The Vast Abyss Part 53

"To lash-show him, sir. We'll go down to the bottom where he's most likely to come over, and then I'll catch him and hold him, and you shall let him have it."

The ambush was made--a gooseberry ambush, Tom called it--and for quite an hour Tom knelt on a sack waiting patiently, but there was not a sound, and he was beginning to think it a miserably tiresome task, when all at once, as they crouched there securely hidden, watching the wall, some eight feet away, it seemed to Tom that he could see a peculiar rounded black fungus growing out of the top.

It was very indistinct, and the growth was very slow, but it certainly increased, and the boy stretched out his hand to reach over an intervening gooseberry-bush so as to touch David, but he touched an exceedingly sharp thorn instead and winced, but fortunately made no noise.

Hoping that David had seen what was before him, Tom waited for a few moments, with the dark excrescence still gradually growing, till he could contain himself no longer, and reaching this time with his stick, he gave the gardener a pretty good poke, when the return pressure told him that this time his companion was well upon the alert.

All at once, when the dark object had grown up plainly into a head and shoulders, it ceased increasing, and remained perfectly motionless, as if a careful observation was being made by some one watchful in the extreme.

"Why don't David throw?" thought Tom, who held himself ready to spring forward at a moment's notice, "He could not help catching him now."

But David made no signal, and Tom crouched there with his nerves tingling, waiting in the darkness for the time when he must begin.

At the end of about ten minutes there was a quick rustling sound, the dark shadow altered its shape, and Tom saw that whoever it was lay straight along upon the wall perfectly motionless for a few minutes longer as if listening intently. Then very quickly there was another motion, a sharp rustling, and the intruder dropped upon the ground.

It was too dark to see what followed, but Tom knew that David had risen slowly upright, and uttered a grunt as he threw something, evidently the la.s.so; for there was a dull sound, then a rush and a scrambling and crashing, as of some one climbing up the wall, and lastly David shouted--

"Got him, sir. Let him have it."

Tom darted forward and came in contact with the rope, which was strained tightly from where David hung back to the top of the wall, the la.s.soed thief having rushed back as soon as touched by the rope, reached the top of the wall, and threw himself over, to hang there just below quite fast, but struggling violently, and making a hoa.r.s.e noise like some wild beast.

"At him, Master Tom! Give it him!"

Tom wanted no urging; he seized the rope and tried to draw the captive back into the garden, but the effort was vain, so leaving it he drew back, took a run and a jump, scrambled on to the top of the wall, so as to lean over, and then began thrashing away with his stout hazel as if he were beating a carpet.

_Thud, thud--whack, whack_, he delivered his blows at the struggling object below, and at every whish of the stick there was a violent kick and effort to get free. Once the stick was seized, but only held for a moment before it was dragged away, and then, _thud, thud, thud_, the blows fell heavily, while, in an intense state of excitement, the gardener kept on shouting--

"Harder, harder, Master Tom! Sakes, I wish I was there! Harder, sir, harder! Let him have it! Stop him! Ah!"

There was a rustling, scrambling sound on Tom's side of the wall, and the cracking of the stick, which had come in contact with the bricks, for the prisoner had escaped, and his footsteps could be faintly heard, as he dashed over the gra.s.sy field into the darkness, where Tom felt it would be useless to pursue.

But just then he did not possess the power, for he could only lean there over the wall, and laugh in a way that was quite exhausting, and it was not until David had been growling and muttering for some minute or two that he was able to speak.

"What made you let him go, David?" he panted at last.

"Let him go, sir? I didn't let him go. He just jerked the rope out of my hands, after dragging me down and over the gravel path. There's no end o' bark off my knuckles and nose."

"Oh, don't say you're hurt, David," said Tom, sitting up astride of the wall.

"Why not, sir? Yes, I shall. I'm hurt horrid. Arms feel 'most jerked out o' the sockets, and skin's off the palms of my hands, leastwise it feels like it. Going to run arter him?"

"Oh no, it's of no use. I gave him an awful thrashing though."

"I wish you'd give him ten times as much, my lad--a wagabone. It was Pete Warboys, wasn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know; I couldn't tell. It was like something in a long sack kicking about there. I hit him nearly every time."

"Well, that's something, sir. Do him more good than a peck out o' our apples. Better for his morials. He ought to have had twice as much."

"But he had enough to keep him from coming again."

"Mebbe, sir; but there's a deal o' wickedness in boys, when they are wicked, and they soon forgets. Here, chuck me the rope, and I'll coil it up."

"Rope! I have no rope."

"Why, you don't mean to say as you've let him cut off with it, sir?"

"I!" cried Tom. "Why you had it."

"Ay, till he s.n.a.t.c.hered it away, when I was down. Hff! My elbows."

"Then he has run away with it, David."

"Ay, and he'll go and sell it; you see if he don't. Nice nooish bit o'

soft rope as it were too."

"Never mind the rope, David," said Tom, jumping down, after listening intently for a few minutes.

"Ah, that's werry well for you, sir; but what am I to say when master arkses me what's become on it?"

"I'll tell him, David. There, it's nearly ten again. I say, you didn't go to sleep to-night."

"No, nor you nayther, sir," said David, with a chuckle. "I'm sorry 'bout that rope, but my word, you did let him have it, sir. Can't be much dust left in his jacket."

David burst into a hoa.r.s.e fit of laughter, and Tom joined in, laughing till the tears ran down his cheeks.

"Say, Master Tom," cried David. "Pippins!"

There was another burst of laughter, and then David suggested Wellingtons, and followed up with Winter Greenings, each time roaring with laughter.

"He's got apples this time, and no mistake, sir," he said.

"Yes, David; striped ones."

"Ay, sir, he have--red streaks. But think he'll come again to-night?"

"No, David; so let's get back and think of bed."

"Yes, and of my bed here, sir. There's a nice lot o' footprints I know, and I come down first over a young gooseberry-bush, and feels as if here and there I'd got a few thorns in my skin."

Tom listened again, but all was still, and the garden was as quiet ten minutes later, the ripening apples still hanging in their places.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

"And now, Tom," said Uncle Richard one day, "here we have a perfect speculum or concave reflector, but it does not reflect enough. What would you do now?"

"Silver it," said Tom promptly; "make it like a looking-gla.s.s."