Dead Man's Land Part 67

"I don't," said Dean, with quite a laugh. "You are just the sort of coward I like--sticking to your comrade like this. Think I want you to be one of those brave fellows who would run away, calling murder? But I say, arn't we a pair of guffins?"

"Oh, don't talk like that! What do you mean?"

"Well, here we are in the dark."

"Yes; we had no business to come. We ought to have known that we might be lost here after sundown, and have brought a lantern."

"Pooh! Who was going to expect that Pig and Mak were going to dodge us like they did? But all the same we did show some gumption, only we let ourselves get our heads full of fancies; and here have we been standing in the dark all this time with each a box of matches in his pocket."

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mark.

"You get yours," continued Dean. "I am all right now, and I don't want to risk slithering off into the cold wet water."

_Scratch_!

There was a faint line of phosph.o.r.escence giving its pallid gleam for a few moments; then the rattle as of matches being moved about in a tin box, another scratch, a line of light, and then a very faint dull spark seemed to descend and become extinct in the water beneath.

"Try again," said Dean.

_Scratch_!

The same line of light, and the phosph.o.r.escent tip of the match going down again to expire in the water.

"Hope you have got plenty of matches," said Dean.

"Yes, plenty," cried Mark, making the rattle in the box again.

"You must have got them wet somehow."

"No, no," cried Mark impatiently. "It is my fingers that are so moist with perspiration."

"What a bother! I'd have a try, but my hands are regularly wet. The stones down here are dripping and oozing."

"Don't you stir," cried Mark. "I'll try again, and give my fingers a good rub first on my sleeve."

"Yes, do; and mind you don't touch the round tip of the match."

"I'm afraid I must have done so to all of them."

"Afraid be hanged!" said Dean impetuously. "What is there to be afraid of? Now, don't hurry. I'm getting as cool as a dessert ice; and you are getting better, arn't you?"

"Ye-es."

"Well, it doesn't sound like it. You don't seem to be yourself, old chap. You know I always look up to you as being more plucky than I am.

Here we are getting better every minute, and there is nothing to hurry about. They won't begin the supper till we get back. Leave the matches alone for a minute or two and give a good hail. They must be looking for us."

"No, no; I can't shout now."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. There, I must strike another match."

"No, you mustn't. Give a good hail."

"I can't, I tell you."

"Well, I can," cried Dean. "I don't feel a bit frightened of bogeys now."

"Ahoy-y-y-y-y!" he shouted, and there was a hollow echoing noise, but nothing approaching what they had heard before.

Then they listened till the reverberations died out; but there was no hopeful sound to cheer them, and with a low despairing sigh which he tried in vain to suppress, Mark drew another carefully selected match across the side of the box. This time there was a flash, the head of the tiny wax taper blazed out, illumined the square hole into which Dean had slipped, and revealed him about a dozen feet below where his cousin was holding the match.

"Quick!" cried Dean. "Get another out and light it before you burn your fingers. Well done--that's the way! Hold it more over. I want to reconnoitre, as the soldiers say."

"Be careful!" panted Mark. "Mind you don't slip."

"Trust me," said Dean. "No, no, don't light another. It will only be waste, because I have seen it all."

"I had better light another match," cried Mark hoa.r.s.ely.

"No, you hadn't. Chuck that down; you are burning your fingers."

The still burning end of the tiny taper lit up the sides of the square hole as it descended to the surface of the water and was extinguished with a faint _spet_.

"Now then," cried Dean, "I have got it all fixed at the back of my eyes like what old Buck calls a fortygraff, and just where I am standing it is all straight up and down, but a little way to the left there's a regular set of holes just as if stones had been left out. Why, it's as easy as kissing your hand. This must have been one of the old temple wells, and these holes must have been left like steps for the old people to come down and clip their water."

"Oh, do take care!" cried Mark.

"Won't I just! I shall be all right. I say, old chap, what a lark!"

"Lark!" cried Mark angrily. "What do you mean by that?"

"Why, it seems to me quite comic to think that we two fellows, who ought to have known better, should have made such a hullabaloo about nothing at all. Oh, I say, isn't it lucky that n.o.body else was here! I wouldn't--"

"Ah!" gasped Mark, as there was a faint rattling of bits of stone, and _plish, plash, plosh_, three fragments dropped into the water.

"All right, sonny," said Dean, who had shifted his position and begun to climb. "I am _en route_; no tree roots here, though, but plenty of stony holes. Clear the course, for up I come!"

The boy spoke cheerily enough, but his words were accompanied by a faint panting as if he were making great exertion.

"I say, though, Mark," he went on, "how about your brave British boy?

How about your manly pluck? Pretty pair we have been! All right, old man; I didn't slip. It was a stone. Ah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the boy, with a cry of pain.

"Oh, Dean!"

"Don't! It's all right, I tell you. Do you want to frighten me off?"

"No, no, no. But you cried out."