Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 82

Now the latter could not well misunderstand this att.i.tude; but yet he could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses.

"What's his game?" thought Mole; "he is trying the artful dodge on; and he's going to jump up and give me one for myself--not for Isaac. By jingo! What a topper I could give him as he lays there, what a--"

He stopped short.

"My eye! what a hole he has got in his head already."

And then by degrees, in spite of his fears, he was forced to see that this piteous object was not dangerous.

As Mole rose up to look at the brigand, the latter made still more signs of submission, and now he could no longer misunderstand.

It is difficult to say which feeling filled Mole most completely, surprise or satisfaction.

"Oh, oh," cried Mole; "I feel that my heart tells me I have great courage. Yes, I will capture this desperate brigand with my own brave hands."

Here was a slice of luck.

"I'll just drive him home," said the crafty Isaac to himself, "and then see if Chloe will dare to cheek me as she has done of late. I rather flatter myself I shall take it out of Harkaway and Jefferson themselves."

First, though, he meant to have one more suck at the black bottle.

But now again, to his intense surprise, at the sight of the bottle, the wounded man cowered and shrank back in terror.

"Mercy, mercy, great captain," he implored; "as you are strong, be merciful."

"What does he mean?" muttered the astonished Mole.

"Don't fire again," cried the wounded man feebly; "I never hurt one of your friends. I am not responsible for the two boys' death. It was done without my will, for I don't war with boys or women; ah, how I suffer."

"Don't fire! Why, what--ah, I see it; he takes the bottle for a pistol.

"March on then," he said in a terrible voice; "on with you, or I'll fire."

"Don't, don't! mercy!"

"March on then, or I'll blow you to atoms," and he presented the black bottle again.

The Greek held up his hands in supplication and moved on.

"Go on!" thundered Mole.

"I'll be your slave, your abject slave," groaned the brigand; "but oh, great warrior, captain, spare my life."

"I'll eat you alive," hissed the cannibal Mole in his ear, "if you don't walk faster."

"I will, I will."

"Faster still, or you die."

"Pity, pity."

"Bah!" said the fierce Isaac, contemptuously, "why should I have pity on you after killing a score of your fellows with my own hand? Answer me that."

The other was silent.

In this way, the valiant Mole drove the miserable wretch to the villa.

When, after a long and wearisome journey, they got within a stone's throw of the grounds of the house, Mr. Mole was suddenly startled to hear a loud, shrill cry of alarm, and who should appear before them but Mrs. Mole herself?

"Whateber hab you there, Ikey?" she demanded.

"A prisoner, my dear," responded Mole.

"A what?" she exclaimed; "whose prisoner?"

"Mine."

"Yourn?"

"Pardon me, my dear--yours, not yourn. Yes, my prisoner," he added modestly; "I have captured him."

"Where?"

"In the wood."

"What you doing there, Ikey?"

"I was on the hunt. I came across them--five, and a little warm work went forward. The other four," he added significantly, "I have left on their backs, with a pretty decent sign of my handiwork upon all of them."

Chloe gasped.

"You're a drefful man," said Chloe; "and I'll run for Ma.s.sa Harkaway."

And she dashed down the garden, crying out for Harkaway and Jefferson, and goodness knows who besides.

They were ever upon the _qui vive_ for danger, so down they came with a rush.

"Why, Mr. Mole," exclaimed Jefferson, "you have indeed got a prize."

"However did you manage it?" asked Harkaway, not a whit less startled.

Mole coughed.

"I felt that something was required of me," he answered, with touching dignity and modesty combined, "and so I went on the hunt myself, and I fell foul of a few of the Greek vampires."

"A few," echoed Jefferson, elevating his eyebrows; "a few, you said."

"Yes," replied Mr. Mole, "only five."