pursuit, if he should chance to be within earshot.
The well-meant signal did indeed take effect, but it came too late. It found Tom still seated in absorbed meditation. Rudely awakened to the consciousness of his danger and his stupidity, he leaped up and ran along the path that Betty had described to him. At the same moment it chanced that Crossby came upon the same path at its river-side extremity, and in a few moments each ran violently into the others arms, and both rolled upon the ground.
The embrace that Crossby gave the youth would have been creditable even to a black bear, but Tom was a match for him in his then condition of savage despair. He rolled the rough digger over on his back, half strangled him, and bumped his shaggy head against the conveniently-situated root of a tree. But Crossby held on with the tenacity of sticking-plaster, shouting wildly all the time, and before either could subdue the other, Gashford and his men coming up stopped the combat.
It were vain attempting to describe the conflict of Brixtons feelings as they once more bound his arms securely behind him and led him back to Paul Bevans hut. The thought of death while fighting with man or beast had never given him much concern, but to be done to death by the rope as a petty thief was dreadful to contemplate, while to appear before the girl he loved, humiliated and bound, was in itself a sort of preliminary death. Afterwards, when confined securely in the cellar and left to himself for the night, with a few pine branches as a bed, the thought of home and mother came to him with overwhelming power, and finally mingled with his dreams. But those dreams, however pleasant they might be at first and in some respects, invariably ended with the branch of a tree and a rope with a noose dangling at the end thereof, and he awoke again and again with a choking sensation, under the impression that the noose was already tightening on his throat.
The agony endured that night while alone in the dark cellar was terrible, for Tom knew the temper of the diggers too well to doubt his fate. Still hope, blessed hope, did not utterly desert him. More than once he struggled to his knees and cried to God for mercy in the Saviours name.
By daybreak next morning he was awakened out of the first dreamless sleep that he had enjoyed, and bid get up. A slight breakfast of bread and water was handed to him, which he ate by the light of a homemade candle stuck in the neck of a quart bottle. Soon afterwards Crossby descended, and bade him ascend the wooden stair or ladder. He did so, and found the party of miners assembled under arms, and ready for the road.
Im sorry I cant help ee, said Paul Bevan, drawing the unhappy youth aside, and speaking in a low voice. I would if I could, for I owe my life to you, but they wont listen to reason. I sent Betty out o the way, lad, a-purpose. Thought it better she shouldnt see you, but
Come, come, old man, times up, interrupted Gashford, roughly; we must be off. Now, march, my young slippery-heels. I neednt tell you not to try to bolt again. Youll find it difficult to do that.