07 Gimlet Bores In

by Captain W E Johns

  At first Cub naturally supposed that it was this that Trapper had brought them to see; and to some extent it may have been; but it was not all.

  Rather more than a quarter of a mile above, the gorge widened considerably, and it was in this direction that Trapper now invited their attention. He did not speak. Words were unnecessary. His discovery was in full view.

  At the place where the gorge widened, from the same side on which they stood, a blunt, flat-topped, sheer-sided promontory of rock projected with a downward slope into the void, in the manner of a spur. It was connected to the mainland by an escarpment, a causeway perhaps twenty yards in width, so that the general effect was that of an arm with the fist clenched. But this Cub only noticed in an abstract sort of way. His eyes were held by a building that occupied almost the whole of the

  "fist"—that is, the outer end of the out-thrust arm of land. It was, he had no doubt, their ultimate objective. At all events, it was unmistakably a fortress, and it was of such dimensions that he could not imagine there could be another like it in the region. The size of it struck him speechless. He had expected something big, but nothing like the mighty grey pile that now rose up from the promontory below him.

  Built of the native rock it stood four-square to heaven, vast, grim, and, since it presented a flat face on every side, apparently impregnable.

  There were a few windows, but they were mere slits, so small in comparison with the rest as to be hardly noticeable. As his viewpoint was somewhat above, Cub could see that the actual building took the form of a hollow square. That is to say, it comprised nothing more than four great walls built round a central courtyard.

  These walls, fifty or sixty feet in thickness, were flat-topped except for a squat turret at each corner, and obviously provided enough accommodation within them to garrison a small army.

  Gimlet drew a deep breath. "Well, I'd say that's it," said he, in a queer tone of voice which made it plain to Cub that even he was impressed.

  "Then we might as well go 'ome and ferget about it," remarked Copper moodily. "Gettin'

  in and out of Dartmoor would be kids' work beside tryin' ter crack open that little crib."

  Gimlet withdrew a little into the trees, and sitting down, studied the place through his binoculars. "There seems to be only one entrance, and that, as one would expect, faces the causeway affair. That, I imagine, is the only way the place can be reached at all. I wouldn't care to try to climb up to it from below. I can see a sentry, or a guard of some sort, on duty at the gate."

  "Only one?" asked Copper, more hopefully.

  Cub could see the man, dwarfed to insignificance by the immensity of the building against which he stood.

  "I can only see one," replied Gimlet. "But there seems to be a sort of guardhouse at the place where the causeway joins the mainland, and no doubt there will be troops in it.

  There seems to be a sort of gate there, too, although I can't see it very well from here. I think we should see more if we moved our position to somewhere in line with the place.

  We shall have to get nearer, anyway." He encased his glasses and got up.

  "Let's try it.

  Keep well back. We mustn't be seen."

  He led the way towards the position he had indicated, which meant a walk of some minutes. This brought them back, as Cub thought it would from the direction, to the road, which confirmed what Gimlet had suspected, that it served the fort.

  They struck it at a point some distance from the place where they had originally found it.

  Here the aspect was entirely different, for, like all mountain roads, it did not run straight but was forced by the configuration of the ground to rise and fall, and at the same time wind a sinuous course to avoid numerous obstructions. A little distance above where they stood it met the gorge at an acute angle, and then ran along the edge of it. At the same time it climbed a little hill where it disappeared from sight. At the brow of this hill a side turning to the right dived down rather sharply to the fort. Beyond this the road continued.

  Where it finally ended was a matter for conjecture.

  At the top of the hill, which overlooked the fort, beside the road, a position that must have been conspicuous for many miles around, there had been erected a short line of rough timber tripods, which at first Cub supposed to be—without giving the matter any serious thought—the crude equipment of a gang of road menders, or possibly a device for lowering heavy loads to the fort below. Someone had apparently been at work there recently, for he had left some garments hanging on a pulley. All this Cub took in at a glance. He did not comment on it; nor did the others. There was at this juncture no reason to suppose that these erections were to play a vital part in their affairs.

  Gimlet pointed to the opposite side of the road, where the ground, rising towards a ridge several hundred feet above, was covered with a dense growth of hazel, juniper and other shrubs, a jungle that ran parallel with the road for as far as it could be seen. "I think that's the place for us," he observed. "We'll cross over and work our way along. From the top of that rise we shall have a good view of the road, even if we can't actually see the fort.

  There's no great hurry about that. From the behaviour of the people we've seen on the road there seems to be something going on, so I think we ought to lie low for a bit, rather than risk being seen by trying to do too much in one day. We should be snug in that thick stuff. Let's go over."

  After a quick glance up and down the road to make sure it was clear, the party moved over and with some difficulty forced a passage into the thicket. Then, turning to the right, keeping well back from the road, they carried on until they were in a position that overlooked the top of the rise, and the side road that turned off to the fort. This disappeared over the brow of the hill, so that they could not actually see the building itself, which lay some way below. The main road could be seen in both directions for some distance.

  "All right. You can sit down and make yourselves comfortable," said Gimlet. "We'll keep an eye on the road for a bit. Presently, if things'are quiet, we'll move forward and have a dekko at the fort. We know where it is; that's the great thing. We've done pretty well for one day."

  Cub needed no second invitation. He found a spot from which he could see a good section of the road and sat down to await events. Immediately in front of him now were the derrick-like erections that he had previously observed.

  Having nothing better to do he regarded them with greater attention to detail, trying to make out exactly what they were. His eyes wandered to what he had taken to be some garments left by a workman. They hung, motionless in the still air, from a rope. His eyes rested on them, at first uncomprehendingly; but as, quite slowly, he realised what he was in fact looking at, the colour drained from his face and his mouth went dry.

  The clothes it is true, were there. So was the man to whom they belonged.

  He was inside them, hanging by the neck.

  A long, slowly expelled breath, came from Copper, who was looking in the same direction. "Strike me pink," he whispered hoarsely. "We've chosen a bright spot ter sit, my oath we 'ave right next ter the blinkin'

  gallows."

  Gimlet spoke, and his voice was curt. "Don't talk so much, or we shall be the next to decorate them."

  CHAPTER V

  FALLEN AMONG THIEVES

  TIME passed slowly. Physically, Cub was comfortable enough, but mentally he felt sick. Try as he would, he could not prevent his eyes from returning constantly to the horrid object that dangled below him—

  fortunately at some distance. Otherwise the position would have been intolerable. They could, he thought morosely, hardly have chosen a more depressing spot to sit. The country, Gimlet had said, was behind the times.

  To what extent was fast becoming evident. Yet, he reflected, this very thing had been going on over most of Europe during the war. It was one thing to read about it, but a different matter altogether to see it in reality. More clearly than ever before he began to appreci
ate the advantages of living in a free country.

  It must have been about an hour later that his attention was directed into a different channel. The first indication of this was a sound as if the others were whispering together. At first he ignored it, but when, presently, it was repeated, he looked round as a matter of interest to where the others were sitting, or reclining, to ascertain what was going on. He became slightly puzzled when he saw that they were not, in fact, in conversation. Gimlet was sitting a little apart, gazing at the road.

  Copper was reclining on an elbow, thoughtfully chewing a match stick.

  Trapper was whittling a hazel twig that he had cut from the undergrowth.

  Cub stared at them, suddenly aware of an uncomfortable feeling of insecurity. He was sure that someone had spoken. Who was it? Even as he pondered the problem the sound came again, from somewhere to his right—a fleeting whisper like the rustle of corn in a breeze. It was, unmistakably, a human voice. Gimlet, he perceived, had also heard it, for turning his head sharply to where Copper and Trapper were sitting close together, he hissed: "Stop chattering, you fellows."

  Copper looked indignant. "Me? I never said a word, sir," he whispered.

  Cub could sympathise with him, for he knew from the direction of the sound that whoever had spoken it was not Copper. Who was it? Moving his position slightly he parted some twigs with his hands and peered through a tangle of interlaced branches at a small open space that occurred a little way beyond. His heart seemed to take a dive when he caught a glimpse of an uncouth figure creeping from one bush to another. In a moment the man was out of sight, but Cub retained a clear impression of a brown face with a short beard, a dirty red blouse, and a cartridge-studded belt through which had been thrust a long-barrelled pistol. His lips were dry from shock as, after allowing the branches to return noiselessly to their places, he crawled swiftly to Gimlet, putting a finger to his lips to prevent anyone from speaking. Not until all heads were together did he whisper: "We are not alone in these bushes."

  Gimlet frowned in surprise and concern.

  Cub went on, his lips no more than forming the words. "I saw a man. There must be more, because I heard whispering."

  "Don't move a muscle," returned Gimlet, his eyes roving round the bushes that hemmed them in.

  Minutes passed, long, silent, sultry minutes, each one a period of suspense that vibrated on the nerves. Then, somewhere not far away, a twig cracked. In the ordinary way the sound was so slight that it might have passed unnoticed; but in the circumstances it was as brittle with meaning as a pistol shot. No one moved. No one spoke. All sat motionless, hands on weapons, eyes trying to probe the lattice-work of twigs.

  It was a situation as disturbing as any Cub could remember. The strain brought beads of sweat to his forehead. How many men were there in these bushes beside themselves?

  What were they doing? Had Gimlet and his party, for all their caution, been seen, and followed? Were these wild men of the woods seeking them, in their own stealthy manner? It rather looked like it.

  All these conjectures were brought to an end in a way that no amount of foresight could have envisaged. It started with a scrape of marching feet, approaching, although as yet the marchers were unseen—a weird effect that did nothing to lessen the tension. Curiously mingled with the sound was a jangling, as if of chains. A voice barked an order, and while this was at least real enough, after the long silence it was startling in the extreme. Then, over the dusty brow of the hill, from the direction of the fort, appeared a cavalcade consisting of a dozen men in dark grey uniforms, much the worse for wear, with rifles at the slope. Beside them, a drawn sword in his hand, marched one who was evidently an officer. The squad was obviously an escort, for in the centre of it strode a remarkable figure so heavily manacled that it could only keep the pace with difficulty.

  It was on this figure that Cub's eyes became focused, for it was as picturesque as anything he had ever seen on the stage or a cinema screen.

  It was that of a tall, gaunt man, whose age was not easy to determine as the lower part of his face was buried in a beard the colour of brass.

  From the upper part of this sprang a nose as proud and aggressive as an eagle's beak. The clothes he wore were for the most part those of the traditional operatic bandit—yellow waistcoat, buttoned high at the throat, short crimson jacket of a silky material, with loose sleeves caught in at the wrists. Under this was a broad blue cummerbund wrapped round and round the stomach, holding up, strangely enough, a tartan kilt.

  The legs were bare above the tops of black riding boots.

  So much Cub had time to note before the party, at a word of command, came to a stop in front of the scaffold, which made its purpose plain. One of the escort stepped forward. In his hands he carried a looped rope, a rope with a noose at one end. This, with a deft flick, he tossed over the derrick. The man in shackles was pushed forward.

  Cub's first thought, as soon as he realised what was afoot, was that they had arrived too late. That the prisoner

  was the man they had come to rescue he felt sure, because, for one thing, the clothes he wore might have been Turkish in design, if out of date according to modern standards—

  not that Cub knew much about such things. Fear was, perhaps, father to the thought.

  What Gimlet would do, if anything, he could not imagine. It would go against the grain to sit there

  and watch a man hanged, yet to take on the escort would be equivalent to committing suicide. He glanced at Gimlet in the hope of getting an indication of how he was feeling about the situation.

  Gimlet's face wore the expression of a very worried man, and Cub could well understand why In the first place, the prisoner might, or might not, be the man they had come to rescue. Even if he had been positively identified as the Pasha, nothing could, within reason, be done about it now. It would be pointless to throw away their own lives to no useful purpose. Yet a decision in the matter had to be reached instantly. A delay even of a minute would be fatal, for the noose was being lifted over the prisoner's head.

  What Gimlet's decision would have been Cub never knew. It was never demanded, for at this stage the matter passed out of his hands into others which Cub had forgotten, but which, as he realised a moment later, must have assembled for the purpose.

  The presence of the other men in the thicket was explained when from it arose such a volume of sound that Cub flinched under the shock. First came a yell that was evidently a signal for attack, for immediately upon it came the thunder of musket shots. More yells, more shots, and the whole hillside sprang to life. Clouds of gunpowder smoke rolled into an atmosphere that was now all noise and confusion.

  For a minute Cub was dazed by the clamour. At any rate, he was unable to think coherently. Beyond the obvious fact that the troops had been attacked in force nothing was clear. Smoke obscured the view. Men crashed past him, yelling like madmen.

  Bullets and small shot whistled in all directions, and it was instinct rather than reason that made him throw himself flat to lessen the chances of being hit. And there, for a little while he was content to remain. In a vague sort of way he hoped that the newcomers would get their man and depart. And this, no doubt, they would have done, had they been allowed to do so. But, as the smoke cleared somewhat, Cub perceived that this was still some way from being achieved. The escort was not giving up its prisoner readily, for hand to hand fighting was now going on around him; one reason for this being, of course, that the prisoner, in his shackles, was in no state to run over open ground, much less through a jungle. Two wild-looking men, on hands and knees, regardless of swords that flashed and pistols that spat, were trying to remove them. Into the middle of all this, reinforcements arrived for the escort in the shape of a troop of Cossacks who came galloping up the slope from the fort into the fray.

  Close to Cub's ear, above the din, came Copper's voice, strident with excitement. "

  Crikey! Wot a picnic! I'm fer gettin' outer this. Wot about it?"

&nb
sp; With this suggestion Cub was in full agreement, but it was soon plain that it was easier said than done. The question was, which way to go? The choking powder smoke made things more difficult in that it sometimes reduced visibility to a few yards. From the sounds, the rescuers were now retreating up the slope. Whether or not they had got their man Cub did not know, but they were certainly being pursued.

  "Blimey! If we ain't careful we're a goin' ter find ourselves the meat in the sandwich,"

  declared Copper.

  Gimlet suddenly appeared. "Up the slope," he ordered briskly. "It's the only way."

  That was the last Cub saw of him for some time, for he lost no time in obeying. It seemed the only thing to do. To remain where they were would be to invite being shot, or taken prisoner by the troops, which would probably come to the same thing in the end. Up the slope Cub went, and in trying to find the easiest way through the tangle of undergrowth he soon lost sight of his companions. This did not worry him overmuch at the time for he expected they would be able to rally at the top. The thing was, he decided, to get out of the reach of the grey-coated troops.

  In this endeavour he was not alone. Men on both sides of him were doing the same thing—men of the rescuing party. Once he was nearly cut off when some of the troops appeared on his flank. Shots were fired on both sides, and in this he joined, for the business had clearly become a matter of life or death. Actually, this may have saved him trouble later on, for it did at least show the rescuers, with whom he was now travelling, which side he was on. When he produced his automatic and began blazing into the shrubs from which danger threatened, a wild-looking ruffian close at hand cheered him on with shouts of encouragement.

  The retreat lasted for the best part of half an hour, and it was a rearguard action, although with diminishing force, all the way. Being uphill and through thick cover, before the end Cub was getting exhausted.