CHAPTER XI

WHITE BRIGANDS

The River Paraná and its neighborhood were, in the days of which we write, not always very secure for travellers. To begin with, revolutions and conflicts between the states into which South America was divided were of somewhat frequent occurrence, and then it is only to be expected that, being so close to the ranchos, and the hundreds of gauchos employed there, rowdyism and ruffianism were of occasional occurrence. The unfortunate owners of the estancias had not only Indians and their raids to fear. They were often enough wealthy men, for there was always a demand for cattle, and the very fact of their having wealth often proved an attraction to the many ne'er-do-wells who had come to the country to try their luck, or to join some revolutionary band. There had been raids on estancias by white men before then, and piratical attacks on the river were not entirely unknown. But to the English youth who had taken a passage in the boat which lay a few yards higher up the river than the one which Mr. Blunt had chartered, such an attempt was a matter for intense surprise. He was a stranger in the country, and knew nothing of the inhabitants, or he would never have taken passage with such a set of ruffians.

"Make a pile!" he exclaimed while he stared through the smoke of the cabin at the ragged and ill-kempt sailor. "What do you mean? You can't----"

"That's jest where you make the error, young feller," interrupted the man, taking a much-blackened clay from between his lips. "For a chap as has got nothing there ain't a country to come up to this. Look at me. Do I give the impression of having money?"

"Hardly!" came the cautious answer.

"That's jest it. There ain't a single coin in my pockets, and I was starving till these fellows came along."

"'Can yer ride?' asks the chap with the beard.

"'Jest a bit,' I answered, for a sailor can stick on most things. Then he got talking, and as a result I signed on for this here voyage. We're goin' up to the pampas to wipe out the ranchers. They're worth a pile, and we'll skin 'em of every shillin'. We're starting with the fellow lyin' in the boat below. He's got heaps of money, they say, and I've a notion that blackbeard over there has a grudge against him. That's the job, shaver. We start to-night, and it seems to me, seeing as you're English, as you'd better sail in company with us, and get a share. What say?"

For a moment or two the young fellow listening looked as if he would return an indignant reply to such a suggestion. But he happened to cast his eye round at the faces about the table, and then at the unshaven cheeks of the sailor.

"A set of ruffians to look at them," he said to himself. "And they seem as if they would stop at nothing. How on earth I was fool enough to take a passage with them I cannot say. But it is done now, and cannot be helped. He said this man to be attacked was English."

"Who is the rancher you are going to attack?" he asked cautiously, suddenly determining to get all the information possible.

"Who is the feller? Well, can't say as I know or care. He's English, else his name wouldn't be Blunt, would it? and he's got the coin. What more do you want to know? Eh? How it's to be done? Simple as standin', shaver. We've a cable with an anchor down at the bottom of the river, and there's slack enough to let us down stream quite a lot. See now! We just drop quiet and easy down on the boat below, and before them chaps can shout, whew!"

He drew his hand significantly across his neck, and leered at the lad who listened.

"Jest like that," he said, grinning so that his blackened teeth showed. "They ain't got a dog's chance. Reckon we'll start this game by makin' a fine haul, and spendin' a week in the saloons."

Little by little, and speaking in an undertone, the young man wormed the plot out of the sailor, and when he had done so he lay down again for a while, having deferred his consent till he had considered the matter. Later he sat up again, for the sailor pulled at his clothing.

"Guess you've decided to come in," he said. "Ef so, I'll speak to blackbeard over there and make it right. I thought at first as you was a toff, with brass in your pocket. But there's many sich as you comes out to this country to work, and who live down in the towns till their money's gone. Then it's hard to get a job, special ef you ain't used to the ranches. Then's the time when a feller jumps to join a band like this. Why, I can see that there ain't goin' ter be too much hard work. There'll be better grub than a sailor gets aboard ship, and if we've luck, there'll be coin in plenty. You'll join?"

"Yes, I'll come in. You can book me as one of the number," was the answer, while the young man glanced round at the gang in the cabin, a look of half-suppressed aversion and fear on his face. "You make the terms with them while I go on deck. This cabin is stuffy, and I feel as if I wanted a mouthful of air."

"Best a mouthful of spirit," growled the sailor, rolling in his seat. "Hi, there! jest pass the bottle and a pannikin. The shaver here wishes for a draught."

But the crew of ruffians happened at that moment to be deeply engaged in conversation, and took no heed of the call. The young man rose, hastily declined the drink, and retreated from the cabin.

"Blest ef I understand the shaver!" grumbled the sailor. "Never knew a white man refuse before. Eh? What's he gone for? A mouthful of air, of course."

The black-bearded individual at the head of the table had suddenly broken off his conversation with his fellow conspirators, and asked the sailor a question, while he followed the retreating figure of the youth with suspicious eyes.

"Who is he?" he asked. "And where is he going?"

"Who? Why, a chum of mine," roared the sailor, toying with his pannikin. "I've been talkin' to him, and it seems as he's like us. He's in want of coin too, and he's eager to join. He can ride a bit, so he'll be useful later. 'Sides, it's a good thing to have a shaver to wait on us older men. He's right, capt'n, so don't you get follerin'."

"Right or not, he'd best behave himself," answered the leader of the gang, casting a menacing glance towards the door, and then turning with a scowl to his companions. "This scum of an Englishman will suit us for a time," he went on in his own tongue; "but I begin to see that he will be a nuisance. He is quarrelsome, and will want too much perhaps. Well, if it comes to that, there is a way of removing the man."

A sinister look passed between the men at the table as they glanced at one another. Indeed they were a band of ruffians who understood one another perfectly, and, if the truth were known, had been on more than one of these lawless expeditions. The condition of the country favored them, for the ranchers had no protection other than what they supplied themselves, and the vast extent of their holdings, the great distances which separated them, were in favor of the ruffians who raided their estancias. At times, indeed, the bands of freebooters who roamed the pampas, and threw in their lot with the Indians, were a source of great danger to the graziers. For these white men, a collection from the riffraff of the towns, made no pretence of seizing cattle. They left that to the Indians, and threw it out as a bait to obtain their help. They organized the raids, left the Indians to round up what cattle they could lay their hands on, and promptly made for the estancia, where revolvers were used mercilessly, the house swept clean of all its valuables, and too often the owner shot in cold blood on his doorstep. Such things had occurred many a time, so that the graziers had had to band together for self protection. Then, when the net began to close in on the raiders, and matters began to look menacing for them, they would leave their Indian allies, and, splitting up, would ride for the coast towns again, there to spend their ill-gotten wealth in the saloons, and wait till an opportunity for further violence occurred.

The young fellow who had been in the cabin emerged on to the deck and walked rapidly to the stern. While in the cabin, under the eyes of the sailor, he had maintained an appearance of coolness and indifference; but now, when he was alone on the deck, beads of perspiration burst from his forehead, his hands closed convulsively, and he showed every indication of distress.

"To think that I was fool enough to take a passage with such a set!" he groaned. "To me, so new to this country, all these fellows look alike. They are rough, ill-dressed, and very free and easy in their manners. I never imagined for a moment that these fellows were other than ranchers returning to their work. What am I to do?"

He stood leaning on the rail of the river boat, his eyes fixed upon the lights from the saloons ashore, while he listened to the songs and shouts which issued from them. Then his attention was caught by a faint glimmer some yards astern, and, having peered into the darkness for some few minutes, he was able to detect the outline of the boat in which Mr. Blunt and Dudley were sleeping.

"Ah, I see the plan!" he said. "These ruffians slack off their cable and float down on that boat, then they board her. The sailor said that they had friends ashore who would rush to help them by means of the gangway stretching from the boat to the wharf. After that---- Goodness, it means murder! The fellow said as much. They will kill this Englishman and take all that he has got."

The very thought set the young fellow trembling with excitement. He walked feverishly up and down the deck, muttering beneath his breath, and endeavoring to make up his mind to some course of action. For in a flash he realized a fact which had been slowly dawning upon him for the last half-hour, a fact which a shrewder youth would have gathered in an instant. He, a young Englishman, fresh from home and entirely ignorant of the country and its people, had by chance fallen in with a gang of desperadoes who were about to attack a fellow countryman of his and to murder him. By pure chance he had become acquainted with their plans, and now he alone stood between the victim and his attackers. Ought he to move in the matter? Why should he? It was not his affair. This Englishman was an entire stranger to him, and why should he incur danger for a stranger?

The thoughts flashed through his brain as he walked feverishly up and down. Conscience, common sense, his own manhood, told him that he ought to act, that it was his duty to do something; while fear of the consequences to himself and his own natural want of resolution held him back, and kept him answering the calls for action with excuses. He was in a pitiable condition, and, had he been left to himself, might have walked the deck for an hour before coming to some conclusion. However, it happened that a minute later the cabin door burst open with a bang, and the sailor reeled out on to the deck. Despite his condition, this ruffian still had sufficient sense about him to realize that noise might warn the people in the neighboring boat, and if he had not had that sense, the leader of the band quickly reminded him.

"Be silent!" he called out peremptorily. "You will wake everyone with your clumsiness. Come back to the cabin."

"Right, shipmate! I jest thought I'd get on deck to look to the shaver. So there yer are, taking a mouthful of air. Jest you come along below, youngster."

The man was suspicious. There was something about this young fellow that he did not understand, and though a few minutes before he had been sure that he had gained an eager recruit for the band, for the stranger's reception of the details of the plot had been all that he could have wished for, his absence now, his disinclination to drink with his new comrades, awoke suspicion in the drink-soddened mind of the sailor.

"Jest you step below, me hearty," he said huskily; "capt'n's orders is that all hands keeps under hatches till the time comes."

"In a minute! I am watching the shore, for I think I see men moving," was the hasty answer. "Go below yourself, and say that I am keeping a watch. I will come and tell you if anything happens."

The answer seemed to satisfy the man, for he reeled back to the cabin and informed the leader that the young stranger was keeping a watch on deck.

"There ain't no harm in that," he growled, feeling that he ought to support his countryman. "The lad will tell us what's goin'. Leave him alone."

The door closed to again as the black-bearded rascal gave a grudging assent, and once more the youth was alone in the darkness. But the sudden interruption had had its effect. He saw that at any moment he might be disturbed again, and that if he did not act swiftly he might even find himself involved in this foul conspiracy, and obliged to follow the ruffians.

"Besides, it is not of myself I have to think," he muttered; "there is this other Englishman. His life is really in my hands, and I am going to do something. No more hesitating for me. I am a coward to have delayed so long already."

He stood again by the rail for a few seconds, thinking out a plan of action, and then walked on tiptoe to the stern of the boat. There was the little twinkling light again, some twenty or thirty yards astern, a guiding star in the darkness. He stared at it, measuring the distance between the two vessels, and then, clutching the rail, leaned over as far as possible.

"Pretty low in the water," he said. "With an effort I might reach the rail. Then there are the cables to be thought of. If I cannot climb aboard her from the riverside I will try to grip one of the cables. If that is out of the question, I shall get ashore and cross by the gangway."

Feverishly he began to cast off his spurs and boots, for the cabin door might open at any moment. Moreover this young fellow knew himself and his own nature. Irresolution was his besetting fault, and many a time in the past had he suffered on that account. This time he determined there should be more courageous action. He would not change his mind now, and, so that there should be no opportunity, he cast his clothing from him as swiftly as he was able, knowing well that once he was in his shirt sleeves the die was cast; for if the ruffians in the cabin came upon him then, even their soddened minds would take in the situation. They would grasp his intentions in an instant, and would realize that this their latest recruit was about to swim to the neighboring boat and give warning of their murderous intentions. Yes, and they would shoot him without mercy, of that he felt sure.

"Better die in trying to do a good turn to this other fellow, and my plain duty, than hang behind and become the companion of ruffians and murderers," he said. "There go the spurs and boots, and off come the overalls and coat. Now I'm ready. I want a rope to throw over the side so as to allow me to enter the water quietly."

He tiptoed across the deck again, but without success, and it was not till he had been the complete round of the rail that he came upon a coil of rope lying in the scuppers. Creeping aft again, he secured one end to the rail and lowered the other into the water. Then he took one last look at the cabin door, beneath which there was a long and narrow streak of light, while from the interior came the murmur of voices. The young fellow could see in his mind's eye the figures of the men slouching about the table, the bearded face and cunning, lowering look of the leader, the unshaven, dirty features of the sailor, and the dissipated appearance of the gauchos. He could imagine the reek of smoke and strong tobacco in the stuffy little place, the tin pannikins and the stone spirit jar. The very memory of such loathsome companions threw cold water on any fears which he still might possess, and strengthened his resolution. He gave one more glance at the streak of light issuing from beneath the door, looked away at the twinkling glimmer, and stepped on to the rail. A moment later he was outside it, one hand gripping tightly and the other feeling for the rope. Then suddenly something else attracted his attention, and kept him clinging there. There was a commotion ashore, and a blaze of light came unexpectedly from one of the saloons, showing that the door had been thrown wide open. Out into the broad patch of light which streamed from the saloon emerged the men whom Mr. Blunt had engaged to work on his rancho. They were shouting and singing, and clinging arm to arm. They rolled from the doorway, reeled across the street, and then were suddenly blotted out in the darkness of the night, for someone had closed the door of the saloon. But still they were there, reeling back towards their boat, for their shouts and choruses told of their presence.

"That should wake this Englishman, if anything will," thought the young fellow clinging to the rail. "Surely the noise they are making will warn him that trouble is brewing and will put him on his guard. Shall I go after all?"

A glance at the dull outline of his clothes lying on the deck a few inches away told him that there was no turning back, that he must go on with his part of the undertaking, while, had that been insufficient to warn him, a second later he had ample assurance that further stay on the boat would be dangerous alike to him and to the man who was threatened; for the door of the cabin burst open again, and the men who had been lounging over the table rushed on deck. Running to the rails, they stared across the strip of river at the spot from which the noise came.

"The fools!" cried their leader. "They will warn the Englishman with their clatter. They will wake him and spoil our plans."

"Not if you set to at once," suddenly burst in the sailor, who had grasped the man's meaning. "Slip the cable now and float down. Chances are that this Mr. Blunt expected as much when he saw them go ashore. He'll wake for sure, and he'll wait while they turn in. Then he'll sleep again, if these fools don't quarrel with him right away and spoil everything. Best slip the cable now and get aboard the boat before they arrive."

He spoke in English, and led the way at once to the bow of the boat. In a second the others were following, and almost before the young fellow hanging to the rail could grasp their intentions they were slacking out the cable with feverish energy, doing their utmost to reach their victim before the gang of men ashore could upset their plans.

It was time to move. If the Englishman aboard the neighboring boat was to be warned it must be at once. The young fellow glanced back at the twinkling light again, and at once slid down the rope, entering the water without so much as a splash. Then he struck out boldly, and in a few minutes was well away from the vessel.

"There is still time to give the warning," he thought, as he thrust the water behind him. "If only I can get aboard before these men I shall have done something."

As he made his way through the water he thought of the ruffians behind him laboring at the cable, and of those ashore. He knew very well that the first, if they caught sight of his figure, would guess his object and would fire on him. The fear of such an occurrence made him long to turn round to look back at the men, and make sure that he was as yet undiscovered. But that meant delay, and, throwing aside the fear at once, he went on manfully, his eye fixed upon the glimmering light, now very much nearer. Not a shout disturbed him, and even the men ashore seemed to have awakened to the fact that the noise they had been making would ruin their plans. They were silent now, and if only the darkness had not hidden them, they could have been seen creeping down to the landing stage, revolver in hand, ready to aid their comrades. Then, too, if the sides of the vessel in which Mr. Blunt and Dudley lay had not been impenetrable to the eye, this young and gallant fellow would have known that the man upon whom the attack was to be made lay in his bunk, wrapped in a blanket, looking uneasily at the door. He was wide awake, as was his companion, and evidently somewhat upset by the noise which till a moment before had been coming from the shore.

"As I thought," he said in low tones. "That is the worst of tying up to the bank within reach of saloons, and a lesson to employ, whenever possible, a different stamp of men. Those fellows have been drinking, and may be quarrelsome. We will not appear if they call to us. Let us pretend to be asleep, for then there can be no quarrel, and perhaps they will turn in quietly. Ah, they have become silent! That's an excellent sign."

"What's that?" It was Dudley who suddenly sat up and asked the question, for he had heard a splash close alongside, and the noise had been repeated.

"Perhaps a floating log," answered Mr. Blunt. "Nothing to be alarmed at. Ah, that's one arrival!"

There was a bang on the deck just above their heads, and a soft footfall was heard. A moment later Dudley thought he detected a step on the tiny ladder which led down to the cabin in which they lay. He listened intently, his finger on the butt of his revolver, and then started to his feet as a knock sounded on the door. The sudden and unexpected sound startled them both, and brought Mr. Blunt to a sitting position.

"Come in," he called softly, slipping his own weapon from its pouch and facing the door. "Come in at once!"

A hand fumbled in the darkness for the latch, the handle turned, and in a trice the door flew open. For a second the youth who appeared stood perfectly still, blinking at the lantern. Then, with a quick movement, the young fellow, who had so bravely swum from the other vessel, entered the cabin, and swung the door to again. He was breathless with his exertions, for it had been no easy matter to climb aboard. Then, too, he was in the highest pitch of excitement, for he knew that his warning had arrived not an instant too soon. He stood there, the water streaming from him and forming a rapidly increasing pool on the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, when Dudley staggered back a step, looked incredulously at the stranger, and then uttered a cry of astonishment.

"Joyce! You here! This is strange!"

"Dudley! Dudley Compton!"

The recognition was mutual. In spite of Harold Joyce's half-drowned appearance, Dudley knew him the instant he set eyes on the strange apparition at the doorway of the cabin, while the lad who had so bravely swum across to give his warning needed no second view of the sturdy, bronzed figure standing, revolver in hand, just beneath the swaying lantern. In a flash he knew that he was face to face with the old school friend whom he had wronged, the lad whose future had been darkened by a cloud which he, Harold Joyce, could have dispelled had he had the courage to confess his crime. It was a moment of intense interest in both their young lives, and it is not to be wondered at that, in spite of the urgency of the situation, of the need for instant action, these two young fellows stared in amazement at each other as if they were spellbound. Then Harold suddenly found his tongue.