Part 11 (1/2)
As straight, and almost as swiftly, as an arrow, Flinders ran to his tent, burst into the presence of his amazed comrade, seized him by both arms, and exclaimed in a sharp hoa.r.s.e voice, the import of which there could be no mistaking--
”Whisht!--howld yer tongue! The camp'll be attacked in ten minutes! Be obadient now, an' foller me.”
Flinders turned and ran out again, taking the path to Gashford's hut with the speed of a hunted hare. Fred Westly followed. Bursting in upon the bully, who had not yet retired to rest, the Irishman seized him by both arms and repeated his alarming words, with this addition:
”Sind some wan to rouse the camp--but _silently_! No noise--or it's all up wid us!”
There was something in Paddy's manner and look that commanded respect and constrained obedience--even in Gashford.
”Bill,” he said, turning to a man who acted as his valet and cook, ”rouse the camp. Quietly--as you hear. Let no man act however, till my voice is heard. You'll know it when ye hear it!”
”No mistake about _that_!” muttered Bill, as he ran out on his errand.
”Now--foller!” cried Flinders, catching up a bit of rope with one hand and a billet of firewood with the other, as he dashed out of the hut and made straight for the prison, with Gashford and Westly close at his heels.
Gashford meant to ask Flinders for an explanation as he ran, but the latter rendered this impossible by outrunning him. He reached the prison first, and had already entered when the others came up and ran in. He shut the door and locked it on the inside.
”Now, then, listen, all of ye,” he said, panting vehemently, ”an' take in what I say, for the time's short. The camp'll be attacked in five minits--more or less. I chanced to overhear the blackguards. Their chief comes here to set Muster Brixton free. Then--och! here he comes!
Do as I bid ye, ivery wan, an' howld yer tongues.”
The latter words were said energetically, but in a low whisper, for footsteps were heard outside as if approaching stealthily. Presently a rubbing sound was heard, as of a hand feeling for the door. It touched the handle and then paused a moment, after which there came a soft tap.
”I'll spake for ye,” whispered Flinders in Brixton's ear.
Another pause, and then another tap at the door.
”Arrah! who goes there?” cried Paddy, stretching himself, as if just awakened out of a sound slumber and giving vent to a mighty yawn.
”A friend,” answered the robber-chief through the keyhole.
”A frind!” echoed Pat. ”Sure an' that's a big lie, if iver there was one. Aren't ye goin' to hang me i' the mornin'?”
”No indeed, I ain't one o' this camp. But surely you can't be the man-- the--the thief--named Brixton, for you're an Irishman.”
”An' why not?” demanded Flinders. ”Sure the Brixtons are Irish to the backbone--an' thieves too--root an' branch from Adam an' Eve downwards.
But go away wid ye. I don't belave that ye're a frind. You've only just come to tormint me an' spile my slape the night before my funeral.
Fie for shame! Go away an' lave me in pace.”
”You're wrong, Brixton; I've come to punish the blackguards that would hang you, an' set you free, as I'll soon show you. Is the door strong?”
”Well, it's not made o' cast iron, but it's pretty tough.”
”Stand clear, then, an' I'll burst it in wi' my foot,” said Stalker.
”Och! is it smas.h.i.+n' yer bones you'll be after! Howld fast. Are ye a big man?”
”Yes, pretty big.”
”That's a good job, for a little un would only bust hisself agin it for no use. You'll have to go at it like a hoy-draulic ram.”