"Lord Roxton!" he shouted. "Lord John Roxton!"
"Well," said our companion, "here I am."
A shriek of laughter came across the abyss.
"Yes, there you are, you English dog, and there you will remain! Ihave waited and waited, and now has come my chance. You found it hardto get up; you will find it harder to get down. You cursed fools, youare trapped, every one of you!"
We were too astounded to speak. We could only stand there staring inamazement. A great broken bough upon the grass showed whence he hadgained his leverage to tilt over our bridge. The face had vanished,but presently it was up again, more frantic than before.
"We nearly killed you with a stone at the cave," he cried; "but this isbetter. It is slower and more terrible. Your bones will whiten upthere, and none will know where you lie or come to cover them. As youlie dying, think of Lopez, whom you shot five years ago on the PutomayoRiver. I am his brother, and, come what will I will die happy now, forhis memory has been avenged." A furious hand was shaken at us, and thenall was quiet.
Had the half-breed simply wrought his vengeance and then escaped, allmight have been well with him. It was that foolish, irresistible Latinimpulse to be dramatic which brought his own downfall. Roxton, the manwho had earned himself the name of the Flail of the Lord through threecountries, was not one who could be safely taunted. The half-breed wasdescending on the farther side of the pinnacle; but before he couldreach the ground Lord John had run along the edge of the plateau andgained a point from which he could see his man. There was a singlecrack of his rifle, and, though we saw nothing, we heard the scream andthen the distant thud of the falling body. Roxton came back to us witha face of granite.
"I have been a blind simpleton," said he, bitterly, "It's my follythat has brought you all into this trouble. I should have rememberedthat these people have long memories for blood-feuds, and have beenmore upon my guard."
"What about the other one? It took two of them to lever that tree overthe edge."
"I could have shot him, but I let him go. He may have had no part init. Perhaps it would have been better if I had killed him, for hemust, as you say, have lent a hand."
Now that we had the clue to his action, each of us could cast back andremember some sinister act upon the part of the half-breed--hisconstant desire to know our plans, his arrest outside our tent when hewas over-hearing them, the furtive looks of hatred which from time totime one or other of us had surprised. We were still discussing it,endeavoring to adjust our minds to these new conditions, when asingular scene in the plain below arrested our attention.
A man in white clothes, who could only be the surviving half-breed, wasrunning as one does run when Death is the pacemaker. Behind him, onlya few yards in his rear, bounded the huge ebony figure of Zambo, ourdevoted negro. Even as we looked, he sprang upon the back of thefugitive and flung his arms round his neck. They rolled on the groundtogether. An instant afterwards Zambo rose, looked at the prostrateman, and then, waving his hand joyously to us, came running in ourdirection. The white figure lay motionless in the middle of the greatplain.
Our two traitors had been destroyed, but the mischief that they haddone lived after them. By no possible means could we get back to thepinnacle. We had been natives of the world; now we were natives of theplateau. The two things were separate and apart. There was the plainwhich led to the canoes. Yonder, beyond the violet, hazy horizon, wasthe stream which led back to civilization. But the link between wasmissing. No human ingenuity could suggest a means of bridging thechasm which yawned between ourselves and our past lives. One instanthad altered the whole conditions of our existence.
It was at such a moment that I learned the stuff of which my threecomrades were composed. They were grave, it is true, and thoughtful,but of an invincible serenity. For the moment we could only sit amongthe bushes in patience and wait the coming of Zambo. Presently hishonest black face topped the rocks and his Herculean figure emergedupon the top of the pinnacle.
"What I do now?" he cried. "You tell me and I do it."
It was a question which it was easier to ask than to answer. One thingonly was clear. He was our one trusty link with the outside world. Onno account must he leave us.
"No no!" he cried. "I not leave you. Whatever come, you always findme here. But no able to keep Indians. Already they say too muchCurupuri live on this place, and they go home. Now you leave them meno able to keep them."
It was a fact that our Indians had shown in many ways of late that theywere weary of their journey and anxious to return. We realized thatZambo spoke the truth, and that it would be impossible for him to keepthem.
"Make them wait till to-morrow, Zambo," I shouted; "then I can sendletter back by them."
"Very good, sarr! I promise they wait till to-morrow," said the negro."But what I do for you now?"
There was plenty for him to do, and
admirably the faithful fellow didit. First of all, under our directions, he undid the rope from thetree-stump and threw one end of it across to us. It was not thickerthan a clothes-line, but it was of great strength, and though we couldnot make a bridge of it, we might well find it invaluable if we had anyclimbing to do. He then fastened his end of the rope to the package ofsupplies which had been carried up, and we were able to drag it across.This gave us the means of life for at least a week, even if we foundnothing else. Finally he descended and carried up two other packets ofmixed goods--a box of ammunition and a number of other things, all ofwhich we got across by throwing our rope to him and hauling it back.It was evening when he at last climbed down, with a final assurancethat he would keep the Indians till next morning.
And so it is that I have spent nearly the whole of this our first nightupon the plateau writing up our experiences by the light of a singlecandle-lantern.
We supped and camped at the very edge of the cliff, quenching ourthirst with two bottles of Apollinaris which were in one of the cases.It is vital to us to find water, but I think even Lord John himself hadhad adventures enough for one day, and none of us felt inclined to makethe first push into the unknown. We forbore to light a fire or to makeany unnecessary sound.
To-morrow (or to-day, rather, for it is already dawn as I write) weshall make our first venture into this strange land. When I shall beable to write again--or if I ever shall write again--I know not.Meanwhile, I can see that the Indians are still in their place, and Iam sure that the faithful Zambo will be here presently to get myletter. I only trust that it will come to hand.
P.S.--The more I think the more desperate does our position seem. Isee no possible hope of our return. If there were a high tree near theedge of the plateau we might drop a return bridge across, but there isnone within fifty yards. Our united strength could not carry a trunkwhich would serve our purpose. The rope, of course, is far too shortthat we could descend by it. No, our position is hopeless--hopeless!
CHAPTER X
"The most Wonderful Things have Happened"
The most wonderful things have happened and are continually happeningto us. All the paper that I possess consists of five old note-booksand a lot of scraps, and I have only the one stylographic pencil; butso long as I can move my hand I will continue to set down ourexperiences and impressions, for, since we are the only men of thewhole human race to see such things, it is of enormous importance thatI should record them whilst they are fresh in my memory and before thatfate which seems to be constantly impending does actually overtake us.Whether Zambo can at last take these letters to the river, or whether Ishall myself in some miraculous way carry them back with me, or,finally, whether some daring explorer, coming upon our tracks with theadvantage, perhaps, of a perfected monoplane, should find this bundleof manuscript, in any case I can see that what I am writing is destinedto immortality as a classic of true adventure.
On the morning after our being trapped upon the plateau by thevillainous Gomez we began a new stage in our experiences. The firstincident in it was not such as to give me a very favorable opinion ofthe place to which we had wandered. As I roused myself from a shortnap after day had dawned, my eyes fell upon a most singular appearanceupon my own leg. My trouser had slipped up, exposing a few inches ofmy skin above my sock. On this there rested a large, purplish grape.Astonished at the sight, I leaned forward to pick it off, when, to myhorror, it burst between my finger and thumb, squirting blood in everydirection. My cry of disgust had brought the two professors to my side.