At the Point of the Sword Part 17

"That is utterly impossible!" he answered, with a short, quick snap.

"But let us suppose it, just for argument," I urged.

"Well in that case," said he, "of which there is no possible likelihood, your father will keep his property."

At first I thought he had forgotten, but something in his face held my attention, and brought the blood to my head with a rush.

"Do you mean-- What is it? Tell me quickly! Is my father--"

"Alive! That is my news; but you must not build on it too greatly. I can only tell you he was not slain that day in the mountains. He was dangerously wounded, but was still living when the soldiers carried him away."

"Where did they take him?"

"That I do not know; neither, I think, does Barejo. Perhaps, and in my opinion most likely, to the forts at Callao."

The major's news, as you may imagine, filled me with the liveliest astonishment and excitement. My father alive! I could hardly credit the statement. What would my mother say? How would she receive the startling information? I rose from my seat and walked about the cavern, trying to think it over coolly.

Then it dawned upon me why Santiago had said he would not be doing me any real kindness in talking of the discovery. After all, his information only reopened the old wounds. More than two years had pa.s.sed since my father's disappearance, and many things had happened in that time. Not every one who entered the casemates of Callao came out alive.

"But," said I aloud, "some one must know the truth. A man can't be shut up without authority, even in Peru."

"I wish I could help you," replied the major. "As soon as I escape from Moquegua I will make inquiries."

"Thank you; but I fear it will be a long time to wait," I answered gloomily.

"Not at all! La Hera will return in a week or two, and your Miller will be too busy running away to look after prisoners. Imitate me, my boy, and make Hope your best friend."

In trying to cheer me he forgot his own distress. The light returned to his eyes, the smile to his face, and he seemed to have banished all memory of his recent despair.

"Come," said he cheerfully, "put your doubts and fears aside for the present. Our wounded want attention; we must not neglect them."

I tried hard to act upon his advice, but all the time continued to wonder whether my father was alive or dead. That was the one question that racked my brain, and to it I could give no answer.

We had just made our patients comfortable, with the exception of one who was dying fast, when a shrill whistle sounded outside.

"The surgeon!" I exclaimed, running to the entrance. "Yes, there he is with the guide and two soldiers."

"Two bandits!" said Santiago banteringly. "Give the men their proper name."

"Soldiers or bandits, they know how to fight. Help me to uncoil the rope, will you?"

"That's almost as bad as asking a man to make the noose he is to hang in. You forget that on leaving here I shall go straight to prison."

"I had forgotten, major, and sorry enough I am to remember it. Still, as La Hera returns so soon, it will be only a temporary inconvenience, and I'm sure Colonel Miller will treat you well."

Santiago laughed.

"You will make me fancy soon that imprisonment is a privilege worth paying for," he exclaimed.

"Hardly that," I replied; "but, as Barejo said, it keeps one out of mischief."

We lowered the rope, the guide attached the surgeon's instruments, and at a signal we hauled up. Then the rope went down again, the two soldiers climbed to the cave, and the doctor followed unsteadily. It was evident that this novel method of visiting patients found no favour in his eyes; he was obviously nervous, and twice during the ascent I quite expected to see him go headlong.

He was a citizen of Moquegua, very young, and utterly unsuited for his present errand. So great was his agitation that when he had planted his feet firmly on the floor of the cave his hands still clung like grim death to the rope.

"You're all right now," I said, leading him away from the mouth of the cave. "Rather a queer way of getting into a house, isn't it?"

"The saints preserve me!" he exclaimed, while his teeth chattered like castanets, "this is horrible. A dozen times, coming up that rope, I wished I'd never been born. But it's the last time I'll practise doctoring outside Moquegua."

"You did very creditably, I a.s.sure you, doctor," observed Santiago, whose eyes gleamed with fun; "such grace, such agility, is given to few. I should have thought your life had been spent in scaling mountains."

The doctor looked from Santiago to me, hardly knowing what to make of such flattery.

"Faith," exclaimed he at last, "I hope there is an easier way of getting down than of coming up."

"There is," said the major, "and much more expeditious. You have but to step outside the cave, and there you are. Most people, however, prefer to go down by the rope."

The doctor groaned.

"I shall never do it," said he, "never! I shall be shut up in this place for the rest of my life."

"There will be one advantage in that," remarked Santiago pleasantly: "your patients will always be able to find you. Now I fear we must tear ourselves from your side."

"Do your best with these poor fellows," I said. "The one in the corner yonder will not trouble you long; the others are getting on nicely.

You will find this cavern quite a comfortable dwelling-place. There is plenty of food, a spring of clear water, and enough fuel to keep a fire going for weeks."

"Meanwhile," observed Santiago, "we will ask the good folks of Moquegua to make a nice long ladder, so that you can get down without trouble."

It was really very laughable to watch the doctor's face as the major prepared to descend.

"He will be killed," said he dolefully. "It is a clear case of suicide. Look, he has missed his foothold, and will be dashed to pieces!"

"Nonsense," I said, with a laugh; "there is no danger if you don't think about it. See, it is nothing but going down a flight of steps backwards." But he covered his face with his hands and shuddered.

When the major had reached the ground, I grasped the rope, saying,--

"Farewell, doctor; I hope you will have a comfortable time. And don't worry about coming down; you'll find it an easy matter enough."

"Good-bye," answered he gloomily; "I shall never see you or any one else again. I shall die up here for certain."

The fellow was so genuinely frightened that I a.s.sured him we would devise some plan to rescue him; on which he brightened up considerably, and I began the descent. I asked the guide where he had left the horses.

"At the village, senor," he replied, "on the other side of the mountain."

In answer to a further question, he told us that the doctor would not cross the narrow track, and that they had, in consequence, been compelled to travel many miles out of their way.

"I think he was right," exclaimed Santiago, when we reached the spot.

"This is a far worse venture than climbing to the cavern by the rope."