Томас Майн Рид - Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid

The assassins saw this, even without returning to the road; and were now satisfied that the attendant was gone away. It only remained to make sure that the traveller himself was inside the hut.

Creeping cautiously up to the wall, the caçadores peeped through the unclayed chinks of the cabin.

At first the darkness inside hindered them from distinguishing any object in particular. Presently, as their eyes grew more accustomed to the obscurity, they succeeded in making out the bamboo bedstead in the corner, with something that resembled the figure of a man stretched lengthwise upon it. A dark cloak covered the form, the face as well; but the feet, booted and spurred, protruding from under the cover, told that it was a man who was lying in that outstretched attitude – the man who was to be murdered!

He appeared to be sound asleep: there was no motion perceptible – not even as much as would indicate that he breathed!

Lying on the floor, at some distance from the couch, was a hat, and beside it a pair of pistols, in their holsters – as if the traveller had unbuckled them from his belt, and flung them down, before going to sleep. Even if awake he could scarce get hold of the pistols, before his assailants could spring upon him.

The assassins looked towards one another with a significant glance. The fates appeared to favour their attempt; and, as both on the instant were actuated by the same sanguinary instinct, they leaped simultaneously to their feet, drew their sharp machetes , and rushed together through the doorway.

“ Mátelo! mátelo !” (kill him!) cried both, in the same voice, each with a view of encouraging the other; and, as they uttered the cruel cry, they buried the blades in the body of the unresisting traveller – stabbing it repeatedly through the cloak.

Convinced that they had finished their bloody work, the murderers were about to rush out again – probably with an eye to the saddlebags outside, when it occurred to them as strange that the victim of their hired villainy should have kept so quiet. In their frenzied excitement – while dealing what they supposed to be his death-blows – they had not stopped to notice anything odd in the behaviour of the man whom they were murdering. Now that the deed was done, and they could reflect more coolly, a sudden surprise seized upon them – springing from the circumstance that the wretched man had made not the slightest motion – had neither stirred nor cried out! Perhaps the first stab had gone right through his heart: for it was so intended by Andres, who had given it. But even that does not produce instantaneous death, and the man-hunters knew it. Besides, on the blade of Andres’ macheté , as well as that of his comrade, there was no blood !

It was very strange. Could the cloak or under-garments have wiped it off? Partially they might, but not altogether! Their blades were wet, but not with blood – of that they showed scarce a stain!

“It’s a queer thing, comrade,” exclaimed Manuel. “I could almost fancy – Vaya ! Lift the cloak, and let’s have a look at him.”

The other, stepping closer to the couch, stooped forward, and raised the fold of the camlet from the face of the murdered man.

As he did so, his hand came in contact with the cold skin, while his glance fell upon the stiffened features of a corpse – upon eyes whose dull, blank film showed that the light had long since forsaken them!

The assassin stayed not for a second look. With a cry of terror he let go the garment; and rushed towards the door, followed by his equally terrified companion.

In another moment both would have escaped outside; and perhaps have taken the back track, without thinking any more about the saddlebags; but just as Andres had set foot upon the door-sill, he saw before him something that caused him to pull up, and with a precipitancy that brought his comrade with a violent concussion against his back.

The something which had led to this sudden interruption was the presence of three men, standing in a triangular row, scarce five paces from the door. Each was holding a gun, in such position, that its dark, hollow tube was visible to the eyes of the assassin – pointing directly upon himself.

The three men were of three distinct colours – white, yellow, and black; all three known to the man-hunter and his companion. They were Herbert Vaughan, Cubina, captain of Maroons, and Quaco, his lieutenant.

The black, though presumably the lowest in rank, was the first to break speech.

“No, ye don’t!” cried he, moving his musket up and down, while still keeping it levelled upon the foremost of the caçadores . “No, Mister Jack Spaniard, not a foot d’you set outside that door till we see what you’ve been a-doin’ ’ithin there. Steady, now, or thar’s an ounce of lead into yer garlicky inside! Steady!”

“Surrender!” commanded Cubina, in a firm, authoritative voice, and with a threatening gesture, which, though less demonstrative than that of his lieutenant, was equally indicative of determination. “Drop your machetes , and yield at once! Resistance will only cost you your lives.”

“Come, my Spanish worthies,” said Herbert, “you know me! I advise you to do as you’re bid. If there’s nothing against you, I promise no harm – Ha! ’ware heels!” he continued, in sharp haste, observing that the Spaniards were looking over their shoulders, as if intending to escape by the back of the hut. “Don’t attempt to run away. You’ll be caught, no matter how fast you go. I’ve got two barrels here; and each is good for a bird on the wing. Show your backs, and they’ll be preciously peppered, I promise you.”

“ Carajo !” hissed out the older of the caçadores . “What do you want with us?”

“Ay!” added the other, in a tone of innocent reproach; “what have we been doing to make all this fanfaron [585]about?”

“What have you been doing?” rejoined the Maroon captain: “that’s just what we desire to know, and are determined upon knowing.”

“There is nothing to be known,” answered the man, speaking with an air of assumed simplicity; “at the least, nothing that’s very particular. We were on our way to Savanna – me and my comrade here – ”

“Stach yer palaver!” cried Quaco, becoming impatient, and pushing the muzzle of his musket within an inch of the Spaniard’s ribs. “Did ye hear the cappen tell ye to drop yer toastin’ forks and surrender? Down with ’em this minnit, I say, an’ do yer jaw-waggin’ atterwards!”

Thus threatened, either with a poke in the ribs, or, perhaps, a bullet between them, Andres sulkily let fall his machete upon the floor – an action that was instantly imitated by his senior and superior.

“Now, my braves!” proceeded the black lieutenant, still holding his huge gun to the Spaniard’s breast; “lest ye mout be wantin’ to gie us leg-bail, you muss submit to be trussed a trifle. Down upon yer behinds, both o’ ye; and keep that way till I get the cords and skewers ready.”

The caçadores perfectly understood the order; and, perceiving that there was no chance for disobedience, squatted down upon the floor – each on the spot where he had been standing.

Quaco now picked up the two machetes , placing them beyond the reach of their ci-devant owners. Then, handing his great gun over to the care of Cubina – who with Herbert was left to guard the prisoners – he walked off to a short distance among the trees.

Presently he returned, trailing after him a long creeping plant that resembled a piece of cord, and carrying two short sticks, each about three feet in length.