Swift and Sure Part 13

"Did you follow a road when you went off?"

"Not so much as a bridle-path."

"Could we lie in wait for the General's messenger to-morrow?"

"We might do that. I know the main direction from the camp. But where should be we if the General goes himself? He's pretty sure to, and of course he would take an escort. We couldn't tackle a crowd."

"I've got a revolver."

"One revolver wouldn't be much good. You might bring down the General and another, but then you'd be set on and done for. No: that's no good, and I can't see for the life of me that we can do anything."

"But we must, Ruggles. Isn't there some way of finding out where the Chief is?"

"You can go and ask the General, and then he'd raise his terms to 12,000."

Will was silent. It seemed, as Ruggles said, that the case was hopeless. For some time he sat thinking, thinking hard. Suddenly he got up.

"Ruggles, I'm going to the hacienda."

"Nonsense! I didn't mean it," said the man.

"I shall go. I got into the house before; I'll do it again."

"But what if you do?"

"I might hear Carabano talking."

"And you might not. It was a pure fluke before: luck won't play into your hands again."

"Wait a bit. There's Machado. Ten to one he'll be at his cabin sometime to-night waiting for an answer. The General demanded a reply by midnight. If we could only catch Machado we could wring out of him where the Chief is, and I wouldn't stick at a trifle in dealing with the wretch. He's the worst of the lot, playing the traitor in our camp, and torturing Jose. He deserves to be paid back in his own coin. I'll do it, Ruggles. It's a mercy you are here. I'll take Azito; you bring the hydroplane down with Jose, and wait at the end of the ca.n.a.l in case we have to dash for it. Once on board the hydroplane we might defy them and chance snags."

"It's dangerous, but if you're set on it I'm not the man to stay you.

I've been in tight corners myself, and I'd stretch a good many points for the Chief and O'Connor. But for any sake be careful. If they are to be shot we can't alter it, and what's the good of three being murdered instead of two?"

"All right. I won't run my head into a noose if I can help it. I'll start just before dark. You'll take care how you go down, won't you? It would be a disaster if you were wrecked."

"Trust me, Mr. Pentelow. I hope you'll have as easy a job as I shall."

In half-an-hour Will set off with Azito. They went, as they had gone in the morning, across the old camp to the farther side of the railway line, but instead of plunging into the forest, ventured to steal along at the foot of the embankment. It was pitch dark by the time they arrived opposite the new camp. Crawling up the embankment, they lay on the top to take a good look around before going farther. There were fires in the camp, but these were beginning to die down: apparently the men had already cooked their evening meal. They could see the dark forms of the sentries as they pa.s.sed between the tents. The house was lit up.

They crept along the embankment until they came to the spot below which, about twenty yards from the line, stood the telegraph cabin. Will told Azito to go forward until he could see the side in which the window was.

In a few minutes the Indian returned and reported that there was no light in the cabin. Will supposed that he had come too early: the message was not expected before midnight. Yet it was strange that a man had not been left at the cabin to give Machado notice if any communication was made. It was strange, indeed, that Machado himself, considering the importance of the expected message, had not thought it worth while, or been ordered by the General, to remain constantly on duty. Will was so much surprised that he determined to creep down to the cabin and see for himself. Perhaps Machado might be taking a nap in the dark. If he were not there, Will thought it possible to remain in hiding between the cabin and the line, seize Machado when he arrived, and wring out of him the information he desired.

Bidding Azito remain on guard and warn him if he saw any sign of danger, Will descended the embankment on hands and heels and stole forward to the cabin. He listened at the wall. There was no sound from within.

The door faced the hacienda. Will peeped round the corner. The nearest tents were at least a hundred yards distant, and the fires were so low that they seemed to make the darkness only the more intense where their light did not directly fall. He crept round to the door, noiselessly lifted the latch, and, listening with his heart in his mouth, stepped in. It was pitch dark. There was not a sound. Grasping his revolver, he moved forward on tip-toe. He remembered clearly the position of the table and chair, and groped towards them, putting out his feet stealthily so that he should not knock against them and make a noise.

The table and chair were not where they had been. He touched the wall, and moved along inch by inch. To his amazement, the cabin was bare.

Table, chair, telegraph instrument--all had been removed.

What could be the meaning of this? Moving now without such extreme care, Will pa.s.sed out again and looked up to see if the wire still ran into the cabin. He could just distinguish it against the starlit sky.

He crept back towards the embankment, following the wire to the place where it left the telegraph line; and then he saw that another wire had been connected, and ran across the gardens. Evidently after what had happened at the cabin, General Carabano had taken the precaution of removing the instrument. Will peered into the darkness to see if the wire entered a tent or another cabin, but after a few yards he lost sight of it. Returning to the spot where he had left Azito, he asked him if he, with his sharper sight, could follow the course of the wire.

The Indian stood looking for a few seconds: then he said that he saw a pole about thirty yards from the house. It had not been there before.

He went a few yards farther along the embankment, and declared that the wire stretched from the pole to the house, where it ran through one of the windows in a room at the side just behind the servants' quarters.

The window was half-closed, and within the room was a light. Will could no longer doubt that this was the place where Machado was awaiting the message from Bolivar.

Difficult as Will had known his task to be, it now seemed impossible. On the former occasion of his nocturnal visit to the house the camp was half-a-mile distant. Now the tents formed the arc of a circle about it, the nearest of them being not more than a dozen yards away. Only through the camp could the house be approached. Sounds of laughter and conversation could be distinctly heard: it was clear that the men were as yet very lively. Even had they turned in for the night there were still the sentries to elude. But when Will thought of Machado sitting at his instrument in that little room, almost within stone's throw of him, he could not bring himself to give up all hope of helping his friends. Five minutes with Machado, unless he had entirely mistaken his man, would be enough to wring out of him the information he so earnestly desired. Failing that information, he felt that the Chief and Jerry O'Connor were doomed. Was there not, even now, a chance?

He resolved to wait. Nothing could be attempted while the camp was still awake. Perhaps when the men had gone into their tents for the night an opportunity for slipping past the sentries might offer. So he lay down on the embankment, with Azito beside him, to keep vigil.

Waiting is always tedious, and Will's impatience was such that he found the enforced delay almost unendurable. It was too dark for him to see his watch, and he durst not strike a light. The fires sank lower and lower, but it seemed hours before there was any sensible diminution of the sounds in the camp. It was, in fact, nearly half-past ten before silence reigned and Will thought it possible to leave his post. Bidding Azito in a whisper to follow him, he crawled down the embankment with great caution, so as not to disturb a single stone or clod of earth, and stole as softly as a cat to the part of the encampment nearest to the house.

When within a few yards of the tents, he lay on the ground to watch his opportunity. He could just see the dark form of the sentry pa.s.sing to and fro beyond the line of tents. The man's beat appeared to extend for about fifty yards, and at the end of it farthest from the house he stopped to talk to the sentry next him. Will heard the low hum of their voices. All was quiet within the house. To get into it he must pa.s.s the lighted window of Machado's room. The sentries were bound to see him. What could he do?

He lay for some minutes in sheer perplexity. The sentry pa.s.sed more than once. Suddenly he made up his mind to a desperate venture. The room next to Machado's was in darkness. It was, he knew, a cloak-room.

There was a door between them. He would enter the enclosure boldly between the nearest tent and the house, when the sentries were next engaged in chatting. They would never dream that an unauthorized person had dared to come into the very jaws of the lion. There were many Indians among General Carabano's men, so that the sight of Azito would not necessarily alarm the sentries. He would walk with Azito openly along the back of the house, get beneath the veranda, where it was even darker than in the camp enclosure, and by hook or by crook find an entrance.

He explained his plan softly to Azito. The Indian was timorous, but after a few moments' thought he agreed to accompany his master. They crawled to the right until they came just behind the last tent of the line, and waited until they heard the low hum of the sentries' voices.

Then they stepped round the tent, and walked slowly towards the house.

Will's heart was thumping violently, but he walked steadily on until he reached the steps leading up to the veranda. He saw with joy as he pa.s.sed the lighted window that a thin curtain hung across it. The sentries gave no sign. He mounted the steps, Azito close behind, and stood by the window of the room next to Machado's. He waited for a moment, then gently tried the latch of the French window. It was not secured. He opened the door, and they stepped noiselessly in.

CHAPTER XII--THE KIDNAPPERS

The door between the two rooms was closed. That into the patio was ajar. Will stole across the room and peeped into the patio. A small lamp was burning at the farther end, near the front door. A man sat dozing on a chair outside De Mello's room, which was no doubt occupied by Carabano. Another lay fast asleep on the floor at the patio door of Machado's room. But for these the patio was empty. To enter it seemed too risky; Will stepped back into the cloak-room and listened at the door of communication. There was no sound. He waited, pressing his ear against the door. Now he heard slight snores: somebody was in the farther room, asleep. He gently tried the handle. The door was not locked. Grasping his revolver, Azito having his machete, he quickly opened the door and went in. Machado was asleep on a long cane chair.

The telegraphic instrument stood on a table at his left hand. Will softly closed the door behind him, and motioned to Azito to stand at the door opening into the patio. A clock on a shelf told the hour: it was five minutes past eleven.

Machado was fast asleep and did not stir. Was it possible to wake him without causing him to cry out or make some sound that would alarm the men in the patio? Will went to the foot of the cane chair, and pointing his revolver full at Machado's head, he gently touched him. The man moved uneasily. Will touched him again. He drew up his legs slightly.

Another touch, and his eyes opened. For a moment Will thought that the shock would itself force a cry from him, but at a warning hiss his jaw dropped, and a look of terror distorted his face as he saw the s.h.i.+ning barrel of the revolver within two feet of his eyes. With a gesture of warning Will allowed him a few seconds to collect himself: then in tones so low that they could scarcely have been heard outside he said--

"You are awake?"

Machado's swarthy face had gone grey with fear. He did not reply.

"It depends on yourself whether you awake again. Do as I bid you and your life is safe. At the least sign of treachery I shoot you like a dog. You understand?"

Machado's lips moved, but no sound came from them.

"I have some questions to ask," Will continued rapidly, but in the same quiet tone. "If your answers are contrary to what I know to be fact you are a dead man. Where is Senor Jackson?"

"At Las Piedras," said the man in a whisper.

Will started. This was the name of General Carabano's hacienda nearly fifty miles away.

"What is to be done with him and Senor O'Connor?"

"They are held at ransom."