Real Gold: A Story of Adventure

“I’m not afraid now,” shouted Cyril, and he stepped at once to the edge, and, as the line was tightened, went down on his face, passed his legs over, and, grasping the line with both hands, glided down; seeing the faces of the two men who held the rope disappear, then the shelf; and the next minute, as he was lowered, he saw nothing but the light mist which closed him in, and struck dank and chilly to his face and hands.

He had expected to swing to and fro in the air, and had prepared himself to grasp at the rock, and try to prevent himself from turning round and round; but to his surprise he found that he was on a sharp incline, down which he was sliding easily, for the rock was covered with a slippery mossy growth, over which his hands glided whenever he tried to check his course; for, in spite of his determination, the desire to do this mastered him. Anything to stop himself from going down into that awful place at some terrible depth below, where the water was churning round and round, and tossing up this mist of spray. To go down into that must mean instant death; and after all, what good was he going to do? Poor Perry had slipped, gone over the edge, and then not fallen headlong, but glided down at a terrible rate, with no power to arrest his course; and, if he were not down there below, he must have been swept out by the stream, and be far away down the river by then.

These thoughts came quickly as he slipped gently down, keeping his face toward the roaring water and churning mist, but seeing nothing; for the darkness now, as he was lowered more, began to increase.

Down, down, down! Was there no end to the rope? How long it seemed before it was checked. Still Cyril tried hard to make out something of the whereabouts of his friend. But no; if he turned to the right, toward where there was the hissing noise of the falling water, all was black, as black as it was below in the fearful hollow into which it plunged, to send up that deafening, reverberating thunder. At last to the left there, where he knew the chasm must open into the valley by which they came, he could see a faint suggestion of light, such light as one sees when looking towards a candle with the eyes tightly closed, and when trying to peer through the veined lids.

Then, to his horror, he was being lowered again, for he had believed that the end of the hide rope was reached.

It seemed a great depth down before there was another check, though probably it was not more than a dozen or twenty feet; and once more, as he tried to grasp the slimy rock behind him, he peered about vainly, knowing that if poor Perry had once begun to glide down that horrible slope, he must have gone right on down to the bottom.

Then there was a heavier strain upon his chest, and to his intense relief, now that he felt how vain his effort had been, he turned his face toward the rocks, and tried to help by climbing, as he was being drawn up.

Vain effort. Hands and feet glided over the slippery moss, and he soon subsided, and waited in increasing agony, while he was steadily hauled up. For, in descending, his senses were hard at work, and he was momentarily hoping to rest upon some shelf where he might come upon Perry. But now he had nothing to do but think of himself and his risks, and, in spite of the effort to be brave, he could not keep his mind from dwelling upon the knots of the several ropes, and wondering whether those John Manning tied were as firm as the colonel’s, and whether the rope itself might not have been frayed by passing over the rocks, and give way just before he reached the shelf.

At last, with head burning, hands and feet like ice, and clothes drenched with the spray, he felt himself seized by John Manning’s strong fingers and lifted into safety.

It had now become light enough for him to see well around; the mist on high was turning roseate and warm by reflection, for the sun was rising; and the colonel turned from him with a look of agony, and stood with his back to them, while John Manning unloosed the rope.

“Nobody could come out of such a place as that, my lad,” he said, “alive.”

Chapter Twenty One

The Pursuit

“I’ll go down again, sir,” said Cyril, when the colonel had turned back, and he had tried to make him understand the nature of the place, as far as he had been able to make out.

But the colonel shook his head.

“We must go back, and try to reach the stream where it flows out, my boy,” he said. “We can do no good here. – Come, Manning, and fetch the mules.”

John Manning stared, and seemed as if he could not understand.

“The mules, sir – go back and find the stream? What about the Indians, if they are coming on?” The colonel had forgotten their pursuers. “The mules,” he said then; and he led the way on into the mist, Cyril following him wonderingly along the continuation of the rocky shelf for about a hundred yards, and glancing back from time to time to see that John Manning was close behind, untying the knots of the hide ropes as he came.

Every step took them nearer to the great waterfall, and in the dim light Cyril now made out that the path was wider; but all at once it seemed to end in front of a gleaming sheet of water reaching from the thick mist below right up to where the rock-walls appeared to give place to the spray-clouded sky. And there, just before them, all huddled together, stood the mules, ready to turn toward them as they approached.

“They brought me as far as this last night,” said the colonel, “and then stopped. No wonder, poor brutes, they would go no farther; and I was lost in the darkness, and dared not turn back. I stood with them till daybreak, hoping you all were safe, and then – ”

Cyril uttered a wild cry of joy, one which made itself heard by all, for a bare-headed misty figure, whose presence they had not been aware of as it followed them, suddenly caught the colonel’s arm, placed its lips to his ear, and cried:

“Quick, father – the Indians; they’re coming down the valley fast.”

In the face of such news as Perry bore, there was no time to ask questions about his escape, but as the colonel grasped the boy’s arm, trembling the while with excitement, his heart throbbing with joy, he cried:

“How far away?”

“Not half a mile. I could see them coming down the valley.”

“This way,” said the colonel promptly, and he supplemented his words with gestures, as, still holding his son’s arm tightly, he led them on through the mist of fine spray inward toward where the mules were standing together. And now as they approached the fall, a great deal of the horror caused by the darkness and noise passed away, for the mist grew opalescent from the sunshine far above, and though progress looked terribly perilous, they could see the extent of their danger, and there was no mystery of hidden peril, no constant dread of unknown chasms waiting to engulf them at their next stride.

For they knew now that they were in one of Nature’s wildest and grandest rifts, where a goodly-sized river, after tearing its way along the profound depths of a narrow gorge, had reached a spot where by some earthquake convulsion this gorge had suddenly, as it were, broken in two. One part had dropped several hundred feet, forming a profound chasm into which the water from above leaped in one great glistening wave, smooth as so much gleaming glass, to be broken up into spray as it reached the jagged rocks below, and there eddy and foam in what was undoubtedly a huge basin, from which the mist arose, while the broken water swept on down into the valley to join the little stream by whose side they had come.

The leading mule threw up its head as the colonel approached, and its parted teeth and drawn-back lips suggested that it was whinnying a welcome or a demand for food. But the great fall before them, and the knowledge that at any time the Indians might appear from out of the dense mist and commence their attack, gave the colonel eyes for only one thing, and that a way out of what seemed to be a perfect cul de sac.

The deafening roar, of course, prevented all consultation, and the mist added to the confusion; but these had their advantages for the fugitives, veiling their actions from their pursuers, and preventing any sound made by the mules from being heard.

And as Cyril watched their leader’s actions, and then caught an encouraging look from John Manning, who gave his head a jerk in the colonel’s direction, as if to say: “It’s all right, he’ll find his way out,” the boy felt in better spirits. The terrors of the night were gone; they were all there safe, and there was the possibility of the Indians feeling as much in awe of the terrible chasm as they had themselves, and hence shrinking from making their way through the mist, and giving them the credit of going on down the valley by the greater stream which issued from beneath the falls.

Cyril’s thoughts were many, and in the reaction from the terrible despair from which he had suffered, he was ready to accept anything short of the marvellous; and consequently he was in nowise surprised on seeing their leader go right on into the darkness, peering here and there, and the leading mule follow him and Perry, the rest getting in motion directly, and going on into the mist till the last had disappeared.

Just then John Manning, who had turned to look back, wiping the moisture from his face, clapped Cyril on the shoulder, and placed his lips close to the boy’s ear.

“Can’t see ’em coming. This’ll scare ’em from following. They’ll think nobody but mad folk would ever come along here. I say, he’s found a way behind the fall.”

But John Manning was wrong.

They followed the direction taken by the last mule, together stepping cautiously onward through the mist, for the rugged shelf they were on was dripping with moisture, and felt slippery beneath their feet, while to their left there was the huge body of water always gliding down into the spray which eddied up to meet it. Then, to their intense astonishment, they stepped right out of the dense, clinging mist, which hid everything, into a clear atmosphere. It was quite in twilight that they stood, but the falling water brought with it a cool current of air; and as they both stopped for a moment to gaze and wonder, there to their left was the great fall rushing down clear of the rock behind, and leaving plenty of room for any one to pass through to the other side, beneath the water, had the shelf been continued there; but it passed round to their right, as if Nature had made a natural staircase, zigzagging up the side of the gorge; and there, some distance above them, were the colonel and Perry, mounting slowly after the leading mule, which showed no hesitation about proceeding now that it was day.

John Manning nodded, and they followed up and up the giddy path, now leaving the fall some distance behind, now approaching it again, but always near enough to be terribly impressed by the vast curve of gleaming black water, which, as they rose higher, could be plainly seen plunging down into what appeared to them as a dark grey cloud.

From time to time the colonel looked back and waved his hand, stopping at last at a spot where the natural track curved suddenly round a sharp point of rock. The mules followed one by one, their heads right down, and their feet carefully planted at every step, till the last had gone round; and then in turn Cyril and John Manning climbed up, and before passing the sharp rock, stopped to gaze down into the vast rift up whose side they had mounted so far.

From this point the whole of the wild zigzag was visible right to where the grey veil of mist shut off the level shelf where they had passed the night, and John Manning’s lips had just parted to utter some words about the horrible nature of the place, when Cyril started back and jerked his garment, to make him follow suit.

The old soldier was keenly alive to danger, and dropping upon his knees, he joined Cyril in cautiously looking over the edge of the rocks they had just ascended, softly bringing the muzzle of his piece to bear upon what he saw.

For, as he gazed down, there in the gloom, not two hundred yards away as an arrow would fly, but at a distance which it had taken them nearly half an hour to climb by the gradual ascent, was the figure of an Indian standing out just clear of the mist, and peering cautiously about, as if searching every rock and crevice around.

The next minute another had joined him, coming out of the mist cautiously, and with the tentative motion of one who was on strange ground.

Then came another and another, with their figures looking huge and grotesque as they stood in the mist, and then suddenly shrinking into the stature as of dwarfs, as soon as they were clear.

One by one they came on, till there were at least thirty collected together, and all gazing about cautiously, as if in dread.

As Cyril knew from his own experience, they could only converse with difficulty, so that he was not surprised to see that one of them, who appeared to be the leader, was gesticulating and pointing here and there, and finally upward toward where the two fugitives were watching every act.

But, as the boy watched the Indians keenly, it was very evident that they were far from confident, and he soon decided that they were as much panic-stricken by the horror of the place as he and his friends had been overnight. At last, though after a great deal of pointing upward and hesitation, it seemed as if they were all reluctantly about to continue the pursuit, for their leader took a few steps forward and waved them on.

But they did not stir, save to crowd together a little more and press toward the wall of rock, away from the fall.

“They don’t like it,” whispered John Manning, for it was becoming possible, where they lay, to make a few words audible without shouting. “Strikes me they’re so scared, that if we were to send one of these big pieces of rock rolling down, they’d beat a retreat.”

“Look, look!” whispered Cyril.

“I am,” said John Manning, for all at once a couple more of the Indians suddenly appeared from out of the mist, in whom they recognised Diego and his fellow-guide, the former holding something in his hand which he was showing to all in turn with a great deal of gesticulation, accompanied by eager pointings down into the depths below the fall, and back through the mist.

“What’s he got there?” whispered John Manning. “Something to eat? He wants them to go back.”

“I know,” said Cyril so loudly that his companion caught his arm. “It’s Perry’s cap.”

“What!” cried the old soldier. “I know how it is. They’ve found it somewhere down the stream, where it had been washed, and he’s saying that we must all have tumbled in there and been swept away.”

This appeared to be a very likely interpretation, for, with a great display of eagerness, the men hurried back through the mist till all were gone.

“Let’s make haste on and overtake them,” said Cyril eagerly. “I want to ask Perry where he left his cap.”

“And he’ll tell you, sir, that he didn’t leave it anywhere, but had it took away by the water.”

“Are they in sight?” said the colonel, bending down over them. “You were quite right. This is an excellent place to keep them back. Yes,” he continued, on hearing the surmises of the two watchers, “that must be it, and they have gone back to follow the stream.”

He led the way again, and they followed to where Perry was anxiously looking back, as the mules steadily went on higher and higher up the gloomy gorge, where the great stream was hurrying and foaming along toward where it would make its plunge; while the thunderous roar of the fall was rapidly dying away, shut out, as it now was, by curve after curve of the valley.

The place was black and forbidding enough, but as they got on another mile or two, their journey was brightened by the glow upon the ridges and slopes on high where the sun reached, and the grassy sides of the lower mountains looked delightful after their long experience of black, dripping stone.

Many a look back was given as they went on higher and higher, every step taking them more into the mighty range, and fortunately due west; and, weary as they all were, intense was the longing to hurry their steps. But that last was impossible. They were dependent upon the mules for their supply of food, and the cautious animals only had one pace, and this regulated their masters’.

At last, when utterly exhausted, a halt was called just at a sharp turn in the gorge, where water could be reached, and the rocks sheltered them and the mules from pursuers; while they gave them the opportunity of scanning the narrow way for nearly a mile, so that if a watch was kept, it was impossible for them to be taken by surprise.

There was some stunted herbage too, here, upon which, as soon as they had drunk, the mules began to browse. But no load was removed, arms were ready for an attack, and the only mule that was lightened was the one that bore the provisions.

And now Perry was questioned more closely about his escape, and Cyril heard it from his lips for the first time.

Chapter Twenty Two

Perry’s Peril

“There isn’t much to tell,” said the boy with a shiver.

“Never mind; tell me: I want to know. What’s the matter – cold?”

“No, I’m warm enough now,” said Perry, “for my clothes have got dry; but it makes me shiver as soon as I think about it, and I feel as if I always shall. It’s a thing I shall dream about of a night, and wake up feeling the water strangling me.”

Cyril looked at him in wonder, and the boy tried to smile, but it was a very pitiful attempt, and he went on hurriedly.

“You know how horrible all that was when I felt sure that my father had gone down somewhere, and something forced me to go and try to find him. And then, as I went on through the mist, I only took three or four steps before my feet gave way, and I was sliding at a terrible rate down, down to where the water was thundering and roaring.”

“Was it very deep?” said Cyril, for his companion paused.

“I don’t know; I seemed to be sliding along very fast, and then I was fighting for breath, and being dashed here and there, and I suppose I was carried along by the water almost as swiftly as I slid down that dreadful slope. Then, after fighting for my breath, all was confusion and darkness, and I can’t remember any more till I found myself lying among some rocks. The water was rushing and foaming over my legs, and every now and then rushing up over my chest, and making me feel so in fear of being drowned that I climbed a little, and then a little more, till I was out of the water, but afraid to move in the darkness in case I should fall in again.”

“Where were you?” said Cyril.

“I didn’t know then, but lay aching with the cold, and listening to the rushing water; while it was so dark, that I felt sure that I must have been washed into some great hole underground, where I should lie till I was dead.”

“We felt all kinds of horrors about you,” said Cyril, “but you seem to have suffered more than we did.”

“I don’t know,” said Perry plaintively. “It was very bad, though, and if I hadn’t fallen at last into a sort of stupor, I’ve thought since that I should have gone mad.”

“Stupor!” said Cyril, smiling. “You mean you went to sleep.”

Perry looked at him so reproachfully that Cyril felt the blood flush into his cheeks, and the colour deepened as his companion said: “How could a fellow go to sleep when he believes his father has been killed, and he has himself just escaped from a horrible death?”

“Don’t take any notice of what I said,” cried Cyril hurriedly; “I did not mean it.”

“I know you did not. I suppose it was from being so exhausted. I felt as if I had been stunned, and could neither think nor stir, and then this curious feeling came over me, and everything passed away. It was not sleep.”

“No, no; don’t say that again,” cried Cyril apologetically. “How long were you like that?”

“I don’t know, only that it was still dark when I came to, and sat wondering where I was, and whether I should ever see the light again, so miserable and desolate you cannot think.”

“Yes, I can,” said Cyril warmly; “I felt bad, too, when I thought you were drowned, and went down to try to find you.”

“What!” cried Perry excitedly. “You went down to try to find me?”

“Oh yes,” said Cyril coolly. “Didn’t you know? They put a rope round me and let me down.”

“Cil!”

“Well, don’t make a fuss about it,” said Cyril, laughing. “They had hold of the rope.”

“But the place was so awful. Didn’t you feel frightened?”

“Horribly, of course, and it was ever so much worse when I’d got to the end of the rope, and felt that you must be gone. But never mind that. Go on. You were saying how miserable you were.”

“Yes,” said Perry thoughtfully, “till all at once I caught sight of something high up, just as if it was a point of light coming through a crack in the roof of the cavern into which I had been washed.”

“And was it?”

“No,” said the boy, with his eyes brightening, “it was the first light of morning shining miles up on the ice of one of the great peaks, and as I watched it, I saw it get brighter and then begin to glow as if it were a precious stone. The light gradually stole down lower and lower, till it seemed to come right into my heart; and from that moment I began to grow strong and hopeful, and something seemed to tell me that I should see you all again.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Cyril, as he watched his friend’s countenance; “I wish something of that kind had come to me when I was feeling worst.”

“You weren’t alone,” said Perry, smiling. “Well, as soon as I found that I was just at the edge of a rushing torrent, I knew that if I followed it up, I should come to the mouth of the gorge where you must be, and I began to climb along the side, getting warmer every minute; and I felt more hopeful too, for I began to think how clever my father was, and that he would have been able to save himself, or have been saved, just as I was.”

“And then you soon found the mouth of the gorge where the water came out?”

“Yes, and the place where we turned in last night, instead of going right on down the main valley. It was quite a climb up to the path, but I dragged myself up; and just then I happened to turn my eyes along the way we came just as I was warmest, and then I turned cold again.”

“Because you saw the Indians?”

Perry nodded, and the boys sat in silence for a few minutes, looking up at the sunlit sky, which appeared like a broad jagged path running along high above their heads.

“What are you thinking about?” said Perry suddenly, as he noted the thoughtful, deeply-lined brow of his companion.

“Eh? Oh, nothing much,” replied Cyril. “Only that when I knew you were coming up into the mountains, I felt so jealous of you, and I fancied that you were coming to see all kinds of wonders and make great discoveries, and that it would be one grand holiday, day after day, and instead of that – I say, we haven’t had so very much fun yet, have we?”

“Plenty of adventures,” replied Perry thoughtfully.

“Yes, plenty of adventures.”

“It’s been so hard upon you, though, from the first. You were so upset when you joined us.”

“And serve me right,” cried Cyril angrily. “I’d no business to do it; I believe they think at home that I’m dead. Nothing’s too bad to happen to me.”

“Then you’re sorry you came?”

“Yes; horribly. I don’t mind all we’ve gone through, because it has seemed to stir me up so, and made me feel as if I’d got more stuff in me; and it ought to, for sometimes I’ve felt, since we came, that I behaved like a miserable, thoughtless coward.”

“No one could call you a coward,” said Perry firmly.

“Oh yes, they could – a miserable, selfish coward.”

“I should just like to hear any one call you one,” said Perry viciously, and with a hard, fierce look in his countenance.

“Then you soon shall,” said Cyril. “I call myself one a dozen times a day. There, I’m a coward.”

“But I meant some one else.”

“You wait long enough, and you’ll hear my father call me one.”

“You’re not.”

“Yes, I am, and I shall deserve all he says – that is, if we ever get back to San Geronimo.”

“Don’t talk like that,” said Perry. “What’s to prevent us?”

“Indians,” said Cyril mournfully.

“But we’ve left them behind.”

“For a bit. They’ll hunt us out again somewhere. They’ve got all the advantage of us. I daresay there are thirty or forty of them hunting us, and what one doesn’t know of the country, another does; and as they spread out, they’ll warn every Indian they meet, so as to run us down, for they’re sure to feel now that we’re after the buried treasures, and they’ll give us credit for having found them.”