Nowadays a big variety of genres are exist. In our electronic library you can choose any book that suits your mood, request and purpose. This website is full of free ebooks. Reading online is very popular and become mainstream. This website can provoke you to be smarter than anyone. You can read between work breaks, in public transport, in cafes over a cup of coffee and cheesecake.The People of the Mist by H. Rider Haggard (books for 8th graders .TXT) 📖
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
Book online «The People of the Mist by H. Rider Haggard (books for 8th graders .TXT) 📖». Author H. Rider Haggard
“Is he coming, senor? I ask because, if so, I must look out for him.”
“I don’t know: he answered that he would if he could. But how is the English girl? She is to be put up to-night, isn’t she?”
“Oh, yes, senor, there will be a great to-do at twelve, when the moon is high. So soon as she has been bought, the priest Francisco is to marry her to the lucky man, there and then. The old fellow insists on it; he has grown superstitious about the girl and says that she shall be properly married.”
Xavier laughed aloud, “Has he now? He is getting into his dotage. Well, what does it matter? We have a good law of divorce in these parts, friend. I am going in for that girl; if I give a hundred ounces for her I will buy her, and I have brought the gold with me.”
“A hundred ounces for one girl! It is a large sum, senor, but you are rich. Not like us poor devils who get all the risk and little profit.”
By this time the men had finished tying up the boat and taking some baggage or provisions out of her, Leonard could not see which. Then Xavier and the sentry went up the steps together, followed by the two boatmen, and the gates were shut behind them.
“Well,” whispered Leonard, “we have learnt something at any rate. Now, Otter, I am Pierre the French slave-trader from Madagascar, and, understand, you are my servant; as for Soa, she is the guide, or interpreter, or anyone you like. We must pass the gates, but the real Pierre must never pass them. There must be no sentry to let him in. Do you think that you can manage it, Otter, or must I?”
“It comes into my head, Baas, that we may learn a lesson from this Xavier. I might forget something in the canoe, and the sentry might help me to find it after you have passed the gates. For the rest I am quick and strong and silent.”
“Quick and strong and silent you must be. A noise, and all is lost.”
Then they crept to the canoe which they had selected and loosened her. They embarked and Otter took the paddle. First he let her float gently down stream and under cover of the shore for a distance of about fifty yards. Then he put about and the play began.
“Now, you fool, where are you paddling to?” said Leonard in a loud voice to Otter, speaking in the bastard Arabic which passes current for a language on this coast. “You will have us into the bank, I tell you. Curse this wind and the darkness! Steady now, you ugly black dog; those must be the gates the letter told of—are they not, woman? Hold on with the boat-hook, can’t you?”
A wicket at the gate above rattled and the voice of the sentry challenged them.
“A friend—a friend!” answered Leonard in Portuguese; “one who is a stranger and would pay his respects to your leader, Dom Antonio Pereira, with a view to business.”
“What is your name?” asked the guard suspiciously.
“Pierre is my name. Dog is the name of the dwarf my servant, and as for the old woman, you can call her anything you like.”
“The password,” said the sentry; “none come in here without the word.”
“The word—Ah! what did the Dom Xavier say it was in his letter? ‘Fiend!’ No, I have it, ‘Devil’ is the word.”
“Where do you hail from?”
“From Madagascar, where the goods you have to supply are in some demand just now. Come, let us in; we don’t want to sit here all night and miss the fun.”
The man began to unbar the door, and stopped, struck by a fresh doubt.
“You are not of our people,” he said; “you speak Portuguese like a cursed Englishman.”
“No, I should hope not; I am a ‘cursed Englishman,’ that is half—son of an English lord and a French creole, born in the Mauritius at your service, and let me ask you to be a little more civil, for cross-bred dogs are fierce.”
Now at length the sentry opened one side of the gate, grumbling, and Leonard swaggered up the steps followed by the other two. Already they were through it, when suddenly he turned and struck Otter in the face.
“Why, Dog,” he said angrily, “you have forgotten to bring up the keg of brandy, my little present for the Dom. Go and fetch it. Quick, now.”
“Pardon, Chief,” answered Otter, “but I am a small man and the keg is heavy for me alone—if you will deign to help me, for the old woman is too weak.”
“Do you take me for a porter that I should roll kegs of cognac up steps? Here, my friend,” he went on addressing the sentry, “if you wish to earn a little present and a drink, perhaps you will give this fellow a hand with the cask. There is a spigot in it, and you can try the quality afterwards.”
“Right, Senor,” said the man briskly, and led the way down the steps.
A look of dreadful intelligence passed between the dwarf and his master. Then Otter followed, his hand upon the hilt of the Arab sabre which he wore, while Leonard and Soa waited above. They heard the man’s heavily booted feet going down the steps followed by Otter’s naked footfall.
“Where is your keg? I don’t see it,” said the sentry presently.
“Lean over, senor, lean over,” answered Otter; “it is in the stern of the canoe. Let me help you.”
There was a moment’s pause, to the listeners it seemed hours. Then came the sound of a blow and a heavy splash. They hearkened on, but nothing more was to be heard except the beating of their hearts and the distant noise of revelry from the camp.
Three seconds passed and Otter stood beside them. In the dim light Leonard could see that his eyes stared wide and his nostrils twitched.
“Quick was the blow, strong was the blow, silent is the man for ever,” whispered Otter. “So the Baas commanded, so it is.”
THAT HERO OTTER
“Help me to secure the gate,” said Leonard presently.
In another minute the great iron bar had been dropped into its place, and Leonard withdrew the key and put it in his pocket.
“Why do you secure the door, Baas?” whispered Otter.
“To keep the real Pierre out, in case he should come this way. Two Pierres would be one too many at this game. Now we must win or perish.”
Then they crept along the embankment till they gained the shelter of the hut or barrack-shed which stood with its back to the dike that separated the Nest from the slave camp. Happily none saw them, and there were no dogs in the place. Dogs make a noise at inconvenient times, therefore slave-dealers do not love them.
The end of the shed behind which they were crouching was situated some eight or ten paces from the drawbridge, that formed the only path of entry to the slave camp.
“Baas,” said Otter, “let me go forward and look. My eyes are the eyes of a cat; I can see in the dark. Perhaps the bridge is down.”
Without waiting for an answer, he crept forward on his hands and knees so quietly that they could scarcely hear a movement. Notwithstanding his white dress, there was little chance of his being seen, for the shadow of the shed was dense and a fringe of rushes grew along the edge of the dike.
Five minutes passed—ten minutes passed, and Otter did not return. Leonard’s anxiety grew very keen.
“Let us go and see what happened, mother,” he whispered to Soa.
They crept along to the end of the shed. Within a yard of it they discovered the arms and clothes of Otter. But Otter! Where was he?
“The Black One has deserted us,” said Soa beneath her breath.
“Never!” answered Leonard.
By now the clouds were breaking before the wind, which was rising steadily, and some stars shone out, giving a little light. The dike lay deep between its banks and was not more than twenty feet in width, so that the air did not ruffle it; moreover, as any observer of nature will have noticed, the surface of still water is never quite dark, even on much blacker nights than this.
Why had Otter taken off his clothes, Leonard wondered? Evidently that he might go into the water. And what could he want to go into the water for, unless it was that his heart failed him and, as Soa suggested, he had deserted. But this was impossible, for he knew well that the dwarf would die first. In his great perplexity Leonard stared at the dike. Now he could see that on its further side rose a flight of wooden steps, protected at the top by gates and that a man was seated on the lowest step, with a rifle beside him, his feet hanging down to within a few inches of the surface of the dike. It must be the sentry.
Next instant Leonard saw something else. Beneath the feet of the man a ripple grew on the face of the deep water, and something gleamed in the ripple like to the flash of steel. Then a small black object projected itself towards the feet of the sentry, who was half asleep and humming to himself drowsily. Suddenly he saw the man slide from his seat as though by magic. He said nothing, but making one ineffectual grasp at some rushes, he vanished into the deeps below. For a minute or more Leonard could distinguish a slight disturbance on the surface of the water, and that was all.
Now he guessed what had happened. Otter had dived, and rising beneath the feet of the man, he seized him, and with a sudden movement dragged him down to death by drowning. Either this, or an alligator had taken him, and that flash was the flash of his fangs.
As Leonard thought thus a dark form rose gasping at the foot of the steps; it drew itself out of the water and slipped stealthily up them. It was Otter, and he held a knife in his hand. Now the dwarf vanished through the gates into the little guard-house at the top of the embankment. Another minute, and ropes began to creak. Then the tall drawbridge, standing upright like a scaffold against the sky, was seen to bend itself forward. Down it came very softly, and the slave-camp was open to them. Again the black shape appeared, this time on the bridge.
“Come along,” whispered Leonard to his companion; “that hero Otter has drowned the sentry and won the bridge. Stop, pick up his clothes and arms.”
At that moment Otter himself arrived. “Quick,” he said, “come over, Baas, before they see that the bridge is down. Give me my clothes and the gun.”
“All right, here they are,” answered Leonard, and in another minute they were over the bridge and standing on the parapet of the slave-camp.
“Into the guard-house, Baas; the windlass is there, but no man.”
They entered: a lamp was burning in the place. Otter seized the handle of the windlass and began to wind. He was naked, and it was a wonderful sight to see the muscles starting out in knots on his huge but dwarfish frame as he strained at the weight of the bridge.
Presently it was up, and, leaning on the handle of the wheel, Otter chuckled aloud.
“Now we are safe for a time,” he said, “and I will dress myself. Let the Baas forgive me for appearing thus before him—I, who am so ugly.”
“Tell us the tale, Otter.”
“It is short, Baas,” the dwarf replied, as he put on his robe and turban. “When I left you I watched, I who can see in the dark, and in a little while I saw the guard come down the steps and sit by the edge of the water. He was sleepy, for he yawned and lit a roll of paper to smoke it. Presently it went out, and he had no more matches. He looked up to the house there, but was too lazy to fetch them; then I guessed that he was alone, for else he would have
Comments (0)