Part 43 (1/2)
”Good! We will get water from the well. When the fighting begins at dawn, fire at every man you see from the back of the cave. On no account come out. Then they can never reach you if you keep a full magazine. Wait here!”
”I thought you were never coming,” protested Iris when Jenks reached the ledge. ”I have been quite creepy. I am sure there is some one down there. And, please, may I have another drink?”
The sailor had left the crowbar beneath. He secured a rifle, a spare clip, and a dozen packets of cartridges, meanwhile briefly explaining to Iris the turn taken by events so far as Mir Jan was concerned. She was naturally delighted, and forgot her fears in the excitement caused by the appearance of so useful an ally. She drank his health in a br.i.m.m.i.n.g beaker of water.
She heard her lover rejoin Mir Jan, and saw the two step out into the moonlight, whilst Jenks explained the action of the Lee-Metford.
Fortunately Iris was now much recovered from the fatigue and privation of the earlier hours. Her senses were sharpened to a pitch little dreamed of by stay-at-home young ladies of her age, and she deemed it her province to act as sentry whilst the two men conferred. Hence, she was the first to detect, or rather to become conscious of, the stealthy crawl of several Dyaks along the bottom of the cliff from Turtle Beach.
They advanced in Indian file, moving with the utmost care, and crouching in the murky shadows like so many wild beasts stalking their prey.
”Robert!” she screamed. ”The Dyaks! On your left!”
But Iris was rapidly gaining some knowledge of strategy. Before she shrieked her warning she grasped a rifle. Holding it at the ”Ready”--about the level of her waist--and depressing the muzzle sufficiently, she began firing down the side of the rock as fast as she could handle lever and trigger. Two of the nickel bullets struck a projection and splashed the leading savages with molten metal.
Unfortunately the Lee-Metford beneath was unloaded, being in Mir Jan's possession for purposes of instruction. Jenks whipped out his revolver.
”To the cave!” he roared, and Mir Jan's unwillingness to face a goblin could not withstand the combined impetus of the sahib's order and the onward rush of the enemy. He darted headlong for the entrance.
[Ill.u.s.tration: IRIS BEGAN FIRING DOWN THE SIDE OF THE ROCK AS FAST AS SHE COULD HANDLE LEVER AND TRIGGER.]
Jenks, shooting blindly as he, too, ran for the ladder, emptied the revolver just as his left hand clutched a rung. Three Dyaks were so close that it would be folly to attempt to climb. He threw the weapon into the face of the foremost man, effectually stopping his onward progress, for the darkness made it impossible to dodge the missile.
The sailor turned to dive into the cave and secure the rifle from Mir Jan, when his s.h.i.+n caught the heavy crowbar resting against the rock.
The pain of the blow lent emphasis to the swing with which the implement descended upon some portion of a Dyak anatomy. Jenks never knew where he hit the second a.s.sailant, but the place cracked like an eggsh.e.l.l.
He had not time to recover the bar for another blow, so he gave the point in the gullet of a gentleman who was about to make a vicious sweep at him with a parang. The downfall of this worthy caused his immediate successor to stumble, and Jenks saw his opportunity. With the agility of a cat he jumped up the ladder. Once started, he had to go on. He afterwards confessed to an unpleasant sensation of pins and needles along his back during that brief acrobatic display; but he reached the ledge without further injury, save an agonizing twinge when the unprotected quick of his damaged finger was smartly rapped against the rock.
These things happened with the speed of thought. Within forty seconds of Iris's shrill cry the sailor was breast high with the ledge and calling to her--
”All right, old girl. Keep it up!”
The cheerful confidence of his words had a wonderful effect on her.
Iris, like every good woman, had the maternal instinct strong within her--the instinct that inspires alike the mild-eyed Sister of Charity and the tigress fighting for her cubs. When Jenks was down below there, in imminent danger of being cut to pieces, the gentle, lovable girl, who would not willingly hurt the humblest of G.o.d's creatures, became terrible, majestic in her frenzied purpose. Robert must be saved. If a Maxim were planted on the rock she would unhesitatingly have turned the lever and sprayed the Dyaks with bullets.
But here he was close to her, unhurt and calmly jubilant, as was his way when a stiff fight went well. He was by her side now, firing and aiming too, for the Dyaks broke cover recklessly in running for shelter, and one may do fair work by moonlight, as many a hunter of wild duck can testify by the rheumatism in his bones.
She had strength enough left to place the rifle out of harm's way before she broke down and sobbed, not tearfully, but in a paroxysm of reaction. Soon all was quiet beneath, save for the labored efforts of some wounded men to get far away from that accursed rock. Jenks was able to turn to Iris. He endeavored to allay her agitation, and succeeded somewhat, for tears came, and she clung to him. It was useless to reproach him. The whole incident was unforeseen: she was herself a party to it. But what an escape!
He lifted her in his arms and carried her to a seat where the tarpaulin rested on a broken water-cask.
”You have been a very good little girl and have earned your supper,” he said.
”Oh, how can you talk so callously after such an awful experience?” she expostulated brokenly.
The Jesuits, say their opponents, teach that at times a ”white lie” is permissible. Surely this was an instance.
”It is a small thing to trouble about, sweetheart,” he explained. ”You spotted the enemy so promptly, and blazed away with such ferocity, that they never got within yards of me.”
”Are you sure?”