Real Gold: A Story of Adventure

“I hope there ain’t many more o’ them spring playthings, sir,” said John Manning gruffly. “I thought Master Perry was gone.”

“Nonsense!” said the colonel shortly. “That great bird startled him. Forward again; the men are going on. – Perry, my boy, you must give that Indian lad a knife, or something as a present: he saved your life.”

“Yes, father,” said the boy, looking dazed and strange. “I – I’m better now.”

“Yes, of course you are. Pish! we mustn’t dwell upon every slip we have. There, think no more about it,” he continued, as he noticed the boy’s blank, pale face. “Go on, and mount your mule.”

“I think I would rather walk,” said Perry.

“Walk, then,” said the colonel shortly, and he went on and mounted his mule.

“Quick! mano– hand!” buzzed in Perry’s ear, and at the same time he seemed to hear the booming roar of the torrent beneath his feet, and the rush of the huge bird’s wings just above his head – “Quick! mano– hand!”

“I say, Master Perry, sir, don’t look that how,” said John Manning in a low voice; “you’re as white as taller candle. You’re all right now.”

“Yes,” said Perry, trying hard to recover his natural balance. “I’m all right now.”

“You’ve made the colonel look as black as thunder, and it wasn’t our fault. They’ve no business to have such bridges in a Christian country. But it was enough to scare any one, my lad. I thought that there bird meant to have you.”

“That was fancy,” said Perry hastily. “I ought to have known better.”

“No, it wasn’t fancy, my lad. I think he’d have had you, only seeing us all about made him give you up. But it’s all right.”

“All right?”

“Yes, sir, we’re on the c’rect track.”

“Of course we are,” said Perry, as they marched on once more behind the mules, followed by the Indian.

“You dunno what I mean, sir,” said John Manning testily. “I meant on the track for one o’ them di’mond valleys. Know what that bird was?”

“Yes; a condor.”

“Con grandmother, sir. It was a roc, one o’ them birds as carried Sindbad out o’ the valley. This was only a chicken, I should say; but it was a roc, all the same.”

“What nonsense!” said Perry. “That was all fancy tale and romance.”

“Not it, sir. I might have thought so once, but I don’t now. Let me ask you this, sir,” said Manning: “suppose there was no way out or no way into the valleys we’ve come along, could you climb up the sides?”

“No, of course not.”

“And if you’d heard tell of birds with wings thirty foot across before you’d seen ’em, would you have believed in them?”

“No, and I don’t now.”

“What! after one of ’em come down to attack you, and we scared it away.”

“That was only about half the size.”

“Oh, come, Master Perry, sir, don’t get a haggling about trifles; there ain’t much difference between fifteen foot and thirty. You mark my words, sir, the colonel’s been studying up his ’Rabian Nights, and he’s on the right track now for one of them valleys, and we shall go back to San-what’s-its-name with these ugly-looking donkey mules loaded up with all kinds of precious stones. You’re a lucky one, Master Perry, sir, and your fortune’s about made.”

“Think so?” said Perry, for the sake of speaking, for he was very thoughtful.

“Yes, sir, I just do; and as for me, I hope it’s going to be my luck to get just a few nubbly bits for myself, so as I can buy myself a cottage and a bit o’ garden, and keep a pig, so as to live retired. You’ll come and see me, Master Perry, then, won’t you?”

“Of course,” said the boy, and then, making a trivial excuse to get away, he hurried along the line of slow-going mules to see that his father was right in front before their guide, who walked by the first mule; then there were three more plodding along, just far enough behind each other to be safe from any playful kick. By the head of the third mule their new Indian driver was walking with his bow over his shoulder, a handful of long arrows tucked under his arm, and his head bent down watching his footsteps.

Perry kept behind at some distance, watching the Indian’s every gesture, till he saw his father returning, for the track had become wider, and the boy watched intently; for he saw the colonel bend down from his mule and tap the Indian on the shoulders as he said a few words in Spanish. But what they were Perry was too far off to hear, the mules too making a good deal of clattering on the rocky track, which noise was echoed all around in a wonderful way.

“It must have been my fancy, but I could have been sure he said something to me in English,” muttered Perry. “I was so excited, I suppose.”

Chapter Six

A Night Alarm

“Did you give the Indian lad the knife?” said the colonel as they came abreast.

“No, father.”

“Go and do it at once, and mind how you give it; the fellow’s as wild as a hawk. I thought he was going to spring over the precipice as soon as I touched him.”

Perry took out the pocket-knife he had with him, and stepped forward; but a word from his father checked him.

“I don’t want to make too much fuss over this, Perry, my lad,” he said, “but you displayed a great want of nerve. You did not act like a healthy, sturdy, English boy, and but for that Indian’s quick decision, you would have lost your life.”

“Yes, father, I’m afraid so.”

“Then, for goodness’ sake, my lad, try to shake off this girlish cowardice, or you’ll make me regret bringing you.”

“I’ll try, father,” said the boy, his face flushing hotly.

“That’s right. I’m sure Captain Norton’s son would have cut a better figure.”

Perry’s face grew hotter, and he felt a bitter feeling of annoyance at being compared so unfavourably with the lad who had been his companion.

The feeling was only momentary, though, and he went on and overtook the Indian, with the knife in his hand.

He was going to give it without a word, but the idea that, perhaps, after all, the half-savage being might understand a few words of English, flashed into his mind, and he said:

“This is not worth much, but I hope you’ll keep it in memory of my gratitude for your bravery to-day.”

To his disgust, the Indian paid not the slightest attention, but trudged on barefooted beside the mule, as if perfectly unconscious of any one beside him, and Perry’s nerves being all on the jar, he felt irritated at giving, un-noticed, a pretty speech.

“Here, catch hold,” he said. “This is for you.”

He thrust the knife into the Indian’s grimy hand as he spoke, and then walked on to where Diego received him with a smile of welcome, and began talking directly in his mongrel tongue, perfectly content if the boy seemed to understand a word here and there, when he pointed to cavernous-looking holes in the cliff face opposite to him, to some brighter and greener spot in the gorge, or to some distant fall which glittered in the sunshine which came obliquely down into the narrow vale.

All at once there was a beating of wings, and one of the huge condors, startled from the eyrie it occupied high up above their heads, suddenly threw itself off, and began to fly round, rising higher and higher, while the Indian rapidly fitted one of the long feathered arrows be carried to the string of his bow, waited till the great bird was gliding by, and then loosed the shaft. The arrow struck the condor in the wing, and made the huge bird give itself an angry jerk, as if it were disposed to turn upon its aggressor; but as Perry watched, the bird gave a few rapid beats with its pinions, shooting upwards rapidly, and though it was some distance away, the air was so clear that Perry distinctly saw the long feathered arrow shaken out of the condor’s white wing, and fall slowly down into the depths of the gorge, while the great bird literally shot up for some distance, and then glided over a shoulder of the mountain they were flanking, and disappeared.

The Indian looked at Perry and shook his head, as he muttered some words which were easily interpreted.

“Lost my arrow, and did not get my bird.”

“And a good thing too,” said Perry. “It would have been of no use, and only wanton destruction.”

The man nodded and smiled as if Perry’s words were full of sympathy for his loss. But they fell upon other ears as well, for the colonel was close behind.

“Rather misdirected sympathy, I’m afraid, Perry, my lad,” he said. “The bird would have been no use to us, but I dare say its death would have saved the lives of a good many young vicunas and llamas.”

Perry stared for a moment or two, and then: “Oh yes, I know. Do they live up in these mountains?”

“Yes, you’ll see plenty by-and-by.”

“Sort of goats, aren’t they, father?”

“Well, my boy, they partake more of the nature of a camel or sheep, as you’ll say whenever you see the long-necked, flat-backed creatures. But it’s getting time for camping. The mules are growing sluggish, and sniffing about for food.”

“I hope we shan’t camp here,” said Perry with a shiver.

“Not an attractive place, but I daresay Diego has some spot marked out in his eye, for he has evidently been along here a good many times before.”

Ten minutes later, as the snowy peaks which came into view began to grow of a bright orange in the western sunshine, one of the mules in front uttered a whinnying squeal, and the rest pricked up their ears and increased their pace.

“Steady there! Wo-ho!” shouted John Manning. “Hadn’t we better sound a halt, sir, or some of ’em ’ll be over the side of the path.”

“I think we may trust them; they smell grass or something ahead, and know it is their halting-place.”

“But look at that brown ’un, sir; he’s walking right out from under his load.”

A few hitches, though, and a tightening of the hide ropes, kept the loosened pack in its place; and soon after, to Perry’s great delight, the gorge opened out into a bright green valley, where, a snug, well-sheltered nook being selected, the mules were once more unloaded, and a fire lit. Then, thanks to John Manning’s campaigning cleverness, before the light on the mountain tops quite died out, they were seated at a comfortable meal, with a good fire crackling and burning between them and the Indians, wood for once in a way being fairly plentiful, there being a little forest of dense scrubby trees low down by the stream which coursed through the bottom of the valley.

“Not quite such a savage-looking place, Master Perry,” said John Manning, when the colonel had taken his gun and gone for a final look round before they retired to their blankets on the hard ground.

“Savage! Why, it’s beautiful,” cried Perry, who had been watching the colours die out on one snowy peak.

“Yes, sir, I suppose it is,” said the man, shaking his head; “but we didn’t take all the trouble to see things look beautiful. We can do that at home. What I’m thinking is that the place don’t look healthy.”

“Not healthy? Up here in the mountains?”

“Tchah! I don’t mean that way, sir; I mean healthy for your pocket. This looks like a place where you might have a farm and gardens, and keep sheep. You’d never come here to search for di’monds, and sapphires, and things.”

“N-no,” assented Perry.

“O’ course not. We want good wild broken stone muddle over rocky places, where you have to let yourselves down with ropes.”

“Or ride down on rocs’ backs, eh, John?”

“Yes, sir, that’s your sort. We’ve passed several good wholesome-looking places that I should have liked to have hunted over; but of course the colonel knows best, and he is leading us somewhere for us to have a regular good haul. Tired, sir?”

“Yes, pretty well, but one feels as if one could go on walking a long way up in these mountains.”

“Well, sir, we’ve got every chance, and I’d just as soon walk as get across one of these mules, with your legs swinging, and the thin, wiry-boned crittur wriggling about under you. I always feel as if my one was groaning to himself, and looking out for a good place where he could thrust his hind-legs up and send me flying over his head into the air, where he could watch me turn somersaults till I got to the bottom.”

“Oh, they’re quiet enough,” said Perry.

“Oh, are they, sir? Don’t you tell me. My one never misses a chance of rubbing my leg up against a corner, and when he has done there, he goes to the other extreme and walks right along the edge, so that my other leg is hanging over the side; and if I look down, I get giddy, and expect that every moment over we shall both go.”

“I tell you, they don’t mean anything,” cried Perry.

“Then why does my one, as soon as he knows he has frightened me, begin to show his teeth, and laugh and wriggle his ears about, as if he were enjoying himself right down to the roots. I don’t believe these mules are any good, Master Perry, that I don’t, and as aforesaid, I always feel as if I’d rather walk.”

Further conversation was put an end to by the return of the colonel, and soon after, leaving the Indians crouching near the fire, which they seemed reluctant to leave, the English party sought the corner which had been selected for their sleeping-place, rolled themselves in their blankets, and with valises for pillows, and their stores piled up for a shelter from the wind, they were not long in dropping off to sleep.

Perry’s was sound enough at first, but after a time he began to dream and go through the troubles connected with crossing the swinging bridge again. He found himself half-way across, and then he could go no farther in spite of all his efforts, till, just as the condor was about to take advantage of his helplessness, and descend to fix its talons in the sides of his head and pick out his eyes, the Indian made a snatch at him, and dragged him across for him to awake with a start.

It was all so real that his brow was wet with perspiration, but he settled what was the cause, and changed his position peevishly.

“That comes of eating charqui late at night, and then lying on one’s back,” he muttered, and dropped off to sleep again directly.

But only to begin dreaming again of the condor, which was floating overhead, spreading its wings quite thirty feet now; and there was the scene of the day repeated with exaggerations. For the Indian guide bent an immense bow, and sent an arrow as big as a spear whizzing through the air, to strike the huge bird, which swooped down close by, and looked at him reproachfully, as it said in a whisper: “I only came to bring back your knife.”

Perry lay bound in the fetters of sleep, but all the same, his ears seemed to be open to outer impressions, for the words were repeated close to him, and he started up on to his elbow.

“Who’s there? who spoke?” said a low firm voice close to him. “That you, Perry?”

“Yes, father,” replied the boy, as he heard the ominous click-click of the double gun that lay by the colonel’s side.

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing, father. I just woke up and fancied I heard some one speak.”

“There was a whisper, and some one brushed against me just before. Did you move from your place?”

“No, father,” said Perry, feeling startled now.

“Manning!”

“Sir!”

“Have you been moving?”

“No, sir; fast asleep till you woke me, talking.”

“Then some one has been visiting us,” whispered the colonel. “Hah! what’s that?”

“Something rustling along yonder, sir.”

Bang! bang! Both barrels were discharged with a noise which seemed to have awakened all the sleeping echoes of the mountains around their camp.

Then, as the colonel hastily reloaded his piece, Perry and John Manning sprang up, each seizing his gun, and waited.

“I missed him; but, whoever it is, he won’t come prowling about again. Follow me quickly. Stoop.”

Bending down, they hurried across the few yards which intervened between them and the smouldering ashes of the fire, which, fanned now and then by the breeze sweeping along the valley, gave forth a faint phosphorescent-looking light, by which they could just make out the figures of the three Indians standing with their bows and arrows ready, as if about to shoot.

“Which of you came over to us?” said the colonel in Spanish; but there was no reply, and the speaker stamped his foot in anger. “What folly,” he cried, “not to be able to communicate with one’s guide!”

“Could it have been some one from the valley lower down?” whispered Perry, who then felt a curious startled sensation, for he recalled perfectly the words he had heard while asleep, or nearly so: “I only came to bring back your knife.”

“Then it must have been the little Indian, and he could speak English after all.”

Accusatory words rose to Perry’s lips, but he did not speak them. A strange reluctance came over him, and he shrank from getting the poor fellow into trouble, knowing, as he did, that his father would be very severe on the intruder upon their little camp. For it was a fact that the little Indian had crept up to where they slept and spoken to him. The excitement had prevented him from noticing it before, but he held in his hand the proof of the visit, tightly, nervously clutched: the knife was in his left hand, just as it had been thrust there while he slept.

“Attend here,” said the colonel. Then very sternly: “You cannot understand my words, perhaps, but you know what I mean by my actions. One of you came for some dishonest purpose to where we lay sleeping, and I wonder I did not hit whoever it was as he ran. – Give me your hand, sir,” he cried; and he seized and held Diego’s right hand for a few moments.

Then dropping it, he held out his hand to the other Indian, who eagerly placed his in the colonel’s palm.

“An outside enemy, I’m afraid,” muttered the colonel; “they are both perfectly calm. – Now you, sir,” he continued, turning to the last comer, who hesitated for a moment, and then held out his hand.

This was all in the dim starlight, the figures of the men being made plainer from time to time by the faint glow from the fire; but their faces were quite in the shade as the colonel took the last comer’s hand and grasped it tightly, while Perry’s heart began to beat, for he felt that the discovery was coming; and hence he was not surprised at the colonel’s fierce and decided action.

“Your pulse galloping,” he cried angrily, as he dragged the dimly-seen figure forward. “Perry, Manning, cover those two men, and if they make a gesture to draw their bows, fire at once. – Now, you scoundrel, it was you, and you had come to steal.”

“No, he had not, father; he came to give me back my knife.”

“What!” cried the colonel angrily.

“It’s a fact; he put it in my hand while I slept; and here it is.”

“Then – ”

“It’s quite true, sir, and no good to keep it up any longer.”

“Cil!” cried Perry in astonishment.

“Yes. Don’t be very angry with me, Colonel Campion. I felt obliged to come; I couldn’t stop away.”

“Why, you treacherous young rascal,” cried the colonel, shaking him violently.

“Don’t, sir, please; you hurt!” cried Cyril half angrily.

“How dare you mutiny against your father’s commands, and come after us like – ?”

“I dunno,” said Cyril mournfully. “I felt obliged; I wanted to be with Perry there.”

“But to come masquerading like this, sir! How dare you?”

“I dunno, I tell you,” said the boy petulantly. “It isn’t so very nice to come over the stones without shoes or stockings, and only in this thing. It’s as cold as cold, besides being painted and dirtied up as I am. My feet are as sore as sore.”

“And serve you right, you young dog. What will your father say?”

“I don’t know what he’d have said if you’d shot me,” grumbled Cyril.

The colonel coughed.

“You precious nearly did, you know,” continued Cyril querulously. “I heard the shots go crashing in among the bushes as I ran.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come prowling about the camp in the middle of the night,” cried the colonel. “Of course, sir, I took you for some wild beast or marauding Indian.”

“Well,” said Cyril, “now you know, sir, and I suppose I can go back and try to sleep.”

“Go back? Yes, sir, first thing – to your father,” cried the colonel fiercely. “I suppose he does not know you have come?”

“No, sir.”

“Of course not. A pretty disgraceful escapade, upon my word, sir! I only wish I were back in my regiment, and you were one of my subalterns. I’d punish you pretty severely for this, I promise you.”

“Would you, sir?” said Cyril drearily. “I thought I was getting punished enough. I’m sorry I disturbed you, sir; I only wanted to get close up, and touch Perry’s hand.”

“Bah!” cried the colonel. “Why did you want to touch Perry’s hand?”

“Because I was so lonely and miserable, lying there with my feet sore. I couldn’t sleep, sir. The stones have cut them, and I was afraid to wash them, for fear you should see how white my legs were.”

The colonel coughed.

“Here; stop a moment, sir,” he said, in rather a different tone. “You see, I might have shot you.”

“Yes, sir,” said Cyril dolefully. “And it did seem hard to be shot at, because I felt glad the poor fellow didn’t go off the bridge.”

The colonel coughed again.

“Hum, ha, yes,” he said, a little huskily. “It was a very narrow escape, of course, and you behaved very well. You – er – yes, of course, you quite saved his life. But I shall say no more about that now. – Here, Manning, get Mr Cyril Norton a couple of blankets. – And you’ll come and lie down by us, sir; and mind this: no more evasions, no attempts to escape.”

“I shan’t try to escape in the dark,” said Cyril drearily. “Where should I escape to, sir?”

“Ah! of course. Where to, indeed! So recollect you are a prisoner, till I place you back safely in your father’s hands. – Stop! Halt! What are you doing, Perry?”

“Only shaking hands with him, father,” said the lad.

“Then don’t shake hands with him, sir. Shake hands with gentlemen, and not with lads who disgrace themselves by disobeying their father’s orders, and satisfying their own selfishness by causing others intense anxiety.”

Perry drew in a long, deep breath, which did not go down into his lungs properly, but seemed to catch here and there.

“One moment,” said the colonel; “can you make that man Diego understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then tell him and his companion to go to sleep again.”

Cyril said a few words to the guide, and the two Indians dropped down at once, close to the warm ashes.

“I suppose, then, he knew all about your escapade, sir, eh?” cried the colonel. “Of course, he must have got you the Indian clothes and paint.”

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