Part 12 (1/2)
Suddenly a single shot rang out, the detonation startling every one, and making our hero jump. For a single instant the stockade became outlined, and d.i.c.k thought he saw heads peeping up above the baulks of timber. Then all was darkness again and silence, save for the hoot of the native chief and the answer of the sentry.
”Time to be moving on,” thought d.i.c.k. ”I have barely half an hour in which to reach friends, and now is my opportunity. These fellows here will have their attention distracted by the call of their comrades going the rounds. I may manage to get through. In any case I shall chance it, and if I am discovered I shall make a dash for the stockade. I suppose I shall have to run the chance of being shot, for how can my own men know that I am not one of the enemy? That also I must risk.
Anything better than to be out here alone.”
Inch by inch he made his way across the open in the direction of the hill, his eyes turning from side to side, while he halted every minute.
He was quite cool now. The imminence of his danger, the knowledge that there were enemies very near and on either hand, seemed to have braced his nerves. His heart had ceased to thump like a sledge-hammer against his ribs, while he could no longer feel his pulses beating and throbbing till it was almost painful. He had need of every faculty, of coolness and courage, and he did not mean to throw away a chance. Hus.h.!.+ A man, the sentry on his right, sat up suddenly, and as d.i.c.k crouched he could see that the fellow was listening. He had heard something which had aroused his suspicions, and with all the keenness of a native for the chase he would probe the matter to the bottom, he would not be satisfied to rest till he had cleared up the mystery. ”Hoot! Hoot!” He sounded the signal, and for an instant our hero's heart failed him. Should he answer? Was he seen?
”Yes, I believe he has heard me,” he thought. ”He wonders who I am. I will answer. Hoot! Hoot!”
In very low tones he gave the call, and waited eagerly for what was next to happen. Then he gave vent to a sigh of relief. The man was deceived. He took this other figure for a comrade, and imagining that he was too close, and that the circle would be too open on the farther side, he rose to his knees and crawled to the right, till he was out of sight and hearing. After that d.i.c.k waited no longer. He crept forward, stealthily and slowly at first, till he was yards nearer the stockade.
Then he increased the pace till he judged that he was clear of the inner line of sentries, and almost within hailing distance of his friends.
But still he would not neglect the precautions he had decided were necessary.
”I feel inclined to jump to my feet and make a bolt for it,” he thought.
”But no, that wouldn't do, and I might easily be shot from the stockade. Slow and sure, said the tortoise, and I'll stick to the motto.”
None but those who have been placed in a similar position can fully appreciate the temptation to which he was put, the huge desire which took hold of him to rise to his feet and run. d.i.c.k felt as the man does who is in full view of the rifles of unscrupulous marauders, without cover for many yards, uncertain whether to expect a hail of bullets or not. A sense of dignity, the feeling that it would not be courageous to run, holds one steady; but the temptation is there. There is a queer little feeling in the small of the back, and if one does not run, and conquers the temptation to act as a craven, one longs to look round, to make sure that no violence is about to be attempted. That was how our hero felt, and who will blame him? He was so near a refuge and friends now, and seemed clear of the enemy. It would be so easy to run.
However, he stuck to his motto, and, still remaining on his knees, slowly crept closer to the stockade.
Hist! Something caught his ear, and he sat down to listen for some minutes till he felt sure that he was mistaken. Then he crawled on again, till of a sudden he swung round, and, with a cry of dismay, leaped to his feet. There was a man following him, a figure bent almost double, silently coming up with him. Had he but known, it was the identical sentry whose signal he had answered and who, still suspicious, had returned on his tracks. He was within three yards when d.i.c.k saw him, and the cry had hardly left his lips when the man was upon him.
With all the ferocity of a tiger he leaped at his enemy, native sword in hand, and as the fingers on his left hand closed on d.i.c.k's shoulder, the murderous weapon swooped upwards in a stroke meant to transfix his body.
But again the white man had good fortune. His guardian angel seemed to be on the watch that night, for the point caught the sling of his rifle, and turning aside the whole blade flashed beneath his arm till the hand which held it came with a thud against his side.
”Dog!” shouted the man, thinking he had accomplished his purpose.
d.i.c.k made no answer. He knew that if he did not hold that arm which gripped the sword he was as good as dead, and quick as lightning he took the only step to retain it. As the blade flew beneath his arm, and the man's hand crashed against his side, he brought his own arm down, jamming the native's hand there. Then he shook his hand from his shoulder, and lifting his own blade, plunged it with all his force into his enemy's breast.
Hardly had the man fallen at his feet, when a series of shouts rang out, rifles blazed from the stockade, and ere he could move half a dozen natives were upon him. For d.i.c.k had made one miscalculation. He had forgotten that he was dealing with men who were from their youth trained as warriors, men accustomed to the trail, to forest warfare, and to every form of artifice. He had not recollected that these Ashanti fighters had the acutest hearing and phenomenal sight, and he, a mere white man, accustomed to city life, had imagined that he could creep through them. Bitterly was he mistaken, for one had first suspected the presence of an enemy and had then followed, while a comrade, discovering the fact in some subtle manner, had come on his tracks, five others following. Gradually they had gained on the chase, so that when d.i.c.k struck their leader down the rest were almost on him. Again there was a shout, taken up by a score of voices around the clearing, and in a second a fierce hand-to-hand contest had commenced.
”The white man! The white man! Take him alive! Do not kill him!”
It was James Langdon's voice, coming from close at hand, for the news that some one was astir had been sent to him and he had followed.
”I give you all warning. Do not slay him, if you value my friends.h.i.+p.”
It was a fortunate thing for our hero, but not so for the natives.
Flinging their arms aside they sprang forward to bear him to the ground.
But if they had orders not to harm him, he had no scruples in killing them. The fear of captivity and of its consequences was before him. He struck out blindly with his sword, and when that was jerked from his hand he opened fire with his revolver, his shots punctuating the shouts of his opponents. But it was a one-sided engagement, and the darkness was against his chances. Already he had almost been borne to the ground by a huge native, who had leaped on his shoulders. But a sudden turn, the shortening of his pistol arm, and a quick and effective shot, had relieved him of the burden. Then two of the enemy had s.n.a.t.c.hed at his legs, while a third aimed for his back, and missed it by the merest chance. He was about to spring again, while others were there now prepared to take his place should he not succeed. d.i.c.k was helpless.
He had fired his last cartridge, and though he used the b.u.t.t of the revolver and his fist, he was already outmatched. The end came quickly.
The native behind him caught his rifle in both hands, and then put out all his strength. d.i.c.k lost his balance, and dragged by the sling was soon in a heap on the ground.
”Captured! We have him! Tie his legs and carry him off before the other dogs can come!”
There was such a hubbub that the words were hardly heard; but the Ashantis knew what was required of them. They slipped a noose over his hands and shoulders, and were drawing it tight when there was a rush of feet in their direction.
”Dere! Dey here. Come long! Fire!”