Real Gold: A Story of Adventure. Fenn George Manville

said the colonel. Then very sternly: “You cannot understand my words, perhaps, but you know what I mean by my actions. One of you came for some dishonest purpose to where we lay sleeping, and I wonder I did not hit whoever it was as he ran. – Give me your hand, sir,” he cried; and he seized and held Diego’s right hand for a few moments.

      Then dropping it, he held out his hand to the other Indian, who eagerly placed his in the colonel’s palm.

      “An outside enemy, I’m afraid,” muttered the colonel; “they are both perfectly calm. – Now you, sir,” he continued, turning to the last comer, who hesitated for a moment, and then held out his hand.

      This was all in the dim starlight, the figures of the men being made plainer from time to time by the faint glow from the fire; but their faces were quite in the shade as the colonel took the last comer’s hand and grasped it tightly, while Perry’s heart began to beat, for he felt that the discovery was coming; and hence he was not surprised at the colonel’s fierce and decided action.

      “Your pulse galloping,” he cried angrily, as he dragged the dimly-seen figure forward. “Perry, Manning, cover those two men, and if they make a gesture to draw their bows, fire at once. – Now, you scoundrel, it was you, and you had come to steal.”

      “No, he had not, father; he came to give me back my knife.”

      “What!” cried the colonel angrily.

      “It’s a fact; he put it in my hand while I slept; and here it is.”

      “Then – ”

      “It’s quite true, sir, and no good to keep it up any longer.”

      “Cil!” cried Perry in astonishment.

      “Yes. Don’t be very angry with me, Colonel Campion. I felt obliged to come; I couldn’t stop away.”

      “Why, you treacherous young rascal,” cried the colonel, shaking him violently.

      “Don’t, sir, please; you hurt!” cried Cyril half angrily.

      “How dare you mutiny against your father’s commands, and come after us like – ?”

      “I dunno,” said Cyril mournfully. “I felt obliged; I wanted to be with Perry there.”

      “But to come masquerading like this, sir! How dare you?”

      “I dunno, I tell you,” said the boy petulantly. “It isn’t so very nice to come over the stones without shoes or stockings, and only in this thing. It’s as cold as cold, besides being painted and dirtied up as I am. My feet are as sore as sore.”

      “And serve you right, you young dog. What will your father say?”

      “I don’t know what he’d have said if you’d shot me,” grumbled Cyril.

      The colonel coughed.

      “You precious nearly did, you know,” continued Cyril querulously. “I heard the shots go crashing in among the bushes as I ran.”

      “Then you shouldn’t have come prowling about the camp in the middle of the night,” cried the colonel. “Of course, sir, I took you for some wild beast or marauding Indian.”

      “Well,” said Cyril, “now you know, sir, and I suppose I can go back and try to sleep.”

      “Go back? Yes, sir, first thing – to your father,” cried the colonel fiercely. “I suppose he does not know you have come?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Of course not. A pretty disgraceful escapade, upon my word, sir! I only wish I were back in my regiment, and you were one of my subalterns. I’d punish you pretty severely for this, I promise you.”

      “Would you, sir?” said Cyril drearily. “I thought I was getting punished enough. I’m sorry I disturbed you, sir; I only wanted to get close up, and touch Perry’s hand.”

      “Bah!” cried the colonel. “Why did you want to touch Perry’s hand?”

      “Because I was so lonely and miserable, lying there with my feet sore. I couldn’t sleep, sir. The stones have cut them, and I was afraid to wash them, for fear you should see how white my legs were.”

      The colonel coughed.

      “Here; stop a moment, sir,” he said, in rather a different tone. “You see, I might have shot you.”

      “Yes, sir,” said Cyril dolefully. “And it did seem hard to be shot at, because I felt glad the poor fellow didn’t go off the bridge.”

      The colonel coughed again.

      “Hum, ha, yes,” he said, a little huskily. “It was a very narrow escape, of course, and you behaved very well. You – er – yes, of course, you quite saved his life. But I shall say no more about that now. – Here, Manning, get Mr Cyril Norton a couple of blankets. – And you’ll come and lie down by us, sir; and mind this: no more evasions, no attempts to escape.”

      “I shan’t try to escape in the dark,” said Cyril drearily. “Where should I escape to, sir?”

      “Ah! of course. Where to, indeed! So recollect you are a prisoner, till I place you back safely in your father’s hands. – Stop! Halt! What are you doing, Perry?”

      “Only shaking hands with him, father,” said the lad.

      “Then don’t shake hands with him, sir. Shake hands with gentlemen, and not with lads who disgrace themselves by disobeying their father’s orders, and satisfying their own selfishness by causing others intense anxiety.”

      Perry drew in a long, deep breath, which did not go down into his lungs properly, but seemed to catch here and there.

      “One moment,” said the colonel; “can you make that man Diego understand?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Then tell him and his companion to go to sleep again.”

      Cyril said a few words to the guide, and the two Indians dropped down at once, close to the warm ashes.

      “I suppose, then, he knew all about your escapade, sir, eh?” cried the colonel. “Of course, he must have got you the Indian clothes and paint.”