CHAPTER XXI.
ATTACKED BY MARQUESANS.
But for some purposes of his own, Morello, on a whispered word from Dayton, brought the examination to an abrupt conclusion. The boys were then, on Morello's orders, bound closely with fiber ropes, and after being hustled into a thick grove of dark-leaved bread-fruit trees in the back of the camp, were thrown into a hut made of pliant strands of some sort of bark, interwoven with bamboo uprights.
The appearance of the hut apprised Nat at once that it was of native manufacture. Evidently, then, this island either at the present time or at some remote period, had provided a living place for native tribesmen. The lad wondered if any of them were on it now, or if they had either fled or been wiped out before the white man.
Even in the dangerous predicament in which he and his companions were now placed, Nat could not help speculating as to the connection between this Elias Gooddale of the South Seas and the dead miner of the same name, whose hoard of sapphires had brought them into this strange maze of adventures.
The other Motor Rangers, too, were puzzled by the strange phase the case had assumed. But they could hit on no explanation.
"I wish I had that tin box with the papers we found in the hut," thought Nat. "I never read them all through. I wish I had now, for perhaps among them might be some document that would throw light on the matter."
But the consideration of their grave danger soon drove all thoughts but those of the immediate present out of the lad's head. At about eight-thirty, as well as he could judge, the two men who had been placed to guard them were relieved by two others, who brought with them the lads' suppers. These consisted of dried fish and rice, with water as a beverage. Their hands were released while they ate, but before long their guardians retied them, strapping them close to their sides in a manner that made all hope of working them loose seem futile.
The two men who had "relieved guard" were both stout, stockily built men, roughly dressed. Owing to the heat, they had discarded the garments they had worn when in the Sierras, and now were attired only in light canvas trousers, seemingly made from sail cloth, and sleeveless undershirts. After the boys had been fed and re-manacled, the two sentries, with their rifles between their knees, took up their positions at the door of the hut. They conversed in low tones and much of their conversation was audible to the boys.
"I, for one, say to blazes with this way of living," said one of them, in a grumbling tone. "When are we going to clear out for Australia, as Morello promised?"
"That depends on him," rejoined the other. "He ain't the one to give his plans away. Looks as if he and this Gooddale had something between them."
"It does that for a fact," was the reply, "and by the same token this Gooddale is a puzzle to me. Who is he, anyhow?"
"Well, beyond the fact that he owns a plantation down here, and seems to be an old pal of Morello's, it's hard to figger out. I reckon he's a mystery. One thing I know, he wasn't sorry when we arrived. These natives at the other end of the island had been invading his plantations pretty regular. From what I've heard, they threatened to attack him in war canoes if something—money, I guess—wasn't forthcoming before long."
"Phew!" whistled the other. "I hopes them natives don't take it into their fuzzy heads to attack the ranch while we are here. I've heard they are savage fighters and give no quarter."
"That's right, I guess. However, from all that I can hear, they ain't likely to get ugly so long as we are about. Figger out we're too strong a party for them, I guess. Don't know as I blame them for being sore on this Gooddale, either. From all I can hear, he treated them badly when first he settled on the island, and now they are just bent on making him pay for it."
"And if he won't give up?"
"In that case I guess they'll take it out of his hide. In other words, raid the place and do all the damage they can."
"But don't the French gunboats patrol around here pretty regular?"
"I guess so. But they couldn't spare the men or the time to send expeditions inter the interior of the islands. The natives know every path and trail. It might take months to punish them, so they have things pretty much their own way."
"It sure looks like that," agreed his companion. "But how about having a pull at that Pisco bottle?"
"Here it is," rejoined the other, apparently producing some sort of bottle and passing it to his companion.
"Ah-h-h-h-h-h, that was good," breathed one of the voices, after an interval.
"Well, you want to be careful how much you drink of it," was the answer. "It's fiery stuff, all right. They say that it has been the ruin of the natives down here."
"Comes from Peru, don't it?"
"That's right. But hark!—what in the name of the Old Harry is that?"
The boys, who had listened to this conversation with interest, wondered, too, what a sudden commotion in the direction of the camp might betoken.
Shouts, cries, and imprecations arose on the night air. Presently a fusillade of shots rang out.
"We're attacked!" shouted one of the men outside the hut. "Come on! Let's get over there!"
The next instant their retreating footsteps could be heard. In the meantime, the clamor and shooting had redoubled. Evidently whatever was occurring was marked by severe casualties, for the boys could hear groans and cries of pain mingling with the shouts of the fighters.
"Whatever can be happening?" gasped Joe.
"It sounds as if our friends, Colonel Morello's men, were getting the worst of it, anyway," declared Nat. "Hark!"
Savage cries with a triumphant ring to them could be heard, accompanied by a sort of war-like dirge.
"It's the natives!" cried Nat, his doubts cleared away by this last.
"They've attacked the camp!" cried Joe.
"Wer-wer-will they get after us?" gasped Ding-dong through the darkness.
"Impossible to say," was Nat's rejoinder. "All we can do is to hope not. I don't know, though, that we should be worse off in their hands than in the clutches of Colonel Morello."
"If only we could get free of these ropes, we could escape in the excitement," exclaimed Joe. "Oh, what wouldn't I give for a knife!"
"Mer-mer-uch good it would do you wer-wer-when you can't use your hands," scoffed Ding-dong Bell scornfully.
"That's so," agreed Joe, somewhat crestfallen. "There's nothing we can do, is there?"
"Nothing except to wait," declared Nat, "and that's the hardest thing in the world."
Suddenly the door of the hut flew open and a figure dashed in. It was pitch dark or Nat would have recognized it as one of their guards of a few minutes before. The fellow was wounded, seemingly, for he gave a groan and pitched forward as he entered the hut, which, as it was some distance from the main camp, he had evidently hit upon as a good hiding place.
"Oh," he moaned, in the darkness, "I'm wounded. Oh, somebody please tie up my shoulder."
A sudden idea struck Nat.
"I'd bandage it for you if I was free," he said.
"That's so," groaned the man; "you are bound, ain't you? But say, I kin use my left hand a bit and maybe I can cut you free. But will you promise to bandage my shoulder to prevent more blood flowing, if I do so?"
This was what Nat hoped for, and he readily agreed to do as the injured man requested. In a few seconds he felt the fellow's left hand fumbling about for the ropes. Presently, after hacking a bit, he severed one. It was one of the wrist thongs. With his hands free, the rest was easy for Nat. Taking the knife from the man, he cut the rest of his bonds and then liberated his companions. In the meantime, the man, in broken, disjointed sentences, had told them what had happened. Colonel Morello's band and Gooddale had been taken totally by surprise by the natives and had been utterly routed. Many of them had escaped to the schooner, but several were wounded in the fight.
After he was free Nat did not forget his promise, but tearing some strips from his shirt formed a rough bandage, with which he managed to assuage the flow of blood from the wounded man's shoulder.
"Thank you," breathed the fellow, as Nat finished his ministrations, "I might have bled to death if it hadn't a bin for you kids. I'm glad you are free and I hope you don't get caught by them natives. They are the worst looking bunch I ever saw. Most of 'em naked and painted, and with big china door knobs and such stuff slung about 'em, and great big spears."
Nat moved the water jar, which they had drunk from at supper—if such the meal may be called—closer to the wounded man and dragged him to a corner of the hut. There was a pile of leaves there—the big, broad foliage of the banana.
"Cover me with them," asked the man. "They'll hide me if any of them natives comes ter look in here."
Nat did this, and then, expressing a hope that the injured man, who, after all, had done them a good turn, would be all right, he and his companions set out.
Freed from their captivity by what seemed almost a miracle, they hesitated as they passed the portal of the hut.
Which way should they go?
As they lingered a fresh chorus of savage howls broke out on the air from the direction of the camp. At the same instant a faint illumination glowed upon the night. It spread and glared up fiercely, tinting the skies as it flamed higher.
To complete their work of devastation, the savages had fired the camp. From their howls and cries, they were dancing about it.
"Which way shall we go?" asked Joe, voicing the question in the hearts of all.
"I vote for the lake," said Nat. "Maybe we can find a boat there and make our way through the ravine and back to the 'Nomad.'"
Accordingly, skirting cautiously through the tropical growth, they made for the direction in which they judged the lake lay. The glare of the burning camp lit their path with a weird radiance, as they pushed onward.