Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 46

"But they had the broad daylight, and of course taking a long sweep it would be much easier for the chariots."

"Yes," grunted Serge, "I don't like having it dark. We mustn't strike up at once, must we? It would be nearest."

"No," said Marcus, decisively; "we might not strike the track again, and perhaps find that we had chosen the wrong hill, and have to come back."

"Yes, that's right," said the old soldier. "Slow but sure;" and the ponies went steadily on, their hoofs rustling through the thick, moist gra.s.s where it was not trampled down.

"What's the matter, Lupe? Thirsty?" asked Marcus, as the dog raised himself up, looked over the front of the chariot, and then turned to gaze wistfully in his master's eyes. "Want water, old fellow?"

The dog gave the speaker an intelligent look and then sprang out of the chariot, and after trotting alongside for a time, bounded silently forward and disappeared.

They saw no more of him for the next quarter of an hour, and then came upon him sitting waiting at a spot where the beaten track swept away from the river.

"At last!" said Marcus, eagerly, as the ponies' heads were turned; and before they had gone many hundred yards they had the satisfaction of seeing the trees open out and the sky look lighter.

Lupe sprang on in front and disappeared, but at the end of a few minutes they came upon him again, standing gazing straight before him, motionless, while as the ponies reached him, they too stopped short.

"What does that mean?" whispered the old soldier. "Has he seen anything to scare him?"

Serge had hardly spoken when from somewhere in front there came the distant whinnying of a horse.

"From the army!" cried Marcus, excitedly. But Serge clapped his hand upon the boy's lips.

"Our army is not there," he said, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, and the driver gave a quick s.n.a.t.c.h at the reins, just as one of the ponies stretched out its neck to answer the challenge.

"Good!" said Serge, sharply. "Now then, back."

"Turn back," said Marcus, "now we are so near?"

"Yes, boy, and try to get round to the camp another way."

"You think the enemy are near?" whispered Marcus.

"And enough to make me, boy, seeing how our people have been surrounded and followed. I thought we were getting on too fast."

"But look here," said Marcus, excitedly, "I don't like to turn back without making sure. Let me go on alone and see if you are right."

"Well," said Serge, slowly, "it would be best, for then--No, I can't let you do that, boy. We'll stay here for a while till it grows darker, and then, go on together, creeping amongst the bushes to see what we can make out, and then come back to the chariot."

"Why not make a brave dash forward?" said Marcus.

Serge shook his head.

"It would be too rash," he said. "We'll take the horses into yon clump of trees, where they can stand well hidden and it will be easy to find when we come back."

"Serge, we shall never find it again in the darkness. Better keep with it," whispered Marcus, excitedly.

"Well, maybe you are right, boy. Lead on, then, my man, as silently as you can. This way."

Serge stepped in front, and with the darkness closing in fast the ponies were led forward some twenty yards and then out of the clear open s.p.a.ce in amongst the dark patch of young growth, and the chariot was hardly hidden from the sight of anyone who might be pa.s.sing along the track they were following, before Lupe uttered a low warning growl.

Marcus bent over the dog and seized him by the muzzle to keep his jaws closed, and the dog crouched down, while directly after there came the heavy tramp of advancing men, following their path exactly, and very dimly-seen from where the adventurers lay _perdu_ a body of men, who, from the time they took in pa.s.sing, must have numbered two or three thousand, came by, the dull sound of their footsteps dying out suddenly when they were some little distance away.

"Gone?" whispered Marcus, as soon as he thought it safe to speak.

"No, boy," was whispered back directly. "They've halted a little way farther on."

"What does it mean?" said Marcus.

"I believe," replied Serge, with his lips close to his young companion's ear, "that there is quite an army of the enemy in front, and that these we heard are going to join them."

"Then we ought to go on and give our people warning that they are going to be attacked."

"No need, boy," whispered Serge; "they won't catch our men lying about with their eyes shut. Careful watch has been set by now, and scouts will be well advanced. Cracis and Julius will not be caught asleep in the enemy's country. Now, then, as soon as we can feel sure that no more are coming we will try and get up to the camp."

"But you will not be able to find it in the darkness."

"I think I shall, boy," said the old fellow, confidently.

"Pst!" whispered the driver, and Lupe uttered another growl, and then had to suffer the indignity of being muzzled with Marcus' hand, till the fresh tramping sound had approached them and then pa.s.sed away.

"Now, then," said Marcus, "we must risk it now."

"I'm ready," said Serge. "But what are you going to do?"

"Go back nearly to the river, and then strike for the hill which must be to our right. It will be too dark to see, but we ought to be near it before long, and we are pretty sure to be challenged."

"I can't propose anything better," said Serge. "So on at once."

The ponies were led out, and in the gloom Lupe was just seen as he stepped out in front of the chariot and started off as if to lead the way, while directly after the low, dull trampling of the ponies and the soft, crushing sound of the chariot wheels rose in the moist evening air, the ponies following the dog and the latter acting as if he perfectly well knew where his master meant to go. For some little time after the rippling of the river had reached their ears the dog struck off to the right up a very gradual slope apparently quite free from trees, keeping on for nearly an hour, before he stopped short, uttering a low, deep growl, while as it rose in the silence the driver checked the ponies, just as a sharp, low whispering of voices came from their front, and then there was silence again, while Marcus and Serge stood together in the chariot, hand clasped in hand.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

WHAT SERGE THOUGHT.

The silence seemed to be awful to the listeners, who were prepared to give the word for the ponies to dash away as soon as the approach they expected commenced.

"Our people?" whispered Marcus at last, with his lips close to Serge's ear.

"No," was whispered back, and the next moment there was the heavy trampling of feet, but not towards them; and they had proof directly that they were no friends by the strange yell of defiance which suddenly rang out in response to a challenge given in the unmistakable Roman tongue.

"Oh!" whispered Marcus, excitedly. "Our people, and so near! We must go forward now."

"No, not yet, boy. Hark! Yonder are our people speaking out, and the fight is beginning."

"A night attack," whispered Marcus, hoa.r.s.ely, and with his heart beating heavily.