In the Days of Drake Part 9

"Lad," said he, "we are about to have trouble. 'Tis that accursed Familiar. He hath tracked us. Said I not that these devils in man's shape are like sleuth-hounds?"

"But the other, Pharaoh? What is the other?"

"An Indian, lad. See there, he is stooping to examine the ground. They are like dogs--they will find a trace where we should see naught."

"What shall we do?"

"G.o.d help us!--I know not. Once on our track they will hunt us down. See there!"

To the two shadows was suddenly added a third, a fourth, a fifth, then a sixth and seventh, and presently others until we counted twelve.

"All Indians except the monk," said Pharaoh. "He is the huntsman and they are his dogs. See, they are separating again. Lad, get thy cudgel in readiness. 'Tis the best weapon we have."

We started to our feet and gripped our staves firmly. And at the prospect of a fight my terror died away. There was no ghostly fear about things of flesh and blood. You can strike a man, but who can strike a shadow?

At that moment, over a rock to our left, appeared the face of an Indian, scarred and painted, a very devil's face to look at. We were seen at last!

CHAPTER XI.

CAPTIVE.

As soon as the Indian's face appeared above the rock Pharaoh and I instinctively moved towards him, whereupon he disappeared again with a sudden sharp cry, which was immediately answered from above.

"Now, we shall have the whole pack upon us," said my companion.

In this prediction he was right, for within a moment the whole body of twelve Indians had surrounded us, and stood gazing at us with faces in which I looked in vain for any sign of compa.s.sion at our forlorn state.

Behind them came the monk, still clad in his shroud-like cowl, and moving with silent steps as if he were a ghost rather than a living man.

But as he drew near to where we stood he threw back the hood from his head, and then we saw his face for the first time.

I will describe this man to you, because he was not only the most remarkable but also the most relentlessly cruel man that I have ever come across in my life. As for his name, which we learnt ere long, it was Bartolomeo de los Rios, and his one aim and pa.s.sion was the hunting, torturing, and burning of heretics. He had the faculties of a sleuth-hound and the instincts of a serpent, and when he had once set his heart on hunting a man to his death, it was only by G.o.d's mercy that that man escaped.

Nevertheless this man as he stood before us, looking steadily upon us from under his cowl, did not seem so fearful a monster of cruelty as we afterwards knew him to be. We saw simply a thin, dark-faced monk, whose face was pale as parchment, and whose eyes were extraordinarily bright and keen. The lines and furrows on his brow and cheeks seemed to tell of pain or thought, and his tightly-pursed, thin lips betokened firmness and resolution. I think he could have stood calmly by while his own father was being tortured and have changed no muscle of his face. Thus he was an object of much greater fear than the Indians, who were certainly horrible enough to frighten anybody that had never seen them before.

We stood gazing at the monk and his Indians for a moment ere either of us spoke. The Indians seemed to wait instructions from the monk, and looked toward him with eager eyes. As for Pharaoh and myself, we waited to see what would happen. I think we both realized that fortune had suddenly deserted us, but nevertheless we kept a firm grip on our cudgels, and were both resolved to use them if necessary.

The monk spoke. His voice was low, sweet and gentle--there was naught of cruelty in it.

"Greeting, my children," said he, addressing us. "Be not afraid. There shall no harm come to you."

"It will be ill for the man who threatens us with any," answered Pharaoh in Spanish. "We are travelers, and have no mind to be disturbed."

"You travel by strange paths," said the monk. "To what part of the country are you going?"

"To Acapulco," answered Pharaoh, adding to me, in English, "there is no harm in telling him that."

"There is a good road from Oaxaca to Acapulco," said the monk. "Why not follow it?"

"We are minded to take our own way," said Pharaoh doggedly.

"You Englishmen are fond of that," observed the monk with a strange smile.

"Who says we are English?" asked Pharaoh.

"Your Spanish is proof of that."

"I am from Catalonia," said Pharaoh. "We do not speak pure Castilian there."

"And your companion? Is he, too, from Catalonia, or is he dumb?"

To that Pharaoh answered nothing. The monk turned his bright eyes on me.

"What is your business here?" he said, in very good English. "If you cannot speak to me in my tongue, I must talk with you in yours."

"Answer him," said Pharaoh. "There is no use in further concealment."

"I see no reason why I should answer you, master," said I, feeling somewhat nettled at the man's peremptory tone. "What right have you to stop us in this fas.h.i.+on?"

He smiled again, if that could be called a smile which was simply a sudden flash of the eyes and a tightening of the thin lips, and looked round at his Indians.

"The right of force," said he quietly. "You are two--we are many."

"Two Englishmen are worth twenty Spanish devils," said I sulkily.

"If it is to come to fighting," said Pharaoh, gripping his cudgel.

The monk said a word in a low tone. The Indians on the instant raised their bows and drew their arrows to the full extent of the string. The tips pointed dead upon us.

"Englishmen," said the monk, "look at those arrows. Every one of them is tipped with poison. If you move I give the word, and those arrows will find a resting place in you. Let them but touch your arms, your shoulders, inflicting but a scratch, in a few seconds you will be as one that is paralyzed, in a few minutes you will lie dead."

The man's words were gentle enough, but somehow his low, sweet voice made my blood run cold. Why did cruelty veil itself in such a honeyed tone?

"What is it you want of us, master?" asked Pharaoh presently.

"Your names and business."

"That is easily answered. This gentleman is one Master Humphrey Salkeld, of Yorks.h.i.+re in England, who hath many powerful friends at court; as for me, I am a sailor, and my name is Pharaoh Nanjulian, of Marazion in Cornwall. As for our business, we are s.h.i.+pwrecked mariners, or as good, and our hope is to find an English vessel at Acapulco and so return home. If you be a Christian you will help us."

"Christians help only Christians. I fear ye are Lutherans, enemies of G.o.d."

"That we are not," answered Pharaoh stoutly. "I will say my Paternoster in English with anybody, and my Belief too, for that matter."

The monk sighed. Perhaps he was disappointed to find that Pharaoh had so much knowledge.

"And you?" he said, turning to me.