!Tention Part 38

Then after what seemed to be quite an interval, the old man's voice arose in deep, stern tones, as he exclaimed, "What lie is this, my son, that you have uttered to these strangers?"

"I--I, father--" faltered the man, shrinking back a step and dropping the soft cap he was turning in his hands upon the beaten floor, and then stooping hastily to s.n.a.t.c.h it up again--"I--father--I--"

"I say, what lie is this you have told these strangers for the sake of gaining a few accursed pieces of silver? Go, before I--Ah!" For there was a quick movement on the part of the peasant, and he dashed out of the door.

"_Halte_!" yelled the French officer, following the peasant outside; and then, giving a sharp command, the scattered reports of some half-dozen muskets rang out on the night-air, the two fugitives starting as at each shot the flash of the musket lit up the loft where they lay. Then a short question or two, and their replies came through the open doorway, and it became evident to the listeners that the peasant had escaped.

"Bah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the officer, as Punch saw him stride through the doorway into the room again. "Look here, father," he said in his bad Spanish, "I paid this scoundrel to guide me to the place where he said two Englishmen were in hiding; but he did not tell me it was with his priest. As he has brought us here I must search."

"For the escaped prisoners?" the old man said, drawing himself up with dignity. "I do not speak your language, sir, but I think that is what you mean. Can you repeat your words in Latin? You might make your wishes more plain."

"Latin? No, I have forgotten all that," said the officer impatiently in more clumsy Spanish than before. "The English prisoners--my men must search," And the fugitives, unable though they were to comprehend the words, naturally grasped their meaning and held their breath till they felt they must draw it again with a sound that would betray their presence.

Then, with a slight laugh, the old priest laid his book upon the table and took up the smoky oil-lamp. As he did so, Punch could see his face plainly, for it was lit up by the lamp, and the boy could perceive the mocking mirth in his eyes as he raised it above his head with his left hand, and walked slowly towards the door which covered the ladder-like staircase; and then as Punch felt that all was over, the old man slowly pa.s.sed the light across and moved to the rough fireplace, and so on all round the room, before raising the light above his head once more, and with a comprehensive movement waving his right hand slowly round the place as if to say, "You see there are no prisoners here."

"Bah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the French officer, and, turning angrily, he marched out through the open doorway.

Punch was beginning to breathe again, but to his horror the officer marched back into the room, for he had recollected himself. He was the French gentleman still.

"_Pardon, mon pere_!" he said sharply, keeping now to his own tongue.

"_Bon soir_!"

Then, marching out again, he gave a short command, and, from where Punch's eye was still glued to the opening, he saw the soldiers turn rightabout face, disappear through the open doorway, and then, _beat, beat, beat_, the sound of marching began again, this time to die slowly away, and he looked and listened till the pressure of Pen's hand upon his arm grew almost painful. But he did not wince, till a movement on the part of the priest drew his attention to what was pa.s.sing beneath; and he saw him set down the lamp and cross to the door, which he closed and barred, and then dropped upon his knees, as his head sank down upon his clasped-together hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

CONTRABANDISTAS.

"Think they have gone, comrade?" whispered Punch, after they had listened for some minutes, and the tramp of the French soldiers had quite died away.

"Yes; but speak low. He will come and tell us when he thinks it is safe."

"All right, I'll whisper; but I must talk. I can't bear it any longer, I do feel so savage with myself."

"Why, what about?"

"To think about that old chap. I wanted to trust him, but I kept on feeling that he was going to sell us; and all the time he's been doing everything he could for us. But, I say, it was comic to see him carrying you. Here, I mustn't talk about it, or I shall be bursting out laughing."

"Hush! Don't!" whispered Pen.

"All right. But, I say, don't you think we might have a go at the prog?

There's all sorts of good things in that basket; and I want a drink of water too. But you needn't have poured a lot of it down my back. I know you couldn't help it, but it was horrid wet all the same."

"Don't touch anything, Punch; and be quiet. He will be coming up soon, I dare say."

"Wish he'd come, then," said the boy wearily. "I say, how's your leg?"

"Hurts," said Pen curtly.

"Poor old chap! Can't you turn yourself round?"

"No. It's worse when I try to move it."

"That's bad; but, I say, you see now we couldn't have gone away unless I carried you."

"But it seems so unfair to be staying here," said Pen bitterly. "I believe now I could limp along very slowly."

"I don't," said Punch. "You see, those Frenchies have made up their minds to catch us, and I believe if they caught sight of us creeping along now they would let go at us again; and as we have had a bullet apiece, we don't want any more."

"Hist!" whispered Pen; "they think we are here still, and they are coming back."

"Nonsense! Fancy!"

"Listen."

"Oh, murder!" whispered Punch. "This is hard!" For he could distinctly hear hurried steps approaching the cottage, and he placed his eye to the knot-hole again to see what effect it was having upon the old man. But he was so still as he crouched there in the lamplight that it seemed as if he had dropped asleep, worn out by his efforts, till all at once the footsteps ceased and there was a sharp tapping on the door, given in a peculiar way, first a rap, then a pause, then two raps close together, another pause, and then _rap, rap, rap_, quickly.

The old man sprang to his feet, unbarred the door, and seized it to throw it open.

"It's all over, comrade," whispered Punch. "Well, let's fill our pockets with the prog. I don't want to starve any more."

He placed his eye to the knot-hole again, and then turned his head to whisper to his companion.

"'Tain't the Frenchmen," he said. "It's one of the Spanish chaps with a red handkercher tied round his head, and him and the old priest is friends, for they are a hugging one another. This chap has got a short gun, and now he's lighting a cigarette at the lamp. Can you hear me?"

"Yes; go on."

"There's four more of them outside the door, and they have all got short guns. One of them's holding one of them horse-donkeys. Oh, I say, comrade!" continued the boy, as a quick whispering went on and the aromatic, pungent odour of tobacco floated up between the boards.

"What is it, Punch? Oh, go on--tell me! You can see, and I'm lying here on my back and can make out nothing. What does it all mean?"

"Well, I don't like to tell you, comrade?" whispered the boy huskily.

"Oh yes; tell me. I can bear it."

"Well, it seems to me, comrade, as we have got out of the frying-pan into the fire."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"That we thought the old chap was going to sell us to the French when all the time it was to some of those Spanish thieves, and it's them as has come now to take us away.--Here, wait a minute."

"I can't, Punch. I can't bear it."

"I'm afraid you will have to, comrade--both on us--like Englishmen. But if we are to be shot for furriners I should like it to have been as soldiers, and by soldiers who know how to use their guns, and not by Spanish what-do-you-call-'ems--robbers and thieves--with little short blunderbusters."

There was a few moments' pause, during which hurried talking went on.