CHAPTER XII

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

Drenched from head to foot, and standing in a pool of water which drained constantly from him, Harold Joyce might have been excused under the extraordinary conditions if he had forgotten his special mission to the ship on which he had discovered Dudley, for he had suddenly come face to face with one to whom he owed an explanation, and whose forgiveness he could hardly hope to gain. But he remembered the urgency of the position, and, still strong in his resolve to give his warning of attack, he swung round to the other figure standing, pistol in hand, before him.

"You are Mr. Blunt?" he asked.

"I am, my lad."

"Then you have not a moment to lose. I came up the river as a passenger in that other boat which moored up above you. There is a gang of ruffians aboard, who are friends of the men you engaged, and who are now returning here. I learned the tale from an English sailor, who is one of the gang. Quick, sir, they are slacking out their hawser, and dropping down upon you. They mean to rob and kill you."

The words tumbled from him rapidly, while he stepped forward eagerly and laid his hand on Mr. Blunt's arm.

"You haven't a moment to spare," he urged. "They are already only a few yards away, and you must act."

"The scoundrels! A gang letting their boat down on us so as to get aboard? And you say that the men we engaged are in the plot? What is to be done?"

Mr. Blunt stared in astonishment at Harold, and then swung round to look at Dudley, as if to ask his help, for the situation was critical, and though he was a man who had faced many dangers, and was not lacking in resource, yet this warning had come so suddenly, and gave such little time for thought, that he was utterly at a loss. As for Dudley, he could hardly fix his attention on the danger. His eyes were riveted on Harold Joyce, the last person he had expected to meet out in these foreign parts, and the only one who could clear his character. For some months now he had borne the knowledge that he was looked upon as a thief by his old friends and comrades at home. The stigma, in spite of Mr. Blunt's kindly belief in him, still filled his mind with bitterness, and had caused him to register a solemn vow. Deep down in his mind our hero had decided to work for his employer, to improve his position in the world, and never to rest till he had proved to all that he was innocent of theft, that he had been wrongly accused, and was the victim of another's crime. Was it wonderful, therefore, that, finding himself suddenly face to face with the very one whom he knew must be the guilty person--the only person, in fact, who could clear him of the stigma under which he suffered, that question filled his mind to the exclusion of all others? He was helpless! The ruffians might even board the boat and commence their attack, and any defence he might make would be almost automatic. However, Joyce was by no means asleep, while Mr. Blunt had no intention of being taken without a struggle.

"Dudley," he cried sharply, "we must do something. We shall be outnumbered, and if we don't make an effort the rascals will murder all three of us. What are we to do? Quick, lad! Suggest something."

"The cables, sir," cried Harold, pulling at the handle of the door. "You are moored alongside the staging, they tell me. Cut the cables and float out into the stream. Then they will miss you. I've a knife. It is the only thing we can do to escape them."

He pulled the door open, while with an exclamation of delight Mr. Blunt blew out the candle in the lamp and dragged Dudley out on to the deck. Harold had already gained it and, knife in hand, raced forward. Going on hands and knees he felt for the cable which moored the boat for'ard, and, finding it, severed it with a sweep of the blade. Meanwhile Mr. Blunt had sought for the rope right aft, and with a slash from his hunting knife cut it in two. By then Dudley had recovered from his astonishment at what had occurred. With an effort he banished all thought of the crime for which he was expelled. Once more he was working in the interests of his employer, and set about his defence with all his old enthusiasm. He ran into the bow, where he and Harold stood side by side, listening to the men aboard the other boat.

"They are within ten yards, I should say," he whispered to Joyce. "That should give us just time to get away, unless the mud holds us. Are we moving?"

Harold promptly hung over the rail, and stared down at the black surface of the river.

"I don't think so," he answered in low tones, coming to Dudley's side again. "We are on the mud. They will catch us yet."

"Not if we pole away. There are some poles on deck, I know. Come along with me, Harold. And, look here, just pitch that plank overboard."

They were standing close beside the place where the plank gangway came in from the shore, and at once Harold seized it and gently drew it inboard.

"Better not make a row by throwing it over," he whispered. "The beggars don't know we've moved yet. Better keep them in ignorance. Ah, here's a pole!"

Mr. Blunt joined them at that instant, and, hearing what they were doing, at once helped them. It happened that there were several long poles lying along the scuppers, for often enough the river boats got aground on a mud or sand bank, and then the crew were forced to pole them off. Seizing three of them, the trio lowered the ends into the water close to the bow, and pushed with might and main. The boat moved. She had a good deal of water under her, and the mud just held the after part of her shallow keel. The bow swung out rapidly, the poles were shifted, and in a minute the boat was almost broadside on to the stream. By then the one which was descending upon them was within four yards, but so busy were the ruffians at her cable that as yet they had not discovered what was occurring.

"They will know in a moment," whispered Mr. Blunt, drawing in his pole. "The ruffians ashore are on the wharf already. You can hear them now. They are searching for the boat and the gangway, and in a few seconds one of them will see us out here. Then the whole pack will shout, and those aboard the vessel just above us will fire. Got a weapon, sir?"

"I have nothing," answered Harold promptly. "I left my revolver behind. I was afraid of the weight."

"Then here is one, and don't be afraid to use it. Those rascals will shoot you as if you were a dog. They have no qualms about taking human life, and if you want to get out of this trouble you must be just as ready to kill them. Dudley, can we do anything else?"

"We might keep them from boarding by pushing out one of the poles," he answered. "If they can get within six feet they will jump aboard, and then we shall not have a chance. We are swinging round rapidly now, and at the rate they are coming down they will strike our stern, I fancy. I'll go over there with this pole, and push them away if possible."

"While I and this young gentleman shoot down those who wish to pay us a visit. Ah, there they are! The dogs are barking with a vengeance. Come along with me, sir, and remember to keep below the rail. Those fellows over there on the wharf might get your figure against a white patch in the sky, and they are wonderful shots. Don't show more than you can help, and when you shoot, shoot quickly, and duck again."

Harold Joyce gripped the revolver which had been handed to him, and followed Mr. Blunt along the deck to the spot where Dudley had already taken up his station with the pole. It was a new experience to him to find himself in actual danger of his life, but up to this moment he had had no opportunity of considering the situation. The fact of finding himself aboard a vessel containing a gang of cut-throats had helped not a little to make up his mind to accept the risk of swimming to the other vessel, though to do him justice he was eager to play a man's game in the matter, and do what was his obvious duty. But even then, once his decision was made, and he had slid into the river, the need for exertion and for caution had filled his thoughts, so that he was able to give little attention to the subject of personal danger, though, to be sure, he felt extremely uncomfortable when he remembered the revolvers which the gang had so openly displayed, and the fact that a bullet might soon be hissing after him. Now, however, as he crouched behind the rail of the ship and watched the other boat slowly approaching, he had a moment or two to realize his position, and the fact that the gang he had so lately left would stop at nothing. He could see that if they could only board the ship upon which he crouched, he and his two companions would certainly be shot. Even if the gang were unsuccessful in reaching the vessel, it was certain that bullets would be flying, and, supposing one came his way, supposing he was killed!

The thought made him shudder. He shivered from head to foot, and for one brief second felt inclined to dive into the cabin and hide his head there in the farthest corner. But he conquered the impulse. He looked at the dark figure crouching beside him, and heard Mr. Blunt's voice.

"Just remember what I said, lad," he whispered. "Keep down and shoot quickly. And, my lad, now that I have a second, let me thank you for your warning. You risked much, and have placed yourself in a position of great danger. I shall hope to be able, later, to thank you for behaving like a gallant gentleman."

The words came in the nick of time. Harold Joyce, the lad who had been noted at school for frivolity, for indecision, for shirking games in which personal injury might be incurred, heard himself described as a gallant gentleman. Remembering what despicable courage he had once displayed, when he allowed his old comrade to be branded as a thief, he winced at the words. Then he lifted his head, for this young fellow had still the makings of an honorable man in him. He had been undecided once. He had shown the most lamentable want of courage. But that was in the past. He, too, had suffered, and had learnt his lesson. Long ago he had made up his mind never to rest till he had set the matter of Dudley's expulsion right. He had declared his guilt before the whole school, so that our hero's name was now as bright there as ever. And now he had come out to South America with one solitary and praiseworthy object. He had taken advantage of the liberal allowance made by his father to come in search of Dudley, to meet him face to face, and tell him what had happened. Then, if possible, he would obtain his forgiveness. Indeed, Harold Joyce's conscience had done much for his wavering resolution already. He had shown to all at home an honest and steady intention to reform, and was he going at this moment to show his old indecision under the very eyes of the one who had suffered for his fault in the past? Never! The lad closed his teeth firmly, gripped his revolver, and swore beneath his breath to fight hard for his old friend, to do something more than he had already accomplished that night, so as to show him that Harold Joyce had something good left in him yet.

"What if I am killed?" he thought. "Then Dudley will never know what has happened. He will not know that he is cleared, and why I have come out here. There is time to tell him now. We are swinging fast, and that boat is still ten feet away. I'll do it."

He crept a pace nearer to our hero and touched his leg.

"Dudley!" he called softly. "Dudley, I want to say something now before the row begins. I am a sneak and a coward. I stole the money, and came out here to tell you so. I confessed to the old head, and to the whole school, and could not rest till I had told you all that had happened. That's all, only I'm ashamed of myself. I acted like a cad and a blackguard."

There was silence for some few seconds, a tense silence, aboard their boat, while from the wharf came the patter of feet on the woodwork, and the call of one of the men to those aboard the vessel now so close to Dudley and his friends. Then came an answering hail, and the noise made by a man stumbling over a coil of rope. In a minute, in less time than that perhaps, the alarm would be sounded, and the gang of ruffians would know that their expected victims were warned of their intentions and were already making efforts to escape. It was, in fact, hardly the moment for a confession, and yet who can wonder that Joyce made it? The subject of the theft filled his mind as much as it did Dudley's. Remorse had been eating at his heart for many weeks past, and now he felt desperate. He was so near to the object for which he had struggled. He had come to South America for one purpose, and could not bear to think that now, at the last instant, he might lose all. If only he could tell Dudley his tale, and have his answer, he felt that nothing else mattered, not even a bullet, for he knew now that he could die happily once he had done this duty to his old comrade. His hand tightened on our hero's leg convulsively, while Mr. Blunt coughed huskily.

As for Dudley, he could hardly believe his ears. He knew well, had known all along, that Harold Joyce was guilty, but even in his most sanguine moments he had never expected to be so completely cleared. And now, when he heard that the head and every boy at the school knew that he was innocent, when he heard that Harold had confessed all, and not content with that had followed him to South America there to tell him what he had done, why it was almost too much! The leg which Joyce gripped trembled and shook. Dudley could not speak for an instant, but he knew what his old comrade must be suffering, and at once, with a magnanimity which did his heart good, he stretched down, took the hand clasping his leg, and gripped it eagerly. Then he was able to steady himself.

"All right, old fellow!" he said. "I can't thank you now, but will do so later. You have lifted a load from my mind."

"Then you forgive me, Dudley? There is nothing to thank me for. I have done only bare justice to you."

"With all my heart," came the swift answer. "You have made up for all by behaving like a decent fellow."

"Hear, hear! Hear, hear!" came from Mr. Blunt.

A second later a shout came across the water, for the man who had hailed his comrades on the boat had suddenly caught sight of the other one swinging out into the stream. At first he and his comrades had searched vainly for her in the darkness, and had come very near to tumbling into the river in their efforts to find the gangway. Then, little by little, it had dawned on their sluggish minds that they were beaten, that the man whose money they hoped to take was wide awake, and was already slipping from their clutches. They had promised themselves to commence their work in the Entre Rios country by a successful coup on the way up the Paraná River, and the man who was responsible for their being brought together had specially urged them to make Mr. Blunt their first victim. Perhaps he had some special reason, but in any case the grazier who occupied the boat now swinging away from the wharf, the man whose employment they had so cunningly accepted, was escaping, and once their minds had grasped that fact they set up such a din that those aboard the other vessel were quickly informed of what was happening. The tall, black-bearded Italian ruffian at their head grasped the meaning of those shouts at once, and came bounding along the deck, striking heavily against a yard in the darkness. With a growl he picked himself up, for the collision had thrown him to the deck, and ran to the stern.

"Cut the rope," he shouted to his men. "Cut it, and come here with me. We are close to them, and in a moment can get on board. It is that English youth who has cheated us, I expect, and, if that is so, the sailor shall have small mercy. Ah, I see them!"

He stood to his full height against the stern rail of the river boat, and peered into the darkness. He could see the big hull of the other boat looming across the river some few feet away, and as he watched his eye suddenly lit on Dudley, standing pole in hand ready to push the attacking vessel away. The rascal did not hesitate, and in an instant his hand went to the revolver which was tucked into a deep pocket on his thigh. Barely lifting it from that position he pulled the trigger and sent a ball flying through the darkness. Indeed it was the darkness alone which saved Dudley, for the ruffian who had drawn trigger was an expert shot with the revolver and seldom missed. However, it was but a dull outline which he had caught of Dudley, and his muzzle was directed just a shade too much to one side. The bullet whizzed past his head, missing it by little more than an inch, and, flying along the deck, buried itself in the mast, giving a loud and ominous thud as it did so. An instant later Mr. Blunt rose to his feet, a spout of flame shot from his weapon, lighting up the immediate surroundings for one brief instant, and then he was down again, listening eagerly, and waiting for another opportunity, while he dragged at Dudley's clothing.

"Get down," he said sharply. "I saw what was happening by the flash. We are travelling as fast as they are. Probably faster, for we are almost broadside on, and the stream has more hold on us. Did I hit?"

A sharp cry had followed his shot, showing that in all probability it had hit the mark, but still as Dudley looked over the rail he could see the tall figure of the rascal who had fired at him. The man stood stock-still, making no effort to retaliate, and if only he had been nearer, and the night not so intensely dark, they would have seen that he was gripping the rail convulsively. For the bullet which Mr. Blunt had fired had struck the ruffian hard, so hard, in fact, that it was a wonder that the man did not fall to the deck at once. But he was one of those individuals possessed of enormous resolution and courage. He knew that he was badly hit at once. He felt as if his last moment had come, and yet he would not give in. He clung to the rail and swayed backward and forward giddily. He endeavored to turn and call to his followers, but the effort nearly brought him to the deck. Then he stared at Dudley again, made a frantic attempt to pick up the weapon which had dropped at his feet, and then, of a sudden, collapsed on to the rail of the ship. There was a loud crash as the flimsy rail gave way, and then a dull splash. The leader of the gang of ruffians had met his end in the waters of the River Paraná.

"One rascal the less," said Mr. Blunt coolly, lifting his head to look over the rail. "He at least will not trouble us again."

"Then we may escape altogether," broke in Harold. "That man was the ringleader of the gang. He was an Italian, and the sailor told me that he had been appointed leader by some friend who had in particular selected you for the first attack."

"Ah! Is that so? Tell me more, lad."

"There is little to tell you," said Harold in a whisper, as he watched the following boat. "It seems that the men aboard, and those whom you hired, had formed themselves into a gang some four weeks ago, with the intention of going up on to the pampas and robbing the ranchers."

"Robbing! That is a mild term. Shooting them is more correct."

Mr. Blunt spoke very deliberately and coolly. There was not a tremor in his voice, and he seemed to be absolutely unaffected by the excitement of the moment. Indeed he might have forgotten the very existence of the gang of ruffians for all that his listeners could tell. Dudley, as he watched the pursuers, secretly admired the courage of this employer of his. He had never before seen him actually in such a dilemma, but he had long ago come to the conclusion that Mr. Blunt was just the man to go through an engagement without showing a trace of fear or even of excitement. And now his opinion of the man was proved to be correct. Mr. Blunt was questioning Harold Joyce in cool, matter-of-fact tones which showed his calmness and courage.

"Yes, it would appear that that is their intention," said Harold, still in the same low tones. "From what the sailor told me they intended to pay a round of visits, commencing with your estancia, for you are nearest to the Indians, and, so far as I could gather, there seemed to be some special reason why you should be made a victim."

"That is right, lad. There is a reason. Well do I know it. But go on. There is time, for if I am not mistaken we are increasing our distance from those rascals every second. I cannot understand why they do not pack themselves into the stern and blaze at us with their weapons. But, go on, lad."

"Well it happened that, just as their arrangements were complete, you came down the river to Buenos Ayres. They have friends who tell them of any unusual occurrence, and this was reported to them. Everything fell out as they wanted. You required men. They had men to spare, and by putting a portion of their gang on your boat made more sure of getting your money. That is all I know. I thought it was high time to put a spoke in their wheel."

"And so you swum across to warn an absolute stranger. Thanks, lad, it was gallant conduct. But we will speak of that later. For the moment we have yet to deal with these rascals. To think that this is another of their organized bands, and that that old feud still lives, and that those wretches still desire to murder me. Well, well, we shall see. There is still a good deal of life and tenacity left in the old dog. How are matters now, Dudley?"

"We are drawing away. The current seems to have got us in its grip, and we are moving finely. But I cannot make out what those fellows are doing. As soon as the leader had gone overboard I heard a shout, and I think it must have been this sailor whom Harold mentions. Then the men who were running aft stopped, and since that I have seen nothing of them, but can hear them talking."

"They are up to some clever trick, I have no doubt," said Mr. Blunt decisively. "The rascals will not let us slip without an effort. Listen to those ruffians ashore."

They were bellowing loudly to their comrades on the boat, and, if Dudley and his two friends could have seen them, were for the most part collected at the very edge of the wharf, where they stood unsteadily, peering out into the darkness, and calling loudly that they would follow out on to the stream as soon as a boat could be found. Nor was it long before one of their number was successful in his search. He lit upon a boat at the end of the wharf, and, paddling it beneath his friends, called to them to descend--a movement which some of them carried out with such carelessness that the bark was almost upset. Then they pushed out on to the river, and, taking up their paddles, rowed as well as they were able in the direction of their friends. Meanwhile the latter had not been idle. The ominous quiet aboard their boat was followed by a burst of cheering, and then by the appearance of a couple of figures in the stern. One was the sailor, and at once he took possession of the helm.

"She'll steer within the minute," he called out huskily. "Get those poles over her bows and push her round. Skurry, lads, or we'll be too late!"

"The rascals! They have hoisted sail, and will be able to make rings round us," cried Mr. Blunt. "I fear that they have now an enormous advantage."

That this was the case could not be denied, for as the trio looked over the rail at the banks of the river, occasionally to be seen dimly, they found that they themselves were floating slowly on the current, swinging round and round, while within but a few yards of them, and quickly coming under sail, was the pursuing boat, on the rails of which hung the gang of outlaws, ready to commence the attack at the very first moment. In rear of them was a river craft manned by more of the gang, who were pulling lustily so as to come up in time to take their share in the unequal contest. The situation was indeed critical again, and there is little wonder that the trio aboard the drifting craft found it hard to decide how to act under the circumstances, and looked about them desperately for a way of escape.