Tom Tufton's Travels by Evelyn Everett-Green (good short books .txt) 📖

but a sheet of blank parchment. The real missive for the Duke Victor Amadeus was written on a thin paper, and was concealed between the soles of Lord Claud's boots-- though even Tom did not know that. The packet was arranged as a blind, if need should be; and now it seemed as though the need had come.

Then on the following morning Tom and the guide would start forth across the pass; whilst Lord Claud should creep feebly down to the valley, watched, perhaps, but probably unmolested. The majority of the men, at any rate, would most certainly follow Tom.

"There are but four," said Lord Claud; "and if one be Montacute himself, I doubt if he will stir from the inn. He will try to keep an eye upon both, being a man full of cunning himself. I reckon that he will send two men after you, Tom, and one after me. I shall, after a while, pause, lie in wait, and kill that man. Then I shall flee to the valley, get a guide who can show me the other pass, and make such way from the seat of peril that I shall be well-nigh across the frontier before Sir James knows that one of his quarry has escaped him.

"As for you, my boy, you may like enough escape with a sound skin, unless Montacute himself pursues, making three to one--for one cannot trust these peasants to show fight. But be the issue what it may, that is the plan I have thought out which gives the best chance of winning through. If you escape, flee either back here, or perhaps, better still, to the protection of the monks. For here these unwarlike peasants could perhaps give you little aid if hard pressed; but the Church will afford you sanctuary, and not even the wrath of Sir James himself will avail to wrest you from the hands of the monks, if you claim their protection."

"It seems to me," said Tom, throwing back his head, "that the peril is, after all, not so great--not so great, indeed, as what we have faced many times before. Let us carry out the plan, and whether good or evil follow, we shall have done our best--and no man can do more!"

The two men gripped hands upon it, and the compact was sealed. Tom rather exulted in the post of peril that was accorded to himself. Perhaps in days to come the Duke would hear of it, and might reward him by some words of praise or thanks.

That same afternoon Tom felt his veins tingling again as they neared the lone little hut amid the whiteness of the low-lying winter snow. He was about to launch forth upon the first solitary adventure of his life, and one which might be fraught with dire perils; but his heart quailed not.

Almost at once he was lost in admiration and amaze at the power displayed by Lord Claud in acting a part. He began to draw his breath with apparent difficulty; his face looked drawn and ghastly; he clung to Tom's arm as if for support; and it was difficult indeed to believe that he was not feeling really terribly ill.

They reached the hut and knocked. The door was instantly opened, and Tom was certain he saw a gleam of malicious satisfaction upon the faces of the men, who welcomed them in with a show of rude cordiality.

There were but two rooms that could be called sleeping apartments, they said, and one was already occupied; but they would give up the other to the use of the sick traveller. Lord Claud was speedily assisted thither, and the fire in the stove replenished. He lay down upon the bed with a groan, and looked as if nigh to death. The peasant chattered with the old couple, and it was plain that this sort of seizure was not very uncommon in those altitudes.

The men tried to make Tom understand that his companion should go back to the valley; but that could not be done till the morrow, and presently the pair were left alone in their room.

This room was only separated from the next by some rude split pine trunks. Tom had seen upon entering that a light had been quickly extinguished, otherwise he would have seen clearly through the chinks who the occupant was. He knew perfectly that every word they spoke could be overheard, and every action they performed duly watched; and he entered into the game of play acting with a zeal that gave him greater aptitude than he had thought to possess.

He strove to get his master to take the broth that one of the men brought up; he entreated him not to give way; and finally he agreed that it would be impossible for the sick man to attempt further travel, and offered himself to bear the packet of letters into Italy.

Then came the projected piece of play acting--the ripping up of the doublet, the sewing of the sealed packet into Tom's clothes, promises, directions, warnings, all given with apparent feeble energy, and received with faithful eagerness.

And all the while Tom was aware that close to them, just behind the thin partition, other eyes were watching, other ears listening to all that passed. He could even hear the short breathings of repressed excitement, and almost feel the keen gaze which he knew was constantly bent upon him.

When all was done to the satisfaction of the sick man, Tom extinguished the light, and lay down beside him on the rude bed. After his long sleep of the previous day, he cared little whether he slumbered or not--indeed, it seemed better that he should keep awake. His head was full of the adventure which lay before him, and he was almost certain that he heard whispering voices either in the next room or below; by which he guessed that their enemies, having discovered all they wanted to know, were now laying their plans how best they might carry out their own designs.

CHAPTER XI. THE PIOUS MONKS OF ST. BERNARD.

Tom knew quite well that he was being followed. He had been aware of it almost from the first. He felt an exultant triumph in the thought that they had outwitted the astute Sir James, and that his emissaries were following the wrong man, falling into the trap which had been laid for them.

Tom's business was to lead them as long a dance as possible. He had no other object in view. He had no intention of pushing onwards into Italy. In a strange country, surrounded by people of a strange tongue, he would be perfectly helpless. He had picked up just a few words of French, and of the patois of these mountain regions, enough to enable him to obtain the necessaries of life on this side the Alps. And on this side he meant to remain, doubling back, if possible, and eluding his pursuers; hoping to find shelter at the monastery of the Great St. Bernard, and await there the return of Lord Claud.

He had watched, before starting himself, the start made by Lord Claud upon the arm of the landlord. He had again admired the marvellous powers of his master in simulating sickness. It was difficult even for him to believe that he was not the victim of some grave malady; and he had noted with satisfaction the covert eagerness with which the other travellers in the hut urged upon him the descent into the valley as the only chance of recovery.

Plainly they desired that the two should part company; nor could Tom trace that any of their number went after Lord Claud. But on that point he could not be certain, as he himself had to take his departure almost immediately.

The other travellers professed to be waiting for the recovery of one of their number from a strain to the ankle before proceeding in an opposite direction. This they explained to Lord Claud, regretting they could not accompany him to the valley, as they had to wait for their own master. They professed to have crossed recently from the Italian side, and gave Tom some hints and instructions as to his route; which he heeded no whit, being in fact only able to understand a word here and there.

He trusted to his guide to take him safely through the pass, though he reckoned upon having to give him the slip, too, if he could not explain to him that he was going to make his way to the monastery. For it was not safe for Lord Claud to explain this to the guide beforehand. Although to all appearances an honest and simple fellow, there was never any knowing how the enemy might seek to tamper with him; and a bribe might be sufficient to open the fellow's lips if he had anything to tell.

Now Tom was on his way upwards amid the snow, stepping out boldly, and rather urging on his guide than detaining him by lagging; and all the while he was conscious that he was being followed and watched, although it was only from time to time that he was successful in catching sight of the forms of his pursuers, who at present kept a good way behind.

Tom guessed for one thing that his own rapid pace gave him the advantage, and he also suspected that they would prefer to wait until his first energy had abated before trying conclusions with him. He was in splendid condition from his long journey, which had braced all his muscles, and had given him back all that vigour which his London life had slightly impaired.

So he stepped along gaily in the clear morning air, calculating as well as he could what Lord Claud's movements would be, and how far he would have progressed upon his way with the real despatches.

Lord Claud never let grass grow under his feet. If he once obtained a fair start, he would not easily lose it. The route by which he was going was a little longer and more circuitous; but let him have a day's clear start, and it would be odd if any pursuer caught him after that.

So Tom walked on in high spirits, feeling well equipped for the coming struggle, and fearing little the peril which might lie before him. In the pride of his manhood's strength, he laughed at the thought of danger. He had faced too many perils of late to begin to turn coward now. So long as he felt that he was leading these followers away from the other pass to be taken by his comrade, he cared for nothing else--not even for the discovery he once made that they were three in number, though Lord Claud had calculated that they would only be two.

Sometimes Tom noted that his guide would look back, and more than once he fancied that he detected him signalling to those below. This aroused in his mind a doubt of the fellow's fidelity; but there was nothing to be done now. They were in the midst of trackless snow plains, ice slopes, and precipices. He must perforce trust to the leading of the guide, albeit, if he had been tampered with by those in pursuit, things might look ugly when it came to the moment of attack.

As the hours wore away, Tom began to wish that the situation might declare itself. The drear wildness of the mountain height oppressed him with a sense of personal insignificance which was rather overwhelming. The great white mountains seemed to stare down upon him as though pitilessly indifferent to his fate. How could they care what became of one solitary son of earth? Did they not stand fast for ever more, from century to century? It was a thought that he found oppressive and rather terrible.

At one point the guide insisted upon leaving what looked like the better track, and led him round a sort of shoulder of piled up snow and rock, where walking was very laborious. Tom began to feel the need of food, and would have stopped and opened his wallet; but the man shook his head and gesticulated, and seemed to urge him onwards at some speed. Tom supposed he must obey, as the man pointed warningly to the rocks above, as though to hint that danger might be expected from them.

So on they trudged, Tom feeling a slight unaccustomed giddiness in the head, as many persons do who first try walking for some hours in the glare of sun and snow and at a high altitude. Then the path suddenly turned again under the frowning wall of rock, which rose black and stern through the covering of snow. The guide disappeared round the angle of the path; Tom followed with quick steps, and the next moment was almost felled to the earth by the terrific blow of a cudgel upon his head.

Almost, but not quite. He had been on his guard. He felt