The Rover of the Andes Part 14

"No, senhor, no. You are brave. I will help you," replied the miscreant.

Lawrence doubted the honesty of the man's a.s.surance, but of course thanked him, and expressed readiness to avail himself of his a.s.sistance.

He kept carefully at the extreme end of the hole, however, while his murderous deliverer removed some of the rubbish from the beam, and so made it possible to raise it. Remaining quite still, Lawrence waited till he saw that the beam had been so far moved as to enlarge the s.p.a.ce sufficiently for him to get through. Then, with a sudden spring _a la_ Jack-in-the-box, he leaped out, and stood before the astonished bandit.

Lawrence, whose sense of honour taught him to hold his promise as sacred to a thief as to an honest man, had fully intended to give up his watch and chain to the man if he should remain peaceably disposed; but the bandit was not so disposed. Recovering from his surprise, he drew a second pistol from his belt and levelled it at Lawrence.

Thought is quick; quicker even than triggers. His length of limb happily flashed into the youth's mind. Up went his foot with a sudden kick, and away went the pistol into the air, where it exploded after the manner of a sky-rocket! The bandit did not wait for more. He turned and fled, much to the satisfaction of the victor, who, overcome by prolonged exhaustive toil and excitement, sank down on a heap of rubbish, and lay there in a semi-conscious state. It seemed as if both mind and body had resolved to find rest at all hazards, for he lay perfectly motionless for nearly an hour,--not exactly asleep, but without being fully conscious of connected thought.

From this state of repose, if it may be so called, he was partially aroused by the voices of men near him, talking in coa.r.s.e, violent language. Raising his head languidly, he observed a band of about eight or ten villainous-looking fellows busy round a hole, out of which they appeared to be drawing some sort of booty.

"A prize!" exclaimed one of the men; "be gentle; she's worth taking alive."

A loud laugh from the others roused Lawrence again, but a feeling of unwonted exhaustion oppressed him, so that he scarce knew what it was he heard.

Suddenly there arose a female voice, in a cry of pain. Lawrence started up on one elbow, and beheld Manuela struggling in the grasp of one of the band.

If electric fire had taken the place of blood in his veins, he could not have bounded up more quickly. The shock seemed to renew and double his wonted strength. Like the English bull-dog, with terrible purpose, but in absolute silence, he rushed over the rubbish towards the man who held the struggling girl. The man seemed to be a leader, being the only one of the band who carried a cavalry sabre. The others were armed, some with short swords, some with carbines and pistols.

Swift though Lawrence was, the chief saw him coming. He let go the girl, and made a wild cut at him with the sabre.

Lawrence received the cut on his left arm. At the same moment he struck the villain such a blow with his clenched fist, that it seemed to crush in his skull, and sent him headlong into the hole out of which they had just dragged the Indian girl. Fortunately he dropped his sabre as he fell. With a shout of defiance our hero caught it up, just in time to arrest the descent of a carbine b.u.t.t on his head. Next moment the man who aimed the blow was cleft to the chin, and a united rush of the robbers was for the moment arrested.

Manuela, helpless and horror-struck, had stood motionless on the spot where the chief had released her. Lawrence caught her in his left arm, swung her into an angle of the broken wall, placed himself in front, and faced his foes.

The villains, though taken by surprise, were no cravens. Apparently they had already discharged their fire-arms, for only one fired at our hero with a pistol, and missed his aim. Flinging the weapon at his adversary with a yell of disappointment, he missed his aim a second time. At the same moment another of the band--one of the tallest and most ferocious-looking--sprang upon the youth with terrible fury. He knew well, apparently, how to use his weapon; and Lawrence felt that his experience at school now stood him in good stead. As the weapons of these giants flew around with rapid whirl and clash, the others stood aside to see the end. Doubtless they would have taken unfair advantage of their foe if they could, but Lawrence, turning his back to the wall, where Manuela crouched, prevented that. At last one dastardly wretch, seeing that his comrade was getting the worst of it, bethought him of his carbine, and began hurriedly to load. Our hero noted the act, and understood its fatal significance. With a bound like that of a tiger he sprang at the man, and cut him down with a back-handed blow, turning, even in the act, just in time to guard a sweeping cut dealt at his head.

With a straight point he thrust his sword through teeth, gullet, and skull of his tall adversary, until it stood six inches out behind his head. Then, without a moment's pause, he leaped upon the nearest of the other bandits.

Awe-stricken, they all gave back, and it seemed as if the youth would yet win the day single-handed against them all, when a shout was heard, and half a dozen men of the same stamp, if not the same band, came running to the rescue.

Lawrence drew hastily back to his protecting wall.

"Pray, Manuela, pray," he gasped; "we are in G.o.d's hands."

At that moment two shots were heard away on their right, and two of the advancing bandits fell. An instant later, and Quashy bounded upon the scene with a high trumpet-shriek like a wild elephant. Pedro followed, brandishing the rifle which he had just discharged with such fatal effect. Lawrence joined them with a genuine British cheer, but their adversaries did not await the onset. They turned, fled, and speedily scattered themselves among the ruins.

"T'ank G.o.d, ma.s.sa, we's in time," said Quashy, wiping with his sleeve the perspiration that streamed from his face, as they returned quickly to Manuela.

"We must not wait a moment here," said Pedro, hurriedly. "There may be more of the villains about. But you are wounded, Senhor Armstrong."

"Not badly," said Lawrence. "It might have been worse, but the fellow was in such a hurry that the edge of his sabre turned, and I got only a blow with the side of it. If I had only had my good cudgel--by the way, it must be in the hole. It was in my hand when--Stay, I'll return in a few seconds."

He ran back to his late tomb, and quickly returned in triumph with his favourite weapon.

"Come, we must get away from this at once," said Pedro, turning to Manuela. "No time for explanations. Are you hurt?"

"No; thank G.o.d. Let us go," replied the girl, who was pale and haggard, as she staggered towards them.

"Take my arm," said Lawrence, presenting his wounded limb.

The girl pointed with trembling hand to the blood.

"It is nothing--a mere scratch," said Lawrence.

In his anxiety he forgot to speak in Spanish. Manuela appeared as if about to sink with fear. He caught her, lifted her in his arms as if she had been a little child, and, following Pedro's lead, left the place which had been the scene of so many terrible events.

In the outskirts of the town there was a large low building of mud or sun-dried bricks, which had not been overthrown by the earthquake. To this Pedro conducted his companions. They found room in the place, though it was nearly full of survivors in all conditions of injury,-- from those who had got mere scratches and bruises, to those who had been so crushed and mangled that life was gradually ebbing away. There seemed to be about fifty people in the room, and every minute more were being brought in.

Here Lawrence set down his burden, who had by that time quite recovered, and turned quickly to the guide.

"Come, Pedro," he said, "I can be of use here; but we must have my own wound dressed first. You can do it, I doubt not."

Pedro professed to be not only able but willing. Before he did it, however, he whispered in a low tone, yet with much emphasis, to Manuela--

"Don't forget yourself! Remember!"

As he whispered pretty loud, and in Spanish, Lawrence overheard and understood him, and puzzled himself, not only that day, but for many days and nights after, as to how it was possible that Manuela _could_ forget herself, and what it was she had to remember. But the more and the longer he puzzled over it, the less did he clear up his mind on the subject.

When it became known that Lawrence was a doctor, there was a visible increase of hope in the expression and bearing of the poor wounded people. And the youth soon justified their trustful feelings, for, with Pedro and Quashy as a.s.sistant-surgeons, and Manuela as head-nurse, he went about setting broken bones, bandaging limbs, sewing up wounds, and otherwise relieving the sufferers around him.

While this was going on the poor people were recounting many marvellous tales of terrible risks run, escapes made, and dangers evaded. During all this time, too, frequent shocks of earthquake were felt, of greater or less violence, and these afterwards continued daily for a month, so that the few buildings which had partially survived the first awful shock were finally levelled like the rest.

When Lawrence with his a.s.sistants had gone the rounds of the extemporised hospital, he was so completely worn out that he could scarcely keep his eyes open. Swallowing a cup of hot coffee hastily, he flung himself on a heap of straw beside one of his patients, and almost instantly fell into a profound lethargic slumber.

There was an unoccupied arm-chair in the room. Placing this beside the youth's couch, the Indian girl sat down with a fan, purposing, in her grat.i.tude, to protect her preserver from the mosquitoes, which were having an unusual bout of revelry over the sufferers that night.

Quashy, observing this as he lay down in a corner, shook his head sadly, and whispered to himself:

"Ah! you brown gal, you's in lub wid ma.s.sa. But it's useless. De ole story ob unrekited affection; for you know, pretty though you is, ma.s.sa kin nebber marry a squaw!"

Thus thinking, Quashy went sweetly to sleep.

So did most of the others in that crowded place. But Manuela stuck to her colours n.o.bly. She kept awake until her pretty black eyes became l.u.s.treless, until her pretty brown face became expressionless, until the effort to continue awake became hopeless. Then her little head fell back on the cushion of the chair, the little mouth opened, and the large eyes closed. The little hand which held the fan dropped by her side.

The fan itself dropped on the floor, and, like the others, poor Manuela at length found rest and solace in slumber.

Note 1. A similar disaster, accompanied by dreadful scenes of lawlessness and horror, occurred in 1861, when the city of Mendoza was totally destroyed by an earthquake, and nine-tenths of the inhabitants perished.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

OUTWITTED BY A BANDIT.

Early next morning Pedro went round and quietly roused his friends.

"We must start at once," he said in a low voice to Lawrence, when the wearied youth was sufficiently awake to understand. "Your wounded arm is better, I hope?"

"It is only stiff and painful; happily, no bones are injured. But why such haste? I don't like to leave my poor patients in this fashion."