CHAPTER XVIII

A DASH FOR THE PAMPAS

Down under the brushwood and the brambles which thickly covered the ground between the trunks of the forest trees the darkness was intense. So black and forbidding that Dudley imagined that he could almost feel it and grip it in his hands. Not an inch could he see in front of his face, for it happened that a bank of clouds had blown across the face of the tiny crescent of the moon, which had hitherto sent a few rays straggling here and there in between the trees, and now not a leaf shimmered under the pale rays, not a trunk was visible, there was no light but the occasional flare, some yards behind him, as one of his own men opened fire.

"Just the time for me to succeed," he thought to himself when he had crawled a few yards on hands and knees. "I must be near the body of the man Pepito killed, and once I reach it I shall lie still and try to get the bearings of the enemy. Harold knows what I want. He is to give me ten minutes to reach this man and get some cover, and then he will open fire again in this direction."

The whole plan had, in fact, been very carefully discussed, for all knew that Antonio Sarvisti and his men would make the utmost effort to stop any and every attempt at escape, and if Dudley was to succeed it would not be by his own cunning and boldness alone, though the attempt was hazardous enough, but by the help and co-operation of his comrades.

"Ah, that is fortunate! I have found him."

A low exclamation of relief escaped his lips, for as he stretched out one hand, groping amidst the bushes and brambles, the fingers came in contact with the frilled edging of a man's overalls. The touch almost sent a shiver through our hero; for the sensation of crawling through this deep shadow was an uncanny one. True, he was almost sure that no living enemy was within some yards of him; but yet, as his fingers touched the man for the first time, the horrible suspicion that it might be a gaucho lying in wait for him flashed across his mind. He felt startled, and, withdrawing his hand, seized his hunting knife. Then he stretched out again, ran his fingers up the leg, and finally came to the face.

"Cold already," he said to himself, feeling immensely relieved. "And here is what I want, his hat and his neckcloth. Good! Now, unless the light is strong, none will be able to detect me."

As quickly as possible he relieved the body of hat and neckcloth and donned them himself. Then, determined to make the most of every second, and feeling sure that it was not yet time for Harold to open fire in his direction, he crawled on again as stealthily as any snake, clearing the ground before him, progressing a few inches only at a time, and taking the utmost pains to remove all sticks from his path. Now and again a bramble or a strong shoot from one of the bushes opposed his onward progress, and for a time he felt as if they were iron bars, so impossible to avoid them was it.

"If I push them aside they will swing back certainly," he thought. "Then, if I attempt to creep and wriggle under them they are sure to hit against others, and the sound they will make will be heard. Ah, my knife! That will make short work of them."

From that moment he held the weapon in his hand, for brambles were forever obstructing him; and besides, at that slow and careful pace it did not hinder his progress, and was there in case of some sudden attack.

Crack! Twenty yards behind him there was a sharp report which brought Dudley flat on his face, where he lay listening to the rip, rip of the bullet as it ploughed its way through the tree tops. Then he heard the gentle patter of falling twigs and leaves, cut in twain by the missile.

"Good, Harold!" he said beneath his breath. "You are a careful fellow. That is a warning shot, just to let me know you are about to open fire. I shall stay here. There is a big tree just behind me now, and I am fairly secure. Fire away!"

It seemed as if those he had left behind in the shallow trenches scooped in the earth had heard his words, for almost instantly there came a spluttering discharge, the flashes coming from a point on a level with the ground, while the bullets swept the forest, striking the trunks with resounding thuds, and often enough flying off at a tangent, accompanied by that high- or low-pitched hum which tells of a ricochet, a sound pleasant enough to listen to if one has perfect cover, but sufficiently trying under other circumstances. Patter, patter, patter. Dudley heard the gentle fall of twigs and leaves again, and smiled grimly as he wondered what the enemy thought of it all.

"Perhaps they imagine we are scared," he thought. "That will be all the better, for then they will hardly expect an attempt at escape. Ah, there the boys go again!"

Another spluttering volley burst from the trees behind him, while a second later Pepito's voice was heard resounding loudly through the forest, and undoubtedly intended for the ears of the enemy.

"Fire, fire!" he shouted. "The rascals are crawling near. Sweep them away! Shoot them down as they come!"

There was a note of terror in his voice, a note which Antonio Sarvisti distinguished with a snarl of pleasure.

"It is not to be all for one side," he said to his surly lieutenant, who forever hovered at his elbow. "They caught us nicely when we attacked, and we suffered in consequence; but the attempt has had its effect. Those fools over there have an attack of nerves. That sudden volley was fired by men who are scared, who see ghosts in the forest, who imagine sounds which have no existence, and who blaze away for no reason at all. Good for us, _amico_! Their ammunition will not last forever. We will do our best to give them many an alarm."

He sent a man round his following at once with orders that every now and again a few should creep forward a few paces, making as much noise as possible.

"That will draw their fire," he said with a chuckle. "That will empty their magazine and soon place them helplessly in our hands."

Meanwhile Dudley lay flat on his face, listening intently, and waiting patiently till the fusillade from behind him had died down. He could hear the click of the locks as the men reloaded, could discern Harold's voice as he directed their fire, and even caught the far-off murmur of men talking, for Antonio Sarvisti spoke aloud to his lieutenant. But, strain his ears as he would, there was no sound from in front of him, nothing to denote that an enemy was lurking there.

"Which seems to prove that they have cleared away," he said. "We have searched this part already with our fire, and the enemy will have learned to avoid it. I shall be surprised if I meet a single man. There, I think that will be Harold's last shot in this direction for a while, so that I can soon begin to move forward."

Ping! Crash! There was another flash behind him, proving that his comrades had not yet finished their portion of the plan. Bang! There came a second, quick on its heels, and then a shriek, a bloodcurdling shriek, which rang through the forest, seeming to be tossed backward and forward between the trees till it died down mournfully in the distance. It was the last frantic call of a man who had been hit, and the sound came from a point not fifteen yards in front of our hero.

"Hit!" he murmured, a cold chill running all over his body, for the shriek had startled him. "Poor beggar! I imagine he thought, as I did, that the firing was done with for a time, and sat up to listen. That second bullet must have caught him, and probably killed him instantly. Well, it is hard for him but fortunate for me, for he lay right in my track."

It was indeed a lucky shot for Dudley, but for his comrades behind it was a very different matter. Harold Joyce, the young commander of the party, had fired the weapon, intending that it should be the very last to be directed along the path which Dudley was taking. He had judged the elevation of his shot as carefully as possible considering the darkness, and he had sent it swishing through the trees some three feet above the ground, high enough to escape our hero's head. But the sudden shriek dismayed him. He dropped the weapon, turned deathly pale, and snatched desperately at Pepito's sleeve.

"Who was that?" he demanded anxiously. "Oh, I have killed him! Do you hear me? I have shot the best friend I have ever had, the bravest and most generous fellow under the sun."

He was almost weeping. There were big tears in his eyes, while the handsome gaucho beside him heard him gulp down a sob. Harold was thoroughly unhinged by that awful shriek. Fear that he had killed his friend drove him frantic, and, starting to his feet, he would have shouted aloud, had not Pepito restrained him.

"Lie still, señor," he said in firm but friendly tones. "That call came from a point far beyond the spot where our leader lies. I am sure of that fact, for my ears are good. It was one of the enemy who fell, and at this moment the señor who has so bravely gone from our fort is lying as still as death, waiting for our fire to cease so that he may crawl onward. Silence, señor! If you call, all these ruffians will know that we are making an effort."

It was true. Slowly it dawned upon Harold's brain that a call to his friend would warn the enemy. He longed to be able to give a shout, to send some signal to Dudley and to receive one in return. He would even have crawled out of the fort and followed him, with the one purpose of convincing himself that his old friend was unharmed. But the tall, sturdy gaucho stretched beside him held him with a firm hand, and whispered reassuringly to him, though he himself in his own heart had also some misgiving.

"Lie still and wait, señor," he said. "The matter is as I have said. Our leader is alive and well; but if you call or move, the enemy will suspect, and then----"

There was no need to say more, for Harold understood. Discovery would lead to almost certain execution, either promptly or at the convenience of the enemy. For Antonio Sarvisti and his men had suffered, and the sudden shriek from the depths of the forest had not helped to improve their feeling for the little band about whom they lay. The rascals, one and all, ground their teeth, and swore that when the time came they would kill every one of these stubborn fellows.

"They shall receive what they deserve," growled Antonio, beside himself with rage. "I will hang two men for each one that I have lost, and so teach all that resistance is fatal. These dogs would have done better to have surrendered at once, and given in to my will. They shall learn that Antonio Sarvisti is a hard man to deal with."

As for Dudley, the shriek had unnerved him for a moment, and had caused him to flatten himself even closer to the ground, and to burrow his head beneath the brambles, for there is nothing which makes a man wish more to sink into the earth than the ugly rip, rip of bullets flying close overhead. Then, too, he had other missiles to be cautious of, for that terrible call had brought answering calls from the forest. Antonio's men shouted in their anger, and opened a heavy fire, their bullets swishing over the fort, and cutting their way through the forest. The flashes of their weapons blazed out here and there, from right and left, and from the pampas; but from that point immediately to the front, where Harold's men had swept the underwood with their fire, there was not a flash. Not a report sounded in that direction.

"Then the plan succeeds so far," said Dudley. "Once I am sure that Harold and his men have finished, I will move on again. Ah, that is his signal!"

The fusillade had died down now, and for the space of two minutes the forest was sunk in silence. Then a single shot rang out, echoing sharply amidst the trees, and once more our hero heard the bullet burst its way through the tangled leaves far overhead, severing the usual shower of twigs and green.

"Time to get along," he thought. "Harold's signal is clear enough. Now for the most difficult part of the undertaking."

He was on his hands and knees in less than a second, and then commenced the same cautious crawling progress through the underwood. Twigs and dried or rotting sticks were carefully put aside, while the knife which he still carried in his hand severed the brambles with a slash. Not a rustle disturbed the stillness in his direction, though here and there, as he paused again and again to listen, rose the murmur of voices, the gentle call of men to one another. Then out came the moon, floating from behind the clouds which had ridden across her face. The pale rays shone down upon pampas and forest, and, penetrating here and there, lit up a tiny patch, making brambles and tree trunks stand out prominently. There were dozens of such bright areas, and Dudley carefully steered his course away from them, fearful lest the light should show him to the enemy. Then, of a sudden, he came to a halt again. A man was standing behind a tree some twenty yards away, his head and one shoulder illuminated by the rays falling from above. The black, shadowy line of the tree trunk cut across his body, hiding it from view, and leaving only the head and shoulder visible, as well as the rifle which he gripped in one hand. The face could be seen clearly, stern and expectant, while one ear was turned as if the gaucho was listening intently.

"He must have heard a suspicious sound," thought Dudley, his breath coming fast, while his heart pattered loudly against his ribs. "Yes, he is looking this way, and if it were not so dark I might almost think that he saw me. Ah, he does!"

It would have been a trying moment even for an old hand, experienced in this forest warfare, and the reader need think none the less of Dudley if he again shrank close to the ground and almost shivered with apprehension. It was not only that he feared this one man. A combination of circumstances had served to strain his nerves to breaking pitch; the clatter of musketry, the sharp rip of the bullets, that terrible scream, and now the uncanny silence, the darkness of the forest with these illuminated patches, in one of which stood one of the enemy.

"Was he discovered? The man's eyes were surely fixed on him. He must fire at him if he wished to escape."

The thoughts ran through Dudley's head, and for a while he felt bewildered. Then his old coolness returned to him, or at least a portion of it. He realized that it was impossible for the man to have seen him, for he lay in a wide patch of inky shadow. Perhaps he had heard some sound, and was merely suspicious. "Ah! He was calling."

The face behind the tree turned suddenly, till the back of the head was alone to be seen. Then a low call broke the silence, a call which was answered from some distance away. Presently a crash amidst the brushwood told that someone was moving, and as Dudley stared at the brilliant patch, one of the gauchos appeared, a hulking, slouching rascal, with surly features, between whose strong teeth was held a leaf which he was busily chewing. Immediately a second came upon the scene, a squat, ugly fellow whom he recognized at once as the leader of this band of desperadoes.

"If they rush at me I will get behind this tree and shoot them down," he thought, keeping his eyes on the trio, while he slipped one hand down to the pouch in which his revolver rested. "But they are not certain. The man only thinks he heard a sound. Perhaps they will go away."

"What is it?" demanded Antonio as he joined the two gauchos. "You called, _amico_? Did you see or hear anything?"

Dudley saw the eyes of the ruffian flash as he turned towards his man, for the moon fell directly upon his upturned face. He longed to know what was passing between them.

"Hear anything?" was the answer. "How can a man say? Perhaps it was the wind, perhaps a twig dropping from the tree tops, shot away by the dogs. I thought I heard a fellow moving, but that was two minutes ago. Listen, and you may be wiser than I am."

The three stood in the illuminated patch for perhaps five minutes, making not so much as a sound, while from the poise of their heads it was clear that they were listening. Then Antonio gave a gesture of disgust, and swung round on his heel.

"Ghosts, ghosts! always the same!" he exclaimed angrily. "You men are always seeing and hearing what does not exist. There is Bico, down on the opposite side. An hour ago he swore that he saw someone moving on his right and fired. It was a tree, and his bullet is buried deep in the trunk. But you are a careful man. You are wise to take note of even the smallest sound. However, it is not on this side that we need expect an attempt at escape. It is yonder, close to the pampas. Move to your right and you may be the lucky one to discover one of the dogs."

He turned again, stared into the forest, and was moving away, when once more a shot startled the silence, a shot which came from the fort burrowed at the roots of the trees behind Dudley. Crisp and clear it came, and, as fortune would have it, not a tree trunk stood in the way of the muzzle. It flew direct to the object at which it had been aimed, and in an instant Antonio's surly lieutenant was down, dropping without a sound in the very centre of the little clearing. A moment later Antonio and the other gaucho were gone, slinking away to another part of the forest.

"A good shot, and one which will help me immensely," thought Dudley. "It has cleared the way nicely, and now, with a little luck, I should be able to get through."

On hands and knees again, feverish with the desire to get through the encircling line, and yet curbing his impatience--for haste here might mean failure and death,--he slid in under the brambles, burrowed his path amidst the trees, and, inch by inch, foot by foot, gradually increased his distance from the fort he had left behind.

The minutes were like hours, the crackle of a feeble, mouldering leaf under his knee sounded to him in his overstrung condition like a rifle report, while the thud of one of the enemy's rifles against a distant tree was crushing in its intensity. It brought him to a halt, palpitating, with perspiration streaming from his forehead.

"No, not discovered! He was a funk, a coward, to be startled so easily. Was he a baby, a little child, to be frightened because a leaf crackled, or a twig fell from a neighboring tree? A fine fellow the gauchos had allowed to make this attempt!"

Dudley ground his teeth with rage. He was furious with himself for being so nervous, for showing so much fear. Time and again he called himself a coward, a craven, fit only to cook for the men and not to lead them; and then gradually he became calmer. He was a plucky lad at heart, and, if he could only have realized it, there was ample reason for all his fears.

Even a grown man would have had his nerves braced to the highest on this dark night, and why therefore should he be ashamed? His old, gallant spirit returned. He groped his way forward with more energy now, till the inches and feet had grown to yards, till the murmur of the rascals surrounding the little band of comrades near the pampas was lost in the distance. He was clear. The enemy was behind him, and now all that remained was to steal a horse and gallop away.

"I can smell them," he suddenly exclaimed, under his breath. "In a place like this, where there is little wind, and many horses are placed together, it is not by any means impossible. They are over there. I am sure of it."

Lifting his head he stood for a moment or two sniffing the air, and was at length convinced that he was not in error. For, as he had said, in an enclosed place like that, with little wind, and that blowing in his face, a keen-scented man can easily detect the neighborhood of the horse lines. Dudley delayed no longer. He was standing to his full height now, for the forest was not so thick here, and he at once set off for the spot where he imagined the horses to be. And presently a glimmer came to his eyes. Something red was shining between the trunks a hundred yards away, something which, as the distance decreased, proved to be a camp fire, with a kettle suspended over it. The flare from the crackling wood lit up the surroundings, showing the blankets of Antonio's men, tumbled haphazard upon the ground, spare boxes of ammunition, bags of food, and some dozen saddles. Steam, and a savory odor, were issuing from the kettle which sang over the flames, while away to the right the firelight showed a horse, the first of a long line picketed beyond him.

"At last," thought Dudley, his heart beating fast with joy. "There are the horses, and if I creep round to the far side, so as to be well away from the fire, I ought to have no difficulty in cutting one of the picket ropes and slipping away. By Jove! How good that stuff smells boiling in the kettle. I'm hungry and could eat a meal. But there's no time; I have the others to think about."

Skirting the edge of the forest, and just outside the range of the firelight, he came within five minutes to the line of horses. Many were asleep as if they had had a hard day, while some were cropping the grass at their feet. Dudley inspected them carefully, and, having made his choice, boldly severed the picket rope of the finest of the animals.

"A splendid beast," he said to himself, "and one which will require some catching. Now I want a second, and then, once I have led them far enough away, we'll show our heels to these rascals. To-morrow at noon I ought to be at the estancia."