Mr. Fortescue by William Westall (best books for 8th graders .TXT) 📕

twenty minutes after you are gone, I shall lay on my hounds. If you outrun them, well and good; if not, _tant pis pour vous_. I shall have kept my word. Are you not grateful, senor Fortescue?"

"No; why should I be grateful for a death more terrible than hanging. Kill us at once, and have done with it. You are a disgrace to the noble profession of arms, general, and the time will come--"

"Another word, and I will throw you to the hounds without further parley," broke in Griscelli, savagely.

"Better keep quiet; there is nothing to be gained by roiling him," whispered Carmen.

I took his advice and held my peace, all the more willingly as there was something in Carmen's manner which implied that he did not think our case quite so desperate as might appear.

"Dismount and give up your weapons," said Griscelli.

Resistance being out of the question, we obeyed with the best grace we could; but I bitterly regretted having to part with the historic Toledo and my horse Pizarro; he had carried me well, and we thoroughly understood each other. The least I could do was to give him his freedom, and, as I patted his neck by way of bidding him farewell, I slipped the bit out of his mouth, and let him go.

"Hallo! What is that--a horse loose? Catch him, some of you," shouted Griscelli, who had been talking with his huntsman and Captain Guzman, whereupon two of the troopers rode off in pursuit, a proceeding which made Pizarro gallop all the faster, and I knew that, follow him as long as they might, they would not overtake him.

Griscelli resumed his conversation with Captain Guzman, an opportunity by which I profited to glance at the hounds, and though I was unable just then to regard them with very kindly feelings, I could not help admiring them. Taller and more strongly built than fox-hounds, muscular and broad-chested, with pendulous ears and upper lips, and stern, thoughtful faces, they were splendid specimens of the canine race; even sized too, well under control, and in appearance no more ferocious than other hounds. Why should they be? All hounds are blood-hounds in a sense, and it is probably indifferent to them whether they pursue a fox, a deer, or a man; it is entirely a matter of training.

"I am going to let you have more law than I mentioned just now" said Griscelli, turning to Carmen and me. "Captain Guzman, here, and the huntsmen think twenty minutes would not give us much of a run--these hounds are very fast--so I shall make it forty. But you must first submit to a little operation. Make them ready, Jose."

Whereupon one of the attendants, producing a bottle, smeared our shoes and legs with a liquid which looked like blood, and was, no doubt, intended to insure a good scent and render our escape impossible. While this was going on Carmen and I took off our coats and threw them on the ground."

"When I give the word you may start," said Griscelli, "and forty minutes afterward the hounds will be laid on--Now!"

"This way! Toward the hills!" said Carmen. "Are you in good condition?"

"Never better."

"We must make all the haste we can, before the hounds are laid on. If we can keep this up we shall reach the hills in forty minutes--perhaps less."

"And then? These hounds will follow us for ever--no possibility of throwing them out--unless--is there a river?"

"None near enough, still--"

"You have hope, then--"

"Just a little--I have an idea--if we can go on running two hours--have you a flint and steel?"

"Yes, and a loaded pistol and a knife."

"Good! That is better than I thought. But don't talk. We shall want every bit of breath in our bodies before we have done. This way! By the cane-piece there!"

With heads erect, arms well back, and our chests expanded to their utmost capacity we sped silently onward; and although we do not despair we realize to the full that we are running for our lives; grim Death is on our track and only by God's help and good fortune can we hope to escape.

Across the savanna, past corn-fields and cane-pieces we race without pause--looking neither to the right nor left--until we reach the road leading to the hills. Here we stop a few seconds, take a few deep breaths, and then, on again. So far, the road has been tolerable, almost level and free from obstructions. But now it begins to rise, and is so rugged withal that we have to slow our speed and pick our way. Farther on it is the dry bed of a torrent, cumbered with loose stones and erratic blocks, among which we have to struggle painfully.

"This is bad," gasps Carmen. "The hounds must be gaining on us fast."

"Yes, but the scent will be very catching among these stones. They won't run fast here. Let us jump from block to block instead of walking over the pebbles. It will make it all the better for us and worse for them."

On this suggestion we straightway act, but we find the striding and jumping so exhausting, and the risk of slipping and breaking a limb so great, that we are presently compelled to betake ourselves once more to the bed of the stream.

"Never mind," says Carmen, "we shall soon be out of this valley of stones, and the hounds will not find it easy to pick up the scent hereabout. If we only keep out of their jaws another half-hour!"

"Of course, we shall--and more--I hope for ever. We can go on for another hour. But what is your point?"

"The _azuferales_."

"The _azuferales_! What are the _azuferales_"

"I cannot explain now. You will see. If we get there ten or fifteen minutes before the hounds we shall have a good chance of escaping them."

"And how long?"

"That depends--perhaps twenty."

"Then, in Heaven's name, lead on. It is life or death? Even five minutes may make all the difference. Which way?"

"By this trail to the right, and through the forest."

The trail is a broad grass-grown path, not unlike a "ride" in an English wood, bordered by trees and thick undergrowth, but fairly lighted by the moonbeams, and, fortunately for us, rather downhill, with no obstacles more formidable than fallen branches, and here and there a prostrate monarch of the forest, which we easily surmount.

As we go on I notice that the character of the vegetation begins to change. The trees are less leafy, the undergrowth is less dense, and a mephitic odor pervades the air. Presently the foliage disappears altogether, and the trees and bushes are as bare as if they had been stricken with the blast of an Arctic winter; but instead of being whitened with snow or silvered with frost they are covered with an incrustation, which in the brilliant moonlight makes them look like trees and bushes of gold. Over their tops rise faint wreaths of yellowish clouds and the mephitic odor becomes more pronounced.

"At last!" shouts Carmen, as we reach the end of the trail. "At last! _Amigo mio_, we are saved!"

Before us stretches a wide treeless waste like a turf moor, with a background of sombre forest. The moor, which is broken into humps and hillocks, smokes and boils and babbles like the hell-broth of Macbeth's witches, and across it winds, snake-wise, a steaming brook. Here and there is a stagnant pool, and underneath can be heard a dull roar, as if an imprisoned ocean were beating on a pebble-strewed shore. There is an unmistakable smell of sulphur, and the ground on which we stand, as well as the moor itself, is of a deep-yellow cast.

This, then, is the _azuferales_--a region of sulphur springs, a brimstone inferno, a volcano in the making. No hounds will follow us over that hideous heath and through that Stygian stream.

"Can we get across and live?" I ask. "Will it bear?"

"I think so. But out with your knife and cut some twigs; and where are your flint and steel?"

"What are you going to do ?"

"Set the forest on fire--the wind is from us--and instead of following us farther--and who knows that they won't try?--instead of following us farther they will have to hark back and run for their lives."

Without another word we set to work gathering twigs, which we place among the trees. Then I dig up with my knife and add to the heap several pieces of the brimstone impregnated turf. This done, I strike a light with my flint and steel.

"Good!" exclaims Carmen. "In five minutes it will be ablaze; in ten, a brisk fire;" and with that we throw on more turf and several heavy branches which, for the moment, almost smother it up.

"Never mind, it still burns, and--hark! What is that?"

"The baying of the hounds and the cries of the hunters. They are nearer than I thought. To the _azuferales_ for our lives!"

The moor, albeit in some places yielding and in others treacherous, did not, as I feared, prove impassable. By threading our way between the smoking sulphur heaps and carefully avoiding the boiling springs we found it possible to get on, yet slowly and with great difficulty; and it soon became evident that, long before we gain the forest the hounds will be on the moor. Their deep-throated baying and the shouts of the field grow every moment louder and more distinct. If we are viewed we shall be lost; for if the blood-hounds catch sight of us not even the terrors of the _azuferales_ will balk them of their prey. And to our dismay the fire does not seem to be taking hold. We can see nothing of it but a few faint sparks gleaming through the bushes.

But where can we hide? The moor is flat and treeless, the forest two or three miles away in a straight line, and we can go neither straight nor fast. If we cower behind one of the smoking brimstone mounds we shall be stifled; if we jump into one of the boiling springs we shall be scalded.

"Where can we hide?" I ask.

"Where can we hide?" repeated Carmen.

"That pool! Don't you see that, a little farther on, the brook forms a pool, and, though it smokes, I don't think it is very hot."

"It is just the place," and with that Carmen runs forward and plunges in.

I follow him, first taking the precaution to lay my pistol and knife on the edge. The water, though warm, is not uncomfortably hot, and when we sit down our heads are just out of the water.

We are only just in time. Two minutes later the hounds, with a great crash, burst out of the forest, followed at a short interval by half a dozen horsemen.

"Curse this brimstone! It has ruined the scent," I heard Griscelli say, as the hounds threw up their heads and came to a dead stop. "If I had thought those _ladrones_ would run hither I would not have given them twenty minutes, much less forty. But they cannot be far off; depend upon it, they are hiding somewhere.--_Por Dios_, Sheba has it! Good dog! Hark to Sheba! Forward, forward!"

It was true. One of the hounds had hit off the line, then followed another and another, and soon the entire pack was once more in full cry. But the scent was very bad, and seemed