The Rover of the Andes by Robert Michael Ballantyne (books to read for 12 year olds txt) 📕

up, however, and held a momentary consultation out of range. Then, being bold fellows, they charged again, but this time in two bands, one of which attacked the place in rear.

As before, the band which attacked the front was vigorously repelled, but in rear the defenders were less successful. How it was managed Lawrence never found out, but he had barely succeeded in driving off the foe in front, and was congratulating Quashy on his coolness, when he found himself suddenly surrounded by yelling savages.

The Gaucho chief made a desperate fight towards his own hut, which he gained and entered in safety. Lawrence and Quashy tried to follow, but were too much pressed by numbers. Back to back they fought, and Quashy used his sword with such agility and vigour that in a few seconds he sent several Indians bleeding to the rear. Lawrence, despising the weapons of civilised warfare, held his now empty gun in his left hand, using it as a sort of shield, and brandished his favourite cudgel with such effect that he quickly strewed the ground around him with crown-cracked men. Unfortunately a stone struck him on the temple, and he fell. Thus left unsupported, Quashy, after slicing the nose half off a too ardent savage, was struck from behind, and also fell.

When our hero recovered consciousness, he found himself lying on the ground, afflicted with a strange inability to move hand or foot, and conscious, chiefly, of a splitting headache. Presently a voice beside him whispered--

"Is you bery bad, massa?"

Lawrence turned his head with great difficulty and beheld his faithful follower lying like himself on the ground, firmly bound to a stout spar or pole. His own inability to move was at once explained, for he soon perceived that he was in the same bound condition.

"D'you know what has happened, Quashy?"

"Ho yes, massa. De reptiles has took de place, an' tied you an' me to sticks. What for I don' know, but I s'pose dey means to skin us alive, or roast us, p'r'aps, to 'muse deir women an' child'n."

"More likely that they hope to have us ransomed," returned Lawrence, with a shudder.

"What's ramsumd, massa?"

"Try to get our friends to give them money for us. Have they killed many of the men--or got hold of the women and children?" asked Lawrence, anxiously.

"Yes, dey's kill a few ob de men, but not many, for some hab got into de huts, an' some into de corral, an' dey'll fight to de last. De savages am holdin' a palaver jist now--see, dey's agwine to begin again. Screw your head roun' to de right an' you see."

Lawrence obeyed, and saw the savages assembled on a knoll. After driving the defenders into the huts, they had held a brief consultation, and seemed on the eve of renewing the attack. Filled with deep anxiety for the fate of the poor women and children, our hero made a desperate struggle to snap his bonds.

"No use, massa," remarked Quashy. "I's tried dat till I nearly bu'sted. Better lie still. P'r'aps dey forgit us."

Lawrence groaned. He felt so helpless, and consequently hopeless, that he almost gave way to despair.

The spot where they had been flung down after their capture was so covered with rank grass that they could not see far in any direction. What they did see, however, aroused curiosity, if it did not inspire hope, for the savages seemed suddenly to have changed their plans. They were talking excitedly together on the knoll, and pointing eagerly towards the horizon.

"Das funny, massa," remarked the negro.

"It is indeed. Perhaps they see some of their friends coming."

"Or inimies," suggested Quashy.

The latter was right. In a few minutes the Indians were seen to run down to the defences of the place. Our unfortunates lost sight of them in a few seconds, but they could hear the sound of horsemen approaching at full gallop. In a few minutes they heard shouting; then the yells, fearful cries, and imprecations of men in mortal combat. Soon after that a savage passed the place where they lay, at full speed. Then another and another. It became quickly evident that the defenders of the place were getting the worst of it. At last there was a general flight, and as the savages passed by, the new assailants appeared. It was easy to see that they were composed of all classes, a band of runaway soldiers and escaped convicts.

"Banditti!" exclaimed Lawrence, bitterly.

"Dey've got pris'ners. Look, massa."

Our poor hero looked, and his hearts nearly stood still with horror, for he saw a horseman pass whose figure was strangely like to that of Colonel Marchbanks. His arms were bound, and a villainous-looking man led his horse. Immediately after another bandit-like fellow rode past with a female form seated in front of him. Of course it could be no other than Manuela, and in the agony of the moment Lawrence was about to renew his frantic effort to burst his bonds, when a man on foot ran close past him. Recognising him at once, Lawrence shouted--

"Ignacio!"

The old hunter, for it was he, stopped abruptly, and listened.

Another shout brought him to the side of our hero.

"Good luck!" exclaimed Ignacio, heartily.

"We have been bound by the scoundrels you are chasing," cried Lawrence, quickly; "cut us free, good Ignacio."

The hunter drew his long knife and knelt with the apparent intention of releasing them, but suddenly paused.

"No--better as you are," he muttered, hurriedly, "your friends are in danger--"

"I know it," interrupted Lawrence, almost wild with anxiety and surprise; "why not, then, release us?"

"There is no time to explain," said Ignacio, quickly, almost fiercely. "Listen. I and others are secret enemies in this band of outlaws. When you are free be silent, be wise. You will need all your manhood. You must not know me--be silent--wise, but--"

The old hunter leaped up hastily, sheathed his knife and ran on, for at the moment he saw a group of the bandits running towards him. Diverging a little and hailing them, he drew them away from the spot where Lawrence and his man still lay bound.

"Das a puzzler, massa," gasped Quashy, who had been rendered almost speechless by surprise, "if de bu'stin'-power what's in my heart just now would on'y go into my muscles, I'd snap dem ropes like Samson."

As the bursting-power referred to declined to go into the muscles of either master or man, they were fain to lie still with as much patience as they could assume, and await the course of events.


CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.


IN WHICH OLD FRIENDS AND ENEMIES TURN UP IN QUITE A SURPRISING MANNER, AND QUASHY'S JOY OVERFLOWS.

They had not to wait long. A few minutes later and old Ignacio returned with several men, one of whom, from his manner and bearing, appeared to be a chief among the outlaws.

"Who are you, and who bound you?" asked this chief, with a stern look.

Answering in his best Spanish, Lawrence explained how he fell into the hands of the savages.

The chief did not speak for a few seconds, but looked inquiringly at Ignacio.

"It won't do to make more prisoners, you know," said the old hunter, replying to the look; "we have too many on our hands as it is. The troops are already on our track, and you may be sure they won't lose time. Besides, these men are unknown, and won't fetch a ransom."

"What would you advise, then?"

"Cut their throats," suggested Ignacio, coolly.

"You old fool!" returned the outlaw, "what good would that do? Isn't it clear that these men are the enemies of the savages, and we want such to join us."

"Ay," returned Ignacio, "but they may be friends of the troops, and you don't want _such_ to join _us_."

"There's truth in that, old man. Well, we'll just let them lie. They're safe enough, as they are, not to do either good or evil. As you say, it is of no use burdening ourselves with prisoners who won't fetch a ransom. The colonel and his women will fetch a good price, but these--nothing. I suppose that is why Cruz has ordered Conrad to be shot before we leave the place."

"Why, I thought," said Ignacio, with a look of surprise, "that Conrad of the Mountains was an outlaw like yourselves."

"Not he. He's a spy, and he'll meet a spy's doom, if he has not met it already."

"Come--I'll go and see this Conrad," said Ignacio, "I should like to see a spy get his deserts."

He turned quickly and hurried away, followed by the outlaw.

"Most awrful!" groaned Quashy, when they were gone.

"Awful indeed, to think that Manuela and her father are in the hands of such villains!" returned Lawrence.

"An' Sooz'n," said Quashy, with a deeper groan.

"But, massa, what's come ober de ole hunter? He not in arnest, ob course."

"Of course not," replied Lawrence, "that is our one ray of hope now. He is only acting a part. He will assuredly help us, and means us to help _him_, but he takes a strange way to do it."

He ceased to speak, for at that moment a man was seen approaching. He moved about like one who was searching for something. At last he caught sight of the bound men, and ran towards them, drawing his knife as he did so. For one instant a feeling of horror shot through the hearts of Lawrence and Quashy, but next moment they were relieved, for they recognised in the approaching man the features of their old acquaintance of the Andes, the robber Antonio.

"I come to pay my debt," he said, going down on one knee, and severing the cords which bound Lawrence, who heartily showered on him all the Spanish terms for thanks and gratitude that he could recall. Of course Quashy was also set free, and was equally profuse in his grateful expressions, but Antonio cut them both short.

"Come, we must be quick," he said, and hurried away.

As they crossed the spot where the recent fight with the Indians had taken place, Quashy picked up one of the spears which lay on the ground, and Lawrence, to his great satisfaction, discovered his favourite cudgel lying where he had been knocked down. He picked it up, almost affectionately, and hurried on.

Antonio was in evident haste. Leading them through the hamlet, he went towards the corral, where, it could be seen, a party of the bandits were standing as if in wait. Suddenly they heard a noise behind them, and observed a party of men with muskets on their shoulders surrounding a prisoner. Antonio drew his companions into the shelter of a bush till they should pass.

"It is Conrad of the Mountains," he whispered, while a fierce expression lighted up his eyes. "They go to shoot him. He _must_ not die!"

As what seemed to be the firing-party advanced, followed by a straggling group of ruffians, Lawrence looked with profound interest and pity towards one of whom he had heard