The Filibusters by Charles John Cutcliffe Hyne (book club suggestions TXT) 📖

tied my horse’s reins to an overhanging bough and sat down with my back against a mossy stump. I pulled out a pipe and lit it, and fell to wondering whether I should ever smoke another. It was an eight-year-old briar, and just then, although I cleaned it out three or four times with a grass, it persisted in bubbling like a kettle. But for all that, I do not think I ever found a smoke more luxurious. But, then, when you are waiting for a crack shot to blaze at you the commonest things of former everyday life do seem to come to you in a strangely pleasant guise.

By degrees the night noises of the forest, the croaking of the tree toads, the rustle of jar-flies, and the talk of the katydids died out; a cold, raw light filtered through the upper tree stems, and the jungle of undergrowth crept out of formless gloom into familiar shape. I was not enjoying the wait enough to want it prolonged unnecessarily. Besides, the neighbourhood was full of dangers with which I did not wish to tamper. So I shouted across to Carew, who was sitting down some twenty yards away, that I could see the whites of his eyes distinctly.

He jumped to his feet. “Very well,” he said, “if that’s the case it’s light enough for us to get through with our business.”

I got up also, unholstered my revolvers, and put a cartridge in the unloaded chamber in which the hammer had been resting, so as to have the entire six shots ready if necessary. ” You can give the word yourself,” said I. “Sing out one, two, three, and at three we shoot. We’re about right for distance as we are.”

“Move away to the right, man, against those palmettos. You’ve got a light background behind you where you are now. I don’t want to take an unfair advantage.”

“Thanks,” I said. ” You can’t help being a gentleman sometimes, Carew. It’s a pity you’re such a horrid blackguard between whiles.”

He did not reply in words to this, though I did see the ghost of a grim smile wry his mouth. I was just beginning to step out to take up the ground he had pointed out when a whistle shrilled out from the trees, and I saw a couple of men break violently out of the cover behind Carew. At the same moment a noose of plaited rawhide rope dropped over my head and shoulders, was instantly plucked taut, and before I could so much as struggle I was heaved over thump on to my back.

Carew’s pistol cracked, and I heard the bullet whisp past my head, and simultaneously a yell told me that it had hit one of the men who were interfering with my comfort. And then for an instant I caught sight of Carew, also lassoed, and struggling like a wild cat in the toils.

Now it sounds funny to remember afterwards that I should give a thought for the welfare of this scamp who not ten seconds before I was arranging to shoot; but the fact remains that I did empty the first shot out of my pistol on his behalf. The noose of rawhide had pinned me above the elbows, I had my forearm and wrists free, and I took as steady a shot as I could manage from that inconvenient position at the man who held the hauling part of Carew’s tether. It is probably equally funny from the point of view of history to remember that Carew sang out ” Hold up, you d d fool, or you’ll be shooting me next.”

But any way I did not interfere with his affairs any more just then. My own business was pressing. I squirmed round in my bonds and saw two big, ragged men pulling in hand over hand on the rope, and four more running up to help them as quick as they could crash through the undergrowth. Naturally I did my best to make things hot for all the crowd. But not a bit could I ease the noose that held my elbows in to my ribs, and shooting from the hips spoiled my aim Altogether.

I did contrive to touch one fellow, and he let a yelp out of him like a suddenly kicked dog, but he was more surprised than hurt, and the next moment he was taking it out of me with his shut fists in fine style. However, I managed to get my boot toe well home on his kneecap, and he went to grass howling, upon which the others effectually sat on me and very soon had me tied up safe and sound.

Meanwhile there were sounds enough to tell that Carew was making it monstrous unpleasant for his visitors at the other side. I don’t know a man more difficult to hold at close quarters than Sir

William Carew. Amongst the officers of the force, if anyone ever showed off a trick of strength or suppleness, Carew could always beat him, and, moreover, the man, do what he liked, never seemed to get out of condition. He was slim enough in build, but his muscles were iron, and for agility he was like a monkey.

He was a man who made a practice of being able to shoot straight with a pistol from the hip, because (pirate as he was) he said it was always useful to be able to drop a man with your hand in your jacket pocket, and in his present plight the habit came handy to him. He was pinned to the elbows as I was; the fellows were yanking on the lasso as they pulled themselves up to get to hand grips with him; but in spite of these disadvantages he contrived to bag first one and then the other before he had finally emptied his revolver.

Some dozen others were coming up for his annoyance as fast as they could break a way through the trees, and if he could have got to the horses I believe he would have scraped clean away, but as it was, the lasso got a turn round one of his spurs, and tripped him heavily, and before he could scramble to his feet again and unbuckle the spur for the rawhide had jammed into a hard knot over the rowel the fellows were upon him, and had him on the ground again through sheer weight of numbers.

Even then, however, they did not have it all their own way. He got his thumb in one man’s eye-socket, and the fellow jumped back and ran away squalling and half-blinded for life. He diverted a knife that was lunged at him till it laid open its owner’s cheek. He followed no civilised rule of fighting. He raged like some seaport drab who was endowed with a man’s skill and strength. He hit, he bit, he kicked, he butted, and if ever I saw a fight where the rule was ” all in,” that was it.

Fresh men kept adding themselves to the mele, but it was long enough before they could hold him permanently. He would disappear amongst a regular octopus of vengeful arms and legs, and then there would be screams of pain, and the grip upon him would loosen, and he would almost get away. But never did he quite struggle free. Some dogged fellow would always hang on to his heel, or his coat, or his waist, or something, and hold him till the pack dragged him down again, and then the furious scuffle would be fought out afresh. He hurt his adversaries often enough, to judge by their screams and yells, but either they did not do him any serious injury, or he had the stoicism not to cry out.

But fresh forces kept gathering against him, and the end was inevitable. One man may right against three and win; he may even wrestle with five together and escape; but with a round dozen against him, he has got to go under sooner or later, and in the end he generally gets paid back for value received. An arm went up holding a revolver, muzzle end; the weapon descended with heavy good-will, and the butt end hit viciously on the back of Carew’s head. The stiffening seemed to go out of him; his fighting ended; and though for a moment he was held upright in the fiercely struggling press, when this loosened for a moment, he fell limply to the ground.

He seemed to lie there as lifeless as an empty meal sack, and the hunters used their feet to him as though they intended to make things sure by trampling out any little spark of life that remained.

After a little while, however, they desisted from this pleasing occupation, and set to work counting up the cost of their victory; and to judge by their looks, they were a bit sorry for the expense.

There were four men killed outright, one with a broken wrist, two with smashed ribs, my man with a fractured kneecap, Carew’s with a missing eye, and not a single one of them without some lasting token of our esteem and embrace.

They were pretty angry over the result, and not a little puzzled. In Sacaronduca it is always the custom to be sensible, and surrender at once if you are outnumbered. And, finally, they came to the conclusion that we must have something on our persons that was thoroughly well worth fighting for, and set about to discover what this something was, with system and industry.

I’m afraid they were disappointed. From the total of our pockets they collected some seventythree dollars in notes and silver, a lady’s watch from Carew, and a Waterbury from me, a couple of pocket knives, a button-hook, some smoking tackle, and a scrap of lead pencil. One of them went to the horses and cried out that he had got a find; but it was only a small stone bottle of whisky and a packet of cartridges in one of Carew’s holsters.

Finally, as the search did not instruct them much, a fellow without ears, who seemed to be their leader, turned to me for an explanation.

“We came out here to fight a duel,” I said.

“Now, look here, ladon,” said he, ” if you don’t speak truth, and at once, I’ll stamp your face in.”

“You may stamp till you’re tired,” said I, “but you can’t get squarer truth than that. If you want to do an act of courtesy, put the pair of us up, loan us our weapons, and we’ll fight it out now.”

“Think I’m a fool?” said the earless man. “We have had trouble enough with you already, and tied up you’ll remain till you’ve paid your debts. After they’re squared off you’ll be quiet enough.”

“If you meddle with me,” said I, ” you’ll have the President to settle with.”

“Which President do you mean? There seem to be so many.”

“Don Esteban Puentos.”

“Oh, that President, is it? Well, we happen to be for Maxillo, if we’re for anybody, and to show how much we care for this new upstart, I’ll tell you what we’ll do.” He turned round to the others. ” We’ll send the pair of them back, cooked. That one’s carrion already. But this fellow here is plump, and will roast nicely. Quick, now. Light a fire, and we’ll get the business over. When we have stopped their crowing for good we’ll send what’s left back to Dolores as a hint that this side of the swamp isn’t a healthy district.”

“But how?” asked somebody. “It will be a ticklish job going near Dolores with that kind of baked meat. We’ve had trouble enough over the beggars already.”

“Simple enough,” said the earless man. ” We’ll lash them on the backs of their