Dick Merriwell Abroad: or, The Ban of the Terrible Ten

She stood like one turned to stone, unable to decide what should be done. In that moment she seemed so beset and entangled that there was no possible escape for her. She could not depart and leave Cavendish in that dark hole, yet if she remained she might be forced to become the bride of Donatus, the brigand.

Maro was likewise in a fearful state of mind. Suddenly he snatched out a pistol and threatened her with it.

“I had rather kill you with my own hand than leave you to either of them!” he hissed.

She clutched the pistol in his hand with both of her hands and sought to wrest it from him. In the struggle it was discharged.

Donatus, the Suliote, gave a great start and then his legs buckled beneath him and he fell prone to the ground.

Instantly Maro relaxed his hold on the pistol and sprang away. When the brigands who remained by the fire turned to look they saw their chief stretched on the ground, while the smoking pistol was clutched in the hands of the horror-stricken girl.

Instantly they were upon her. They wrested the weapon from her and pinned her arms at her side. One knelt beside the chief and made a hasty search for the wound.

“Kill her!” snarled a little ruffian, flourishing a knife. “Cut her throat! She has slain Donatus!”

He made a slash with the gleaming blade, as if he would sweep it across the throat of the girl.

It was the voice of Donatus that checked them and kept them from doing her fatal harm. He had lifted himself to his elbow.

“Hold!” he commanded, in the tone none dared disobey. “Hold her fast, but harm no hair on her head. Where is Ruteni? Let him see how badly I am wounded. Place her in the cave and guard her well.”

Then Flavia managed to drag those who had clutched her until she was near enough to sink on her knees beside the wounded and bleeding brigand.

“Oh, I did not mean to do it!” she sobbed. “Believe me, I did not mean it! I tried to wrest the weapon from Maro, and it was discharged.”

The face of Donatus, outcast and wretch that he was, lighted with a great look of relief. With an effort, he lifted a hand and touched her tangled hair.

“I believe you, Flavia,” he said. “You shall not be harmed. You shall remain with the Englishman.”

Then he gave a few low-spoken orders, and Maro saw Flavia led away toward the cave.

“Where is Ruteni?” again demanded Donatus. “Am I to bleed to death for need of a little care?”

Soon the man called for came running from the darkness and dropped beside the chief. He carried on his person a leather case, containing some instruments and bandages, and he began at once to look after the wound by the light of the camp fire.

“What was the firing I heard, Ruteni?” asked the chief.

“Some one succeeded in passing the guards at the entrance to the valley, chief.”

“Succeeded?” said Donatus, as if he could not believe it. “How many of them?”

“Only one. He was crawling on his stomach like a serpent when they saw him and fired. He sprang up and ran.”

“Into the valley?”

“Into the valley, chief. But he is only one, and he cannot escape. They will capture him.”

“Who could it be? Who would dare attempt such a thing? Ruteni, how badly am I wounded?”

“I fear it is serious,” was the answer.

Water had been brought, and a few of Donatus’ band were watching the work of Ruteni, seeming benumbed and dazed by what had happened. The chief saw them and said:

“Go! Help search for the one who entered the valley. Bring him hither, dead or alive. I am still your chief, and shall be as long as I breathe.”

The men obeyed at once, and besides Donatus and Ruteni only Maro and Tyrus were left by the fire.

The guard still paced before the dark mouth of the cave, in which Flavia had once more been placed.

“It is now our time!” whispered Maro, in the ear of Tyrus. “I have recovered my pistol, and you are armed. Here are the saddled horses. Donatus is helpless. If necessary, we can slay Ruteni and the guard, and we can be away with Flavia before the others return.”

Tyrus grasped the wrist of his desperate companion.

“I think too much of my life to try it,” he declared. “If you attempt that, you do it alone, and you will be slain. Do not be a fool!”

Finally there was a great commotion in another portion of the valley. A single shot was fired, but shouts of triumph came faintly through the darkness.

“They have captured the spy!” said the chief, with a smile of satisfaction on his ashen face. “Are you done, Ruteni?”

“I have done everything possible, chief. The wound is in your lung. If you do not bleed internally – ”

“If I do – what?”

“I fear you’ll not see the rising of another sun,” was the frank answer.

“And to-day, for the first time, I gazed on the face of the maid of my dreams. Do all dreams end in disappointment? Ruteni, roll me a cigarette.”

The man had placed a robe, on which Donatus reclined. Ruteni rolled a cigarette and placed it between the bearded lips. Then he struck a match and lighted it.

Donatus drew in a whiff of smoke and coughed. A fleck of blood appeared on his lips.

“Take it, Ruteni,” he said sadly, surrendering the cigarette. “Throw it away. I cannot smoke. To-day I found the one of my dreams. Am I to die thus soon by her hand?”

Some of the brigands came marching out of the darkness, bringing in their midst a prisoner, his hands made fast behind his back. He was a mere boy, with a tanned and rugged face and a fearless manner.

“Is this the spy?” asked Donatus, in surprise, as the captive stood near the fire. “Who is he?”

“I know who he is!” cried Maro furiously. “Only for him and that other American all this trouble would not have come, for we should have captured Flavia this morning. I entreat the privilege of slaying him with my own hand!”

The captive was Brad Buckhart.

CHAPTER XXIX. – IN THE CAVE

As he spoke those fierce words, the young Greek drew a knife. His face was convulsed with passion and hatred for this daring American boy who, he believed, had caused him so much trouble. He longed to rush at Brad and stab him to the heart.

The manner of the Greek was enough to warn the Texan of his danger.

“Whoop!” cried Brad. “If the gent is anxious to enter into a carving contest, just give me a toadsticker and I’ll show him my style. I opine I can interest him some.”

Donatus weakly waved his hand.

“I am wearied,” he said. “I must rest. When I have rested I will say what shall be done. Until that time, place the boy in the cave.”

“But, chief, he is – ”

The wounded brigand cut Maro short with a flashing look from his still terrible eyes.

“What I have said I have said,” he declared. “Those who dare disobey me invite destruction.”

Then, as directed by him, Buckhart was marched away to the cave, before which the guard still paced to and fro.

Maro sank down, his face wearing a look of bitter disappointment. Tyrus squatted beside him, whispering in his ear:

“Be content that your life is still spared, boy. It was in wrenching the pistol from you that Flavia caused the accidental shooting of Donatus. I feared you would be slain for that. The girl, the Englishman, and the hated American boy are in the cave. They are guarded. Donatus is sorely wounded and may die. Pray the gods that we may escape with our lives.”

“And is this Donatus the man you befriended?” exclaimed Maro bitterly.

“Hush, you fool!” warned Tyrus; but the eyes of Donatus were closed and he seemed to be sleeping.

Brad Buckhart had looked around for Flavia and Cavendish. In the blackness of the cave he could see nothing. The men who escorted him left him, after warning him that he would be shot down the moment he tried to step forth, unless given permission to do so.

Then they departed. He saw their forms silhouetted for a moment against the glow of the fire as they passed from the mouth of the cave. Then the guard’s dark figure paced slowly across the opening.

“Well, here I am!” muttered the Texan. “I sure opine I’m in a right bad scrape, and I’ll have to depend hugely on my pard to pull me out.”

“It is indeed a bad scrape you are in,” said the voice of a person near at hand in the darkness of the place. “How in the world did you get here?”

“Hello!” cried the Texan, in surprise and satisfaction. “Is that your gentle warble I hear, Cavendish?”

“Yes, I am Charles Cavendish, a free-born Englishman, here held captive by these dirty Greek brigands! Some one will pay dearly for it, too!”

“Fighting mad, I see,” half chuckled Buckhart. “Well, old man, this comes of monkeying round the Maid of Athens.”

“The Maid of Athens? What are you doing, quoting Byron?”

“I opine it was Byron that made me call her that, and I’ll bet a bunch of Texas longhorns that Byron’s maid wasn’t any prettier than Flavia.”

“Do you understand that, Flavia?” questioned the voice of Cavendish. “Did you catch the compliment of this devil-may-care youngster who is in the trap with us?”

“I hear heem,” was the answer, in a voice that made Brad start! “same time the English is hard to comprehen’.”

The Texan whistled.

“So Flavia is here with us, eh? And Maro outside! I don’t quite understand it.”

Cavendish explained as well as he could.

“I fancy I came near being shot,” he went on, “when I saw that Greek ruffian catch Flavia in his arms. They warned me I’d be shot down the moment I thrust my nose out of this cave, yet my blood boiled when he clasped her. However, he kept her from Maro, and now he’s in a bad way himself. Boy, I fear you and I will not live to see the rising of another sun. I fear these ruffians will cut our throats. As for Flavia, my soul shudders when I think what may become of her.”

“It shudders some, does it?” said Buckhart, with a touch of unspeakable scorn. “Well, I opine you see now, Mr. Cavendish, what a long-eared jackass you made of yourself by fooling round an innocent girl in this country. You sure brought it on yourself by trying to deceive her.”

In the gloom of the cave Cavendish stirred suddenly, and Brad fancied he could see the figure of the man risen to a standing attitude.

“Why do you say that?” hotly demanded the young Englishman. “Deceive Flavia? How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”

“Steady, you!” growled the Texan, not a bit abashed by the evident rage of the other. “I want you to know that my pard and myself have seen and talked with that blear-eyed old reprobate, Sir Augustus Camberwell. We found him in the midst of the wreckage after the brigands jumped you on the trail. He was so nervous he was ready to shoot at his own shadow. We chinned him some, and he gave it to us straight that the whole affair was brought about because you met the girl by accident and took a fancy to fool her some. He allowed you never had the least idea of marrying her.”

Flavia had listened to all this and understood it. Now she uttered a cry and clutched at the young Englishman.

“Charlee!” she gasped; “Charlee, it is not true?”

Cavendish placed his arm about her waist and drew her close to him.

“It is not true, sweetheart!” he declared, with deep earnestness. “I must confess that Sir Augustus thought so, for he could not understand that I, a son of the house of Cavendish, could possibly mean to treat in an honorable manner a poor Greek girl of no family whatever. I tried to tell him that I was in earnest, but I found that he would turn against me the moment he believed it, and do everything in his power to separate us. The only way to obtain his assistance, which I needed very much, was to let him believe I was playing the scoundrel in this manner. That is why I permitted him to think so.”

Needless to say Brad Buckhart had listened with deep interest to these words. He now stepped forward and his hand found Cavendish’s shoulder.

“How about that forged letter?” he asked.

“I confess it was forged,” was the instant answer. “I met Flavia by accident and fell in love with her at first sight. She tells me that she loved me the moment her eyes met mine. We met several times, and she told me of Maro, and how her uncle was trying to force her into a hateful union with the fellow. We knew Tyrus Helorus would be enraged if I simply presented myself and stated that I wanted Flavia for my wife, so we concocted a scheme we fancied might work. Flavia told me all about her father, where he was in India and all that. I secured the service of an expert with the pen, and the rascal forged a letter purporting to be from Flavia’s father. The letter introduced me to Tyrus, who was directed to deliver Flavia into my care, as I would take her to her father in India.”

“That was some slick,” commented Brad.

“But it didn’t work with Tyrus,” said Cavendish. “The old man smelled a rat, you know. He pretended to think it all right, and he promised that Flavia should prepare for the journey. But he whisked her away and hid her from me. I found her, and then he had me arrested on some sort of a complaint. I was locked up, you understand, and I’d be there now only for Sir Augustus, who used his influence to get me out. That’s how I became tangled up with him, don’t you know. And now here we are. What the deuce are we going to do?”

Brad found Cavendish’s hand in the darkness and gave it a hearty grip.

“Even if I am in a right tight predicament myself,” he said, “I’m sure glad my pard and I concluded, after leaving Sir Augustus, to try to find out what had happened to Flavia and you. Cavendish, we may all go over the range into the unknown country beyond, but the jig’s not up, by a long shot.”

The Texan lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Listen: My pard and I both got into this valley, though I was the only one seen. If those cutthroats hadn’t been miserable bad shots, I’d been peppered full of holes. They shot all round me. Then something tripped me as I was scooting, and they had me before I could recover. Here I am; but Dick Merriwell is somewhere out in the valley, and I’ll wager every hoof on the Bar Z that we hear from him before morning. You want to hold yourself ready to move a whole lot lively when he takes a hand in the game, for he plays his cards to win and makes no false moves. You hear me chirp!”

CHAPTER XXX. – OUT OF THE TOILS

The mists of early night had dissolved in the valleys. Above the hills the pale stars glittered as the night wore on. Donatus, the Suliote, still reclined by the fire, his head pillowed on the saddle. Over him a faithful follower had spread a blanket to protect him from the cool night air.

The fire sank lower. Even Maro, with his heart of fire, had at last fallen into slumber.

The guard who had passed before the mouth of the cave, now unreached by the firelight, seemed grown weary, for he made his beat with less frequence and regularity. Once he disappeared for such a length of time that Buckhart was tempted, for all of the danger of being shot, to peer forth. But before the Texan brought himself to the point of risking the peril the guard reappeared, a blanket wrapped about him, pacing with slow step across the opening.

Flavia slept, her head pillowed on Cavendish’s lap. The Englishman had removed his coat and spread it over her.

“Poor girl!” he muttered, as he did so. “It’s a beastly shame! She’ll get her death in this blooming hole!”

“Death isn’t the worst thing that can happen to her,” said the Texan, in a whisper. “But we’ll hope for better luck. Cavendish, I’m sure afraid something has happened to my pard. I’m afraid to wait longer for him to move. Are you in for taking a chance?”

“What sort of a chance?”

“A desperate one. The band is asleep, though they’re all sleeping with weapons in their hands. The guard seems to be the only one awake, and I judge he’s half asleep.”

“Go on.”

“We’ll creep close to the mouth of the cave. The fire is down so it no longer shines in at the opening, and we can get right close without being seen. When the guard passes, we’ll jump him. I’ll try to get him by the woozle and shut off his wind so he can’t peep. We’ll have to move a whole lot hasty, and if he raises any sort of a racket to awaken the others, it will be a run for our lives, with bullets chasing us. But remember that the gang shoot mighty bad. What do you say?”

“Flavia?”

“Of course we’ll take her. You’ll have to explain it to her.”

“She may be killed when they begin to shoot?”

“Better that than for her to be carried off by these cutthroats.”

Cavendish shuddered. The thought of placing the beautiful girl in such peril of instant death was horrible to him. He bent in the darkness and gently kissed her parted lips.

“Charlee!” she murmured.

“With my life I’ll protect you!” he whispered.

“Wake her,” urged Brad impatiently. He had resolved on action, and every moment seemed precious now.

Cavendish kissed her again and then gently aroused her. She was frightened at first, but he succeeded in soothing her.

“You are with me, Flavia,” he said.

“My Charlee!”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I dream such terrible thing!”

“Tell her our plan,” directed Brad.

Cavendish did so.

“You may be kill, Charlee!” she whispered, in terror.

“It is the only chance. We must try it. Remain here, Flavia, while we creep close to the mouth of the cave and attempt to overpower the guard. If we fail and he raises an outcry, we will knock him down at least, and try to secure his weapons. If you see us do that, come quickly and be prepared to run with us into the darkness. Are you brave, Flavia?”

“You make me brafe, Charlee. You brafest, bes’ man in whole world!”

Even as he closed her loving lips with another kiss a surprising thing happened. Brad saw the guard halt at the mouth of the cave and look intently toward the dying fire and the dimly seen sleepers about it. Then the fellow stepped into the cave!

The Texan gathered himself panther-like for the spring.

“Hist!”

The guard had paused, and from his lips came a sibilant sound.

“Englishman here? American boy here?” he asked, in a whisper.

“Whatever does this mean?” thought Buckhart, hesitating.

“Other American boy send me,” declared the guard. “He have horses ready. He pay me to help. I am sic’ being outlaw. He gif me drachma ’nough to make me rich. I leaf this countree, lif hones’ some other countree. I help you ’scape. You come now! Quick!”

“Great horn spoon!” breathed the Texan. “My pard has made a move! I knew he would! Oh, he’s a bird, you bet your boots! But I don’t see how he worked the trick of bribing the guard.”

“Don’t be fool!” hissed the man. “No time for waste! Come now!”

He found Brad and thrust a weapon into his hand.

“Perhap’ have fight,” he said.

The Texan doubted no longer, for his fingers gripped the butt of a pistol.

“Come, Cavendish!” he palpitated. “Here is where we prance forth and trust to fortune and the sagacity of Dick Merriwell, the cleverest chap on two legs. You hear me gurgle!”

They followed the stooping, muffled guard. The moment they were outside the mouth of the cave he turned sharply to the right and hastened into the enfolding gloom. They kept at his heels.

They had not gone far when Buckhart espied a prostrate figure on the ground. It seemed like a dead man, and the Texan paused, not a little startled.

“What’s this?” he whispered.

“He tied, gagged, make no trouble,” explained the guard. “I take care of that. Horses ready this way.”

A loud cry rose behind them. They turned in alarm, but saw in the dim firelight a man bending over the prostrate figure of the chief, who had seemed to be sleeping.

That cry brought the brigands to their feet. The fire was stirred up. They saw Ruteni kneeling beside Donatus.

“He is dead!” declared Ruteni sorrowfully. “While we thought him sleeping, he died!”

Maro and Tyrus were looking on. They saw the brigands gather sorrowfully about their dead leader. A look of great satisfaction rested on the face of the young Greek, and, seeing this, Tyrus hastily advised him to conceal his feelings.

After a little, Maro asked that the captives should be brought from the cave.

Two of the brigands hastened to bring them forth, but quickly they reappeared, declaring that the captives were not there.

Snarling forth his fury, Maro caught a brand from the replenished fire and dashed into the cave. He was gone but a few moments when he reappeared, almost frothing in his madness.

“I have been deceived!” he cried. “While I slept you dogs stole Flavia away. Miserable, crawling things, where is she? Bring her to me without delay, or I swear I’ll see that you all are delivered over to justice!”

One of the brigands swiftly approached him.

“You threaten us!” he said – “you, whose pistol slew our chief! I saw it all! But for your weapon Donatus would be living now. This for Donatus!”

Like a stroke of lightning he drove his knife into Maro’s bosom.

The valley was left far behind. The stars were beginning to pale. Still that muffled figure astride the horse in advance led them on.

They had trusted him. He had led them to the waiting and saddled horses, and he had led them from the valley, near the entrance to which another dark figure lay prone, but squirmed and rolled to get away from the hoofs of the passing horses.

But Brad Buckhart could stand it no longer. He urged his horse to the side of the mysterious figure, about whose shoulders the robe flapped in the wind.

“Hold on here, you!” cried the Texan. “You told us my pard had bribed you, but we reckoned we would combine with him a heap soon after leaving that cave. Where is he?”

“When we leave cave you see man on ground, tied, gagged, still?”

“Sure thing.”

“That not him. You see ’nother man when we ride out from vallee?”

“Yes.”

“That not him. First man guard cave; other one guard vallee. American boy say him lif with Injun in America. Him creep on both. Jump on backs. Fix them. Tie fast and gag. Old Joe Crowfoot teach American boy trick. Him take clothes from both men all he need. Brigands see him then in dark think him one of them. You want see American boy? Ha! ha! ha!”

“May I be shot!” growled the disgusted Texan. “I’m the biggest fool outside the bughouse, you hear me!”

Then, with a swift movement, he reached out, caught at the muffling robe and jerked it away, flinging it aside.

The gray light of dawn was in the eastern sky toward which the face of the supposed guard was turned. It was a laughing face, that of a daring American boy – Dick Merriwell!

“Brad, you’re easy,” he cried.

“Dead easy!” admitted Buckhart. “But you’re a wonder!”

They looked back. Cavendish and Flavia had permitted their horses to slow down. Their figures could be seen against the pearl gray of the sky. He leaned toward her – she leaned toward him – their lips met.

Dick and Brad were too far away to hear her whisper:

“My Charlee!”

THE END