"The death of Ymeniz is proof enough. That is no joke."
"True!"
"Moreover, I for one feel sure that this Englishman Harkaway speaks truly."
"How?"
"In saying that he gave the ransom."
"In full?"
"In full."
"Why, where, then, do you think it is?" demanded Hunston, with an a.s.sumption of boldness, yet trembling as he waited the reply.
Boulgaris answered with a single word--
"Stolen."
A murmur ran round the a.s.sembled throng.
"What!" cried one of the brigands, stepping forward; "is it possible that we have more thieves and traitors amongst us?"
"Never!"
"Death to all traitors, say I!"
"And I."
"And I."
And so the cry went round from mouth to mouth.
Hunston trembled for his very life.
"Who can have stolen the money?" demanded one of the men, fiercely.
"Who but he who was charged to fetch the money from the old well, the spot appointed--who but the comrade that fetched the money?"
"Why," exclaimed Toro, turning to Hunston, "then it was--"
He paused.
Hunston turned heartsick as every eye was directed towards him.
"Never!" exclaimed Hunston, fiercely.
This was a critical moment for the latter.
For awhile his life hung upon a very slender thread.
Hunston, to begin with, was no favourite.
But he was a lucky villain.
At the very moment that matters were looking so very unpleasant, their attention was called off in another direction.
"Do you hear that? The sentry is giving the alarm."
They were all accustomed to danger, and were on the qui vive ere the alarm was fairly sounded.
Pistols, knives, and blunderbusses were called into requisition.
And all was ready to give an intruder a warm reception.
Toro climbed up a crag and peered over.
Then turning to the men, he motioned them to silence.
"Hush! He comes this way. Back!"
And then, at a sign from him, every man glided quickly, silently off, and concealed himself behind a rock, or bush, or wherever a favourable place was to be discovered.
Then a stumbling noise was heard, and a man crept through a gap and hobbled on to the scene.
He was a strange, wild-looking fellow, with long fair hair and eyebrows almost as light as an albino"s.
His cheeks were fair, but much sunburnt, and almost dest.i.tute of beard.
He progressed with difficulty, and leant heavily upon a staff cut roughly from a tree, and from its green bark and slovenly-stripped branches only recently cut, too.
He was apparently a young man, and if he progressed with so much difficulty, the natural inference was that fatigue and perhaps illness was the cause of it.
He was dressed in a very tattered outlandish costume.
He carried a long knife stuck in his waistband, but he had no arms beyond this.
His arms were bare to the elbow, and the left one was bleeding from a flesh wound that did not look many hours" old.
Evidently he was no milksop, for although the wound was pretty severe, the only care he had taken was to tie it loosely up with a strip of white rag.
Perhaps he had lost blood and began to feel it, for, as he drew into the open, he dropped heavily down upon a rocky seat and gave a sigh or grunt of relief.
"I"m not sorry to come to an anchor."
He spoke in English.
But if he thought to rest here in peace, he was destined to be disappointed.