Part 37 (1/2)

”Blood!”

Glancing round he scanned the rocky ledge behind him; then suddenly he points his finger without a word to another stain not a foot off; but this told its tale more clearly, for it formed a print of an open hand; as if a wounded man, after trying to stanch the blood from a wound, had been forced to clap that hand on the rock to save him from falling into the road below.

That others had been on that ledge before us was clear enough, but it beat me to know how a wounded man could have crawled up there, or what his purpose had been.

”Come on, master,” says Matthew, springing to his feet, ”we must lose no time. This riddle concerns us, or I am wrong in my reckoning. G.o.d grant no mischief has come to the female; that's all I pray.”

My heart was chilled to hear him speak thus, for I saw that he argued more from these signs than he chose to tell, and that he had grave fears to make him utter this prayer. I followed him close at his heels, quaking in every muscle for fear, until we came to a part where it looked possible to slide down into the road without very great danger; yet was it such a venture as we might not have made at another time, but Matthew was as desperate as I.

”Master,” says he, as we lay down to slip over the edge; ”we'll both let go at the same time, so that one may not have to bury the other if this hazard does our business.”

So we hung over the side, and, recommending ourselves to Providence, nodded to each other, and let go. In about two minutes we slid down about fifty feet and more; but by a happy chance came upon our feet at the bottom in the middle of that narrow road, not much more bruised and torn than we had hoped for.

As soon as he had fetched breath, Matthew falls to examining the dust in the road foot by foot, going in the direction of the chasm where the bridge had been (the northernmost of the two), I following in silence, for I had not his intelligence, yet looking stupidly on the ground, as if I expected to see Lady Biddy's history writ there.

When he had come right to the edge of the gulf and could go no further, he turns to me and says very gravely:

”Master, have you got a stout heart?”

”Ay,” says I; but my voice belied me, for it was feeble as a child's, knowing by this prelude that he had come to a conclusion which must be terrible to my ear.

Matthew unslung his wine-skin and bade me drink.

”For,” says he, ”I warn you there is a call for all your manhood.”

When I had drank I bade him tell me the worst of his fears.

”Look you,” says he, pointing to the dust of the road, ”here are the marks of mules' hoofs, and here the prints of those great boots the Portugals wear.”

”Yes,” says I, waiting with a throbbing heart for what was to follow hence.

”The boot-prints go all in one direction--south; not one is turned north as I can find; but the mules' hoofs turn both south and north; and see, here is one turned north that is right in the midst of a footprint turned south.”

”Go on, Matthew,” says I faintly, yet with a show of courage, that he might finish.

”The Ingas have been at work. I see the hand of those murderous savages in this; yet we should not call 'em hard names neither, for they only do that for revenge which the Portugals do for gold. They dread and hate every white face, and from time to time they travel in a great band leagues and leagues to come to a place like this, where they may rid themselves of these Portugal tyrants. Here was a place after their very heart. They destroy the further bridge, and when De Pino has pa.s.sed they came from their ambuscade, which, as we know, was in the rock above, and withdraw the timbers of the hither one, which they may have been loosing and preparing for weeks, and thus, when the whole train can neither go onward nor backward, they go up to the ledge again, and shoot down with their arrows from the rock above every one of their enemies. Then, when their deadly work is finished, they replace the timbers to fetch off the mules and their booty. To end all they cast down the timbers to delay discovery and give them time to escape. This is how it comes about that we see the hoofs turned north, but not a single footmark of those who went south with them.”

”Out with it, Matthew!” I cries, in a pa.s.sion of despair; ”tell me that she is ma.s.sacred with the rest--that not one has escaped!”

”Master,” says he, with a great compa.s.sion in his voice, ”the Ingas have no more pity for a white woman than a white man. All are gone!”

”No, no!” cries I imploringly; ”'tis not so. They found the bridge broke and went back.”

Without a word Matthew put his hand on my arm and pointed down to the valley where the great buzzard that I had laughed at but half an hour before was again sweeping round above the trees.

My heart stopped, and I felt it lie like a cold stone within me as I thought upon what dainty flesh this foul bird of carrion had been gorging.

CHAPTER XLVII.