The Flag of Distress Part 26

"Of course. We must, for our own sakes. 'Twould be madness not, even if we could get the money without it. The older, Crozier, is enormously rich, I've heard; could afford to buy up all the law there is in San Francisco. If we let them escape, he'd have the police after us like hounds upon a trail. Even if they shouldn't recognise us now, they'd be sure to suspect who it was, and make the place too hot to hold us.

_Caspita_! It's not a question of choice, but a thing of necessity.

_We must kill them_!"

Harry Blew hears the cold-blooded determination, comprehending it in all its terrible significance. It tells him the young officers are still in the town, and that these four men are about to waylay, rob, and murder them. What they mean by "getting back their money" is the only thing he does not comprehend. It is made clear as the conversation continues:

"I'm sure there's nothing unfair in taking back our own. I, Frank Lara, say so. It was they who brought about the breaking of our bank, which was done in a mean, dastardly way. The Englishman had the luck, and all the others of his kind went with him. But for that we could have held out. It's no use our whining about it. We've lost, and must make good our losses best way we can. We can't, and be safe ourselves, if we let these _gringos_ go."

"_Chingara_! we'll stop their breath, and let there be no more words about it."

The merciless verdict is in the voice of Don Manuel.

"You're all agreed, then?" asks De Lara.

"_Si, si, si_!" is the simultaneous answer of a.s.sent, Calderon alone seeming to give it with reluctance; though he hesitates from timidity, not mercy.

Harry Blew now knows all. The officers have been gaming, have won money, and the four fellows who talk so coolly of killing them are the chief gambler and his confederates.

What is he to do? How can he save the doomed men. Both are armed; Crozier has his sword, Cadwallader his dirk. Besides, the mids.h.i.+pman has a pistol, as he saw while they were talking to him at the Sailor's Home. But then they are to be taken unawares--shot, or struck down, in the dark, without a chance of seeing the hand that strikes them! Even if warned and ready, it would be two against four. And he is himself altogether unarmed; for his jack-knife is gone--hypothecated to pay for his last jorum of grog! And the young officers have been drinking freely, as he gathers from what the ruffians say. They may be inebriated, or enough so to put them off their guard. Who would be expecting a.s.sa.s.sination? Who ever is, save a Mexican himself?

Altogether unlikely that they should be thinking of such a thing. On the contrary, disregarding danger, they will come carelessly on, to fall like ripe corn before the sickle of the reaper.

The thought of such a fate for his friends fills the sailor with keenest apprehension; and again he asks himself how it is to be averted.

The four conspirators are not more than as many feet from the boat. By stretching out his hands he could grip them by the ankles, without altering his rec.u.mbent att.i.tude one inch. And by doing this, he might give the guilty plotters such a scare as would cause them to retreat, and so baffle their design.

The thought comes before his mind, but is instantly abandoned. The fellows are not of the stuff to be frightened at shadows. By their talk, at least two are desperadoes, and to make known his presence would be only to add another victim to those already doomed to death.

But what is he to do? For the third time he asks himself this question, still unable to answer it.

While still painfully cogitating, his brain labouring to grasp some feasible plan of defence against the threatened danger, he is warned of a change. Some words spoken tell of it. It is De Lara who speaks them.

"By the way, _camarados_, we're not in a good position here. They may sight us too soon. To make things sure, we must drop on them before they can draw their weapons. Else some of us may get dropped ourselves."

"Where could we be better? I don't see. The shadow of this old boat favours us."

"Why not crawl under it?" asks Calderon. "There Argus himself couldn't see us."

Harry Blew's heart beats at the double-quick. His time seems come, and he already fancies four pistols to his head, or the same number of poniards pointed at his ribs.

It is a moment of vivid anxiety--a crisis dread, terrible, almost agonising.

Fortunately it is not of long duration, ending almost on the instant.

He is relieved at hearing one of them say:

"No; that won't do. We'd have trouble in scrambling out again. While about it they'd see or hear us, and take to their heels. You must remember, it's but a step to where their boat will be waiting them, with some eight or ten of those big British tars in it. If they got there before we overtook them, the tables would be turned on us."

"You're right, Don Manuel," rejoins De Lara; "it won't do to go under the boat, and there's no need for us to stay by it. _Mira_! yonder's a better place--by that wall. In its shadow no one can see us, and the _gringos_ must pa.s.s within twenty feet of it. It's the very spot for our purpose. Have with me!"

No one objecting, the four separate from the side of the boat and glide silently as spectres across the strip of sandy beach, their forms gradually growing indistinct in the fog, at length altogether disappearing beneath the sombre shadow of the wall.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

CRUSADERS, TO THE RESCUE!

"What am I to do!"

It is the ex-man-o'-war's man, still lying under the launch, who thus interrogates himself. He has put the question for the fourth time that night, and now as emphatically as ever, but less despairingly.

True, the conspiring a.s.sa.s.sins have only stepped aside to a lurking place from which they may more conveniently pounce upon their quarry, and be surer of striking it. But their changed position has left him free to change his; which he at once determines upon doing. Their talk has told him where the man-of-war's boat will be awaiting to take the officers back to their s.h.i.+p. He knows the new wharf referred to, the very stair at which the _Crusaders_ have been accustomed to bring to.

It may be the cutter with her full crew of ten--or it may be but the gig. No matter which. There cannot be fewer than two oarsmen, and these will be sufficient. A brace of British tars, with himself to make three, and the officers to tot up five--that will be more than a match for four Spanish Californians. Four times four, thinks Harry Blew, even though the sailors, like himself, be unarmed, or with nothing but their knives and boat-hooks.

He has no fear, if he can but bring it to an encounter of this kind.

The question is, can he do so? And first, can he creep out from under the launch, and steal away un.o.bserved?

A glance of scrutiny towards the spot where the a.s.sa.s.sins have placed themselves in ambuscade, satisfies him that he can. The fog favours him. Through it he cannot see them; and should be himself equally invisible.

Another circ.u.mstance will be in his favour: on the soft, sandy beach his footsteps will make but slight noise: not enough to be heard above the hoa.r.s.e continuous surging of the surf.

All this pa.s.ses in a moment, and he has made up his mind to start; but hesitates from a new apprehension. Will he be in time? The stair at which the boat should lie is not over a quarter of a mile off, and will take but a few minutes to reach it. Even if he succeed in eluding the vigilance of the ambushed villains, will it be possible for him to get to the pier, communicate with the boat's crew, and bring them back, before the officers reach the place of ambush?

To all this the answer is doubtful, and the doubt appals him. In his absence, the young gentlemen may arrive at the fatal spot. He may return to find their bodies lying lifeless along the sand, their pockets rifled, their murderers gone!

The thought holds him irresolute, doubting what course to take. Should he remain till they are heard approaching, then rush out, give them such warning as he may, throw himself by their side, and do his best to defend them? Unarmed, this would not be much. Against pistols and poniards he would scarce count as a combatant. It might but end in all three being slaughtered together! But there is also the danger of his being discovered in his attempt to slip away from his place of concealment. He may be followed, and overtaken; though he has little fear of this. Pursued he may be, but not overtaken. Despite his sea-legs, he knows himself a swift runner. Were he a.s.sured of a fair start, he can hold his distance against anything Spanish or Californian.

In five minutes he might reach the pier--in five more be back. If he find the _Crusaders_ there, a word will warn them. In all it would take about ten minutes. But, meanwhile, Crozier and Cadwallader may get upon the ground, and one minute--half a minute--after all would be over.

A terrible struggle agitates the breast of the man-o'-war's man; in his thoughts is conflict agonising. On either side are _pros_ and _cons_, requiring calm deliberation; and there is no time to deliberate. He must act.

But one more second spends he in consideration. He has confidence in the young officers. Both are brave as lions, and if attacked, will make a tough fight of it. Crozier has also caution, on which dependence may be placed; and at such a time of night he will not be going unguardedly.

The strife, though unequal, might last long enough for him, Harry Blew, to bring the _Crusaders_--at least near enough to cry out--and cheer their officers with the hope of help at hand.

All this flits through Harry Blew's brain in a tenth part of the time it takes to tell it. And having resolved how to act, he hastens to carry out his resolution--to proceed in quest of the boat's crew.

Sprawling like a lizard from beneath the launch, he glides off silently along the strand. At first, with slow, cautious steps, and crouchingly, but soon erect, in a rapid run, as if for the saving of his life; for it is to save the lives of others, almost dear as his own.

The five minutes are not up, when his footsteps patter along the planking of the hollow wooden wharf; and in ten seconds after, he stands at the head of the sea-stairway, looking down.

Below is a boat with men in it--half-a-score of them--seated on the thwarts, some lolling over against the gunwales asleep. At a glance he can tell them to be _Crusaders_.

His hail startles them into activity; one and all recognising the voice of their old s.h.i.+pmate.

"Quick!" he cries; "quick, mates! This way, and along with me! Don't stay to ask questions. Enough for you to know that the lives of your officers are in danger."

It proves enough. The tars don't wait for a word more; but spring from their rec.u.mbent att.i.tude, and out of the boat.

Rus.h.i.+ng up the pier steps, they cl.u.s.ter around their comrade. They have not needed instructions to arm themselves. Harry's speech, with its tone, told of some sh.o.r.e hostility, and they have instinctively made ready to meet it; each laying hold of the weapon nearest to his hand; some a knife, some an oar, others a boat-hook.

"Heave with me, lads!" cries Harry; and they "heave"--at his heels-- rus.h.i.+ng after, as if to extinguish a fire in the forecastle.