Across the Cameroons Part 13

"A wasted life!" he cried.

"Oh no!" said the man; "a life is never wasted--for the truth."

After that they were silent; they remained standing close together by the opening in the wall. Harry felt as if a heavy weight had been placed upon his heart.

Without, through the fissures in the wall, they could see the moons.h.i.+ne and the stars. A soft wind which moaned across the desolate and rugged heights was blowing upon the mountain.

Presently they were startled by the sound of a voice--a voice that spoke in a whisper.

"I am wounded," said the voice, "I am wounded almost to death. Fernando, my brother, hold out a hand to me, that I may speak to you before I die."

Harry was about to move to the opening, when the elder guide fiercely thrust him back.

"Do you suffer great pain?" asked Fernando, speaking tenderly, as he approached the fissure on tiptoe.

"Give me your hand," came the answer in a weak, breathless voice.

Instead of a hand, suddenly Fernando thrust his rifle through the opening and fired. The loud report echoed in the shallow vault. A strong smell of cordite was driven to their nostrils.

Without, there was a shriek. Harry rushed to the opening and looked through. He saw a white figure flying in the moonlight like a ghost.

Fernando--the half-bred Spaniard--threw back his head and laughed the laugh of a fiend.

"What does all this mean?" cried Braid, turning fiercely upon the man.

"That was no more my brother," said the guide, "than the dog-fox is brother to the eagle. That man was the sheikh--the Black Dog himself."

"It was your brother's voice," said Harry.

"Indeed!" said the man. "I should know my brother's voice. I tell you once again my brother is dead. The Black Dog slew him; and then, recognizing the man he had killed, he guessed that I, too, was with you, and he came here to kill me, imitating my brother's voice, practising the cunning which has made him feared from the Niger to the Congo. And he has gone with a bullet in his chest."

"You did not kill him?" asked Braid.

"No. He fled, realizing that his trick had failed. But because he killed my brother, Cortes, whom I love, I swear now by the saints that I will avenge my brother's death, that I will send the Black Dog to the shades. Henceforward it is his rifle against mine, his treachery against my wits; it is the fox against the serpent."

All this time they had forgotten something of superlative importance.

When events of startling magnitude occur in such quick succession it sometimes happens that the obvious is overlooked. And strange to relate, it was Peter Klein--who hitherto had seemed quite incapable of thinking for himself--who was the first to realize the exceeding gravity of their situation. On a sudden he rushed at Fernando like a maniac, and seized him by the arm.

"You say," he cried, "you are sure your brother is dead?"

The man bowed his head.

"Then, if he is dead, by Heaven, we are buried alive!"

CHAPTER XV--The Valley of the Shadow

The truth came upon them all in the nature of a shock. They could not think how it was that they had overlooked so simple a deduction, so obvious a fact.

Cortes, by reason of the extreme slimness of his form, was the only one of their number who could manage to squeeze himself through the narrow opening. The stone above the circular hole in the roof, or ceiling, could not be moved from the inside. The hiding-place that they had deemed so secure a refuge was nothing but a death-trap.

Peter Klein turned in anger upon the guide.

"So much for your wisdom," he cried, "so much for your oath!"

The man's eyes flashed. His hand went to the knife he carried in his belt. One half of him was a savage, and the other half a Spaniard.

"Do you think," said he, "that I thought my brother would be killed?"

"So far as I can see," said Klein, "it is all the same to you."

"There you prove yourself a fool," answered the other hotly. "You think I do not love him because I do not weep like a woman and gnash my teeth.

Understand this--the heart of a Spaniard is like a deep pool, the surface of which is still. We feel; we love. Also, I warn you again, we can hate."

The spy dared not face the man's blazing eyes.

"I warn you," Fernando went on, his voice rising as pa.s.sion swayed him, "if you hold me up to ridicule, you die. I am ready enough to admit that my judgment was at fault--that I forgot that, without my brother, we were unable to leave the cave--but to be put to scorn by such as you is more than I will endure!"

Peter Klein fell back before the fiery onslaught of the man's words as though he had been struck. The half-caste stood upright, every muscle taut, his eyes ablaze, his clenched teeth showing in the blackness of his long moustache. Then he hurled his knife upon the floor.

"Why do I waste words upon such as you?" he cried, as if in anguish.

"You are not worthy of my anger!"

"I cannot yet understand," said Harry. "If the sheikh is so formidable an adversary, why did you send your brother into the night dressed in Klein's clothes?"

"I spoke high words of the prowess of the Black Dog," said Fernando, "but all the time I believed in my brother. Cortes was a fine shot, second only to the sheikh himself. Moreover, he was agile, one of the finest stalkers who ever lived. I knew, when I was sitting by the fire, that we would soon hear a shot. You thought that I was sleeping, but I was praying to the Holy Virgin that the first shot would be fired by my brother, and that the Black Dog would lie in his own blood, his life ended, the Book of Fate closed upon his evil deeds. When I heard the double report, my heart sank within me. I knew that my brother had been outwitted--that the victory lay with the sheikh."

"And in the meantime," said Harry, "we are buried alive!"

"The fault is mine," said the guide. "I should have asked my brother to remove the stone at the entrance before he went, in case of any mishap.

I forgot to do so. I ask forgiveness."

"There is nothing to forgive," said the boy. "In such a country as this, encompa.s.sed upon every hand by death and dangers of all kinds, there are a thousand things to think of. I would be the last to blame you."

"You are generous," said the man. "The English, with all their faults, are the most generous race on earth; and because they are just, I honour them. We have food and water to last for some days. We can but put our trust in Providence."

Of the days that followed it is unnecessary to tell in detail. In the gallery, shut out from the outside world, from the pure air of the mountains and the sunlight, existence was a living death. For all that, it was wonderful for how long they retained their strength. Indeed, it is a remarkable fact that a man can go for many days with little food, if he has water to drink and is not asked to undergo great physical exertion. But at last Peter Klein grew so weak, and the beating of his heart so slow, that Harry feared he was dying.

It was during these days that the boys came to love the wizened half-caste in whose hands was their fate. Fernando's courage knew no bounds; it was as if his will-power was invincible. Never once did a word of despair or hopelessness leave his lips.

They longed for the open air, for freedom. Days and nights were all the same to them, except that sometimes the suns.h.i.+ne, sometimes the moons.h.i.+ne, invaded the depths of their prison through the great fissures in the wall. As time went on it was difficult not to give up hope.

At last, one night, Fernando rose to his feet and approached Harry, who found it impossible to sleep.

"My friend," said he, "the sands are running down, but I think that I can save you."

"How?" asked the other.