Chapter VII

A Plea of the Enemy

Jack realized that only a desperate effort could save him.

Mr. Pearce, whose friendship he had no reason to doubt, stood speechless and horrified at the inhuman act of the Chilians, unable to lift a finger if it would have saved his life.

Jack was standing near to the entrance of the convict cell and as the Chilian commander raised a hand for his men to fire, he suddenly doubled himself up like a jack-knife, turning a complete somersault in the direction of the underground stairway.

His feet had not been secured, though his hands were fastened behind him.

Acting on the impulse of the moment, without any consideration for the result other than an escape from the murderous fire, he plunged head-first into the entrance at the very instant the volley of bullets sped on their deadly mission.

So closely timed were the two actions that the Chilians mistook his jump for the result of their shots, and an exclamation of satisfaction left the leader's lips, while no immediate attempt was made to reach the side of their victim. This enabled Jack to regain his feet and to disappear into the dark mouth of the cavern before his enemies had recovered from their surprise.

Though severely shaken up by his precipitation into this retreat, unheeding the creeping creatures under his feet, which made a furious rush to and fro, Jack groped his way further and further into the gloomy place.

The damp, sweaty walls covering him with a slimy moisture. Now and then some of the loosened earth would fall upon him, adding to the uncanny experience of his advance.

He expected the Chilians would follow him, but he hoped in some way he might escape them. He kept on without hearing any sound of a pursuit, until he was suddenly conscious of being confronted by some one, while a trembling voice called out from the darkness ahead:

"Stop! I am armed, and you come nearer at the peril of your life!"

It was too dark for him to see any one, but he heard a slight movement as the words were uttered, and he instantly recalled to mind the fact that the fugitive fleeing from the Chilians was supposed to be hiding in this place.

Accordingly, as he stopped, he said in a low tone:

"Be careful and you have nothing to fear from me."

Jack had been glad to notice that the unknown had used pure English in addressing him. In a moment he asked:

"Who are you?"

"A friendless American boy who has been hunted down like a dog because--"

"Fret Offut!" broke in Jack recognizing the other's voice.

"Jack North!" gasped the fugitive "You have betrayed me, Jack!"

"Not a bit of that. I am here on account of you."

That was no time to question one's motives. Jack knew that the other was his mortal enemy, but just then and there he could do no better than to forget the past. Whatever the offense he had committed against the Chilians, Fret was scarcely in worse color with them than himself.

It did not occur to honest Jack North that by delivering up his enemy he might save his own life.

Though Fret had abused his confidence shamefully, he did not have the wish to give him over to these foreign pursuers. For aught he knew his companion might be as guilty of crime against them as against himself.

Meanwhile why had the Chilians not entered the cell in pursuit of their prisoner? Were they in fear of him? Not so much that as they were in fear of entering that underground retreat, teeming with superst.i.tious traditions.

In fact no Chilian could have been induced to enter there under any provocation short of death!

Mr. Pearce knew this, and when he saw Jack disappear he was confident the lad was safe for awhile.

It is true the leader of the party did command his men to enter, and uttered all sorts of threats against them, but they simply listened without moving.

Neither did their commander offer to lead the way.

Mr. Pearce, knowing this superst.i.tious dread of all Chilians to enter the subterranean prisons, waited until the leader had stopped commanding and abusing his soldiers, when he ventured to interpose on Jack's account.

As he was a man of consequence in the opinion of the Chilian chief, his words soon had the desired effect.

"Somebody,--the person you are in pursuit of--may have landed on the island last night, but this boy is a friend of mine and knows no more of him you want than I do. I vouch for his honesty, and as he has been here over a week you can see that he is not the one you are looking for, who you say must have come here since sunset yesterday."

No doubt the Chilian was glad to get off so easily in doing what he deemed was his duty, for he ordered his men to return to their vessel without further delay.

That was the last to be seen of them, but Mr. Pearce cautiously waited until he saw the ship sailing away from the island before he spoke to Jack.

"Come out of that hole if the bugs have not carried you off," he called out in his blunt way. "The Chilians have gone back to Valparaiso to report that they could not find their man here."

Jack and Fret Offut had come to something of an understanding, though the latter was reluctant to meet Mr. Pearce.

The islander was surprised at sight of him, but Jack hastened to say:

"It proves the person those Chilians were so anxious to catch is an acquaintance of mine, being none other than one of the _Standish's_ pa.s.sengers."

"A friend of yours, eh? Those infernal--excuse me, I don't believe I will say it. Come, let's go down to the house."

If Mr. Pearce was not pleased with the appearance of young Offut he did not show it, though he told Jack privately that it might be best for all concerned if they should leave the island as soon as an opportunity offered itself.

"You see another searching party may come at any hour, and I might not be as successful with another, particularly with two to answer for."

Jack had no desire to remain any longer than he could help, as pleasant as he had found life with his newly-made friend. He was anxious to get to Valparaiso before the _Standish_ should leave on her return voyage.

He had another reason, too, and a most important one.

He handed the paper he had picked up at the entrance to the convict cell to Mr. Pearce for him to read if possible, for it was written in Spanish, which he could not make out at the time.

Mr. Pearce read it with some difficulty, explaining it as best he could when he had carefully studied it for half a day.

Chapter VIII