The Burning Bridge by Philip Verrill Mighels (the best novels to read TXT) 📕

"But couldn't you use the raft?"

"I couldn't," he answered, candidly. "The raft got away while I was pothering about, and, unless it faithfully floats ashore, we may never see its honest face again."

Elaine's expression brightened.

"I'm perfectly delighted to hear it! Now you never can go there again!"

Grenville was amused at the turn of her reflections.

"But what about the treasure in the crypt?"

"I don't believe there's any treasure in the crypt. There never is, except in wonderful stories. And, if there was, what good could it be to us?"

Grenville met her magnetic gaze, now brightened by her challenge. It was not a time to excite new alarms in her heart by divulging the facts he had discovered. For she would be alarmed were she once informed of the wealth concealed beneath their feet. She would instantly understand the dangers to them both from the men who had hidden the treasure.

"Well," he said, with an air of lightness he was very far from feeling, "I confess I'd rather have a good pot of steaming black coffee at this particular juncture than all the gold and jewels of the land."

"Oh, please don't mention it!" said Elaine. "Haven't I tried every leaf I could find, to make you something to drink?" And a wistful pucker came to her brow that made her more than ever enchanting. "You've no idea," she added, "what horrid messes this island foliage can make."

"Wouldn't wonder," said Grenville, calmly. But, having come to the shaded cave, he was grateful for a drink of cool, sweet water and glad to sit down for a rest.

The subject of the cave was dropped, but his thoughts could not fade in Grenville's mind. They lay in substrata, beneath more homely plans for resuming his interrupted labors. But, beyond going down to dig some yams to roast with a pheasant killed the previous day, he returned to no toils that afternoon. He paused to examine the shell of his boat, which fire, plus his chisel, was finally evolving from the log, and, finding unusual quantities of blackly charred stuff to be gouged away in the morning, determined to be early at the task.

This plan was one of the sort that "gang aglee." He fished, with Elaine, till nine o'clock the following day, to provide a needful change of their diet; then placed some fresh signals on their flagpole. At eleven, however, he was once more at his boat, with his fires freshly blazing. He was working gayly, aroused to a new enthusiasm over final results to be achieved by the excellent progress his former fires had made upon the log. A few more days of work like that—and he would have to be thinking of the launching.

This was not a thought he had neglected. In a vague sort of way the problem of moving his boat to the water's edge had bothered him from the first. It would have to be run on rollers, he admitted. Doubtless a way would have to be cleared through some of the undergrowth.

Reflecting that this was a task to be performed while the fires were doing their daily stint, he made a preliminary survey of the jungle to select the most practical route. The way across the grassy clearing was not only long, but in places inclined to be rough. Fortunately, in either direction the way was all down-grade.

He had never yet forced a way to the shore through the jungle beyond his tree-trunk smelter. Thither he wended his way to note what this route might offer.

Breaking the branches from before his path, and rather inclined to believe a trail might once have been forced through the thicket, he was penetrating deeper and deeper into the moist and thickly shaded region when he presently halted, almost certain he had heard someone calling his name.

"Sidney! Sidney!" came the cry again, from Elaine up above him on the cliff. "Sidney! Where are you? A boat! I've seen a sail! There's someone coming at last!"

He had smashed his way out while she was calling.

"A sail!" she repeated, excitedly, the moment he appeared. "Oh, come!—please come at once!"

She disappeared swiftly from the edge, running back, lest the sight be lost forever.

Actively, Grenville went bounding across the clearing and up their narrow trail. He was panting and eager when Elaine ran forward to meet him, and clutched him by the arm.

"I knew it would come!—I knew it!" she cried, as she hastened hotly forward at his side. "We must wave things as hard as we can!"

She had guided him swiftly to the great lone tree that stood like the island's landmark, to be seen for many a mile. She pointed in triumph afar across the sea—and Grenville beheld a tiny sail, like the merest white notch in the sky.

"Can they see us yet? Shall we wave?" said Elaine. "They couldn't go by and miss us now?"

She was still clinging fast to Grenville's arm, and tears had sprung to her eyes. What long, long hours of torture, anxiety, and hope she had expended, uttering no complaint as the days went by, the man abruptly knew. Then something indescribably poignant shot boltlike through his heart.

Elaine felt him harden, grow rigid, as his gaze narrowed down on the distant thing she had found in their purple sea. The note that broke from his lips at last made a shiver go down her spine.

He suddenly turned, and his arm was wrenched from her clasp. He sped like a madman back to their mast and heaved all his weight against it. He threw back the rocks that held it in place in the crevice to which it had been fitted.

Before she could follow, to question what he did, Elaine saw him drop the pole over.

"Sidney!" she said, but the face that he turned wore a look that was new to her ken.

"Pull up the ladder from the rocks!" he called. "Then go to the shelter and stay!"

He himself ran to the cavern, to take up their largest jug of water. With this in his arms, he hastened down the trail to quench the flames beneath his boat.

And when, with more water, hurried from the spring, he had drowned the last blue wisp of smoke, he brought the full jug to the cave again and tore down the improvised awning.

"We had better hail death than that craft!" he said, "unless I am very much mistaken!"

Elaine was dumbly appalled for a moment by the words that Grenville had uttered. She finally found her voice.

"But—why? I don't believe I understand. It isn't someone—some horrible men who hunt human heads for trophies?"

Grenville was glad she knew what a head-hunter means. He loathed the necessity of making revolting explanations. He vainly wished he might spare her now—that his judgment might be in error. But the rakish angle of that sail, though so far away on the water, had left him no room to doubt that natives were manning the craft.

"They may be friendly visitors, after all," he answered. "And then again they may not. It may be as wise for us to see them first, and determine our conduct later."

"You do fear them, then? But how can we hide—if they land and come up on the hill?"

"They shall never come up—if I can help it! If I only had a few more bombs!" He had gone to his cave and was dragging forth his little cannon. "I haven't even a hatful of slugs with which to charge this plaything!"

Elaine had remained obediently at her shelter, in the door of which she stood.

"Won't they see you?" she said, her voice already lowered, as if in fear its accents might be overheard where the distant boat was approaching. "Have you more old pieces of brass?"

"Some," said Grenville, reluctant to use his remaining metal in such an extravagant manner. "I have nothing else that will answer, hang the luck! ... They can't see us yet, but we'll move about with caution.... I wish I had made more powder! I have only a few feet of fuse. I must get some additional creepers at once and let them dry out in the sun."

He went down to the jungle immediately for a fresh supply of this highly essential growth, leaving Elaine at the shelter, a prey to dread that had utterly obliterated her bitter disappointment. She stooped, to steal forward on the rocks and look for the sail again. It was still so far on the sun-lit surface of the ocean that it seemed no nearer than before. She returned once more to the cave.

Grenville came up, fairly laden with freshly severed creepers.

"I've thought of a means for making bombs!" he told her, triumphantly. "Perhaps you can split these creepers and take out the cores while I go to fetch some bamboo poles."

"Couldn't I fill them with powder?" Elaine inquired, anxiously. "I watched you before. I am sure I would make no great mistakes."

He knew she was nervous, eager to be employed.

"Sure shot you could," he answered, briskly, and, going to the cave employed as his "powder magazine," he brought her a jar of explosive. "Don't be afraid to put in all that the creeper tube will carry," he instructed. "And tie it with fibers here and there, to keep the edges together."

With his heaviest tools he descended at once to the bamboo growth, where he was presently toiling hard. Elaine, no less industriously, was hotly assailing the creepers, held firmly down with heavy rocks, to make their manipulation easy.

She had filled and bound a considerable length of this simply manufactured fuse when Grenville returned to the terrace. For his part, he bore across his shoulder three great long steins of green bamboo that were three inches through at the base.

"I can cut this stuff at its divisions," he explained, "fill the smaller sections with powder, and fit the larger ones over them, like a shell within a shell. A natural growth plugs each one up at the end, and I'll also cap each end with a rock, and wrap the whole contraption about with creepers. Of course, the fuse will go in first. I wish the stuff were dry!"

The spirit of battle was no less aroused in Elaine, whose mood was the equal of his own.

"Couldn't we use the cannon first—keep them off with that while the fuses and things are drying?"

"It's our only chance, if they raid us by the trail. They can scarcely arrive for two or three hours more. The tide will be against them—— If we keep out of sight, they may not detect our presence."

"Anyway," added Elaine, sagely, "they needn't know how few we are in numbers."

"Right ho!" he answered, cheerily. "The trail is steep and narrow. We can train the gun to rake its entire width. For the second shot, and any succeeding charges, we can load the piece with stones—— I'm in hopes our visitors may not land, but we'll keep our fire smoldering, making no smoke; and I'll fetch all the fruit and water we may need for a couple of days."

Elaine looked up at him quickly.

"A couple of days? We may have to fight two days?"

Grenville smiled, suggestively.

"Not if they come within range of the cannon or linger about a bomb. In time of peace prepare for the worst—and then a little extra."

He moved out cautiously, as Elaine had done, to scan the distant sail. He could see that it was steadily approaching. With eager impatience he hastened below to lay in needful provisions.

Luncheon was forgotten. When a large supply of fruits and water, with fuel sufficient for perhaps a week of flameless fire, had been stored in the coolness and protection of the caves, Grenville immediately set to work constructing the shells to fill with powder.

This was a task involving much difficult cutting. For this employment his tools were not encouragingly suited. Of fuse, Elaine had finally produced as much as all his bombs would require,