"Yes, sir," said the boy sadly, "and I suppose I deserve it. I should mind all this much less if we had arranged with my father that I should come."

"Well done, young philosopher," said the colonel, as he kept his hand on the lad's shoulder, and marched him to and fro. "Come, as you can think so well, give me your advice. You know why I have come--to obtain this seed to place in the hands of those who will cultivate it, and make the world independent of the one source of supply."

"Yes, sir," said Cyril wonderingly.

"And you see the position to which I am reduced."

"Yes, sir. Will the Indians kill us?"

"Not without paying dearly for it," said the colonel sternly. Then changing his manner: "No, my lad. These people are only half-savage, and look upon what they are doing as a duty. I do not think they will kill us if they can get possession of all our baggage. They might keep us in captivity until means are taken to free us; but I don't know--I hardly feel that our lives are safe."

"Not very, sir," said Cyril grimly, "if they rolled big stones. It might have been us instead of the mules this morning."

"Yes, we have had some narrow escapes; but what shall I do now--give up and own that I am beaten?"

"And let them have the kina seed, sir? No, that I wouldn't; I'd fight for it first," cried Cyril excitedly.

"Do you know what you are talking about?" said the colonel excitedly.

"Yes, sir," cried Cyril, "I was very much down a while ago; but I've had something to eat now, and a sleep and--What! give up to a pack of savages, and let them rob you of all we have worked so hard to get?

That I wouldn't while there was a charge of powder left."

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the colonel, looking at the boy searchingly.

"That's what my father would say if he were here. I wish he were."

"To thrash you for leaving home in that cowardly way?"

"No, sir," said Cyril quietly. "My father never thrashed me, and he never would. He always said it was degrading a boy to beat him, and that he was a poor parent who could not rule his children without blows.

He told me he thought he could hurt me a good deal more by his words, and so he always could."

"Perhaps so, sir," said the colonel sternly; "but see what a mistake he has made, and what a miserable young dog you have turned out."

Cyril was silent for a few moments.

"I hope I'm not all bad, sir," he said. "I'm sure I've bitterly repented what I have done."

"And been severely punished, too, my lad," said the colonel kindly.

"Your father is quite right, and when I tell him how you have behaved-- as, please G.o.d, I hope I shall--if he is the man I believe him to be, he will shake hands with you as I do now, and say, 'Let's forget the past!'"

"Colonel Campion!" cried Cyril, s.n.a.t.c.hing at the hand extended to him.

He could say no more, for something seemed to rise in his throat and choke him, while the colonel rested his arm affectionately upon his shoulder once more, and walked him up and down toward the light and back again.

"So you'd fight for it and stand out, eh?" said the colonel at last.

"Yes, sir, that I would," cried Cyril excitedly, "and I'm sure Perry will say the same."

The colonel was silent for a few moments, gazing straight before him into the darkness, and he asked himself whether he would be justified in running all these risks. He shook his head, and they turned and marched down again toward the light, where the rippling stream looked rosy in the evening, and the rocks on the other side of the gorge were all aglow. And there was so much in the brightness and hope and prospect of success that the feelings of dread, the shrinking from a terrible ordeal, and all hesitation fled away.

"Yes," he said firmly as he stopped short; "a civilian might hesitate and give up, but I cannot, my lad. I determined to carry out this task, believing that by it I should vastly benefit suffering humanity at large, and Heaven helping me, I will achieve my aims."

"And you will fight it out, sir?" cried Cyril.

"I will, my boy, to the bitter end. I made the Indians fear me, and if they attack us now, they shall fear me more, for I have our lives to save as well. Now, go and lie down."

"No, sir, I don't feel sleepy; let me watch with you."

"You are a soldier for the time being, my lad, and if we are to succeed, discipline must be observed. In an hour's time I rouse up John Manning to relieve me, and toward morning, when you are rested and refreshed, you shall be called to take your watch."

Cyril lay down without a word, meaning to think out all that had been said, and feeling happier than he had since he left home. But he did not think, for in a few seconds after he had stretched his weary limbs upon the rocky floor, all the corners and points of his bed became soft as eider-down, and he dropped into a deep dreamless sleep, leaving the colonel seated on a rock, leaning forward with his gun between his legs, and his form looking black against the soft glowing light at the entrance of the cave.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

NATURE IS MISTRESS.

"I haven't slept long," thought Cyril as he woke with a start to see the colonel seated as he had left him when sleep came. He did not appear to have moved, and all was perfectly still. One thing, however, puzzled him, and that was the light. It was soft and warm and glowing then; now it was clear and bright.

All at once he saw something come into sight from the side and stand looking in. It was the old leading mule, and it stood there munching away at a tuft of green stuff which it held in its teeth, and then dropped, and stooped its head to take a long drink of water.

"Have the Indians gone?" thought Cyril, "and has the colonel let the mules out to feed?"

He sat up for a moment or two, and then lay down again.

"I may as well sleep till I am called," he thought, and he lay listening to the heavy breathing of John Manning and Perry, whom he could see lying in precisely the same position as when he lay down a few minutes before.

But was it a few minutes before? Cyril asked himself as he saw the mule lift its head with the water dripping from its lips, and then pick up the tuft of green twigs, and go on munching again. It could not have been longer, for the colonel had not been relieved yet; but the light was so strange. Last time he looked, the opposite side of the gorge was glowing with the sunset rays; now it was in shadow, and the sun was shining just inside the mouth of the cave, and making the water flash like molten silver.

The mule stared in toward him, and Cyril made a bull, as a sudden thought flashed through his mind.

"Why, it's to-morrow morning!" he mentally exclaimed as he started up, "and I've been asleep all this time."

He went to where the colonel sat, and though the stones rattled a little beneath his feet, the watcher did not stir, but sat as if gazing straight out past the mule, when Cyril said reproachfully:

"You shouldn't have let me sleep so long, sir."

But there was no answer, and at that moment there was a dull sound, a whinnying sigh, as the mule gave a violent start, throwing out its legs in all directions, and scattering the stones before gathering itself together, and making a tremendous leap to go galloping away, not so quickly, though, but that Cyril saw it had a long arrow sticking in its back.

"What's that? Who? You, Cyril?" cried the colonel, springing to his feet. "What! Have I been to sleep?"

"I don't know, sir; I only just woke up."

"Why, it's morning," cried the colonel angrily. "What was that noise?"

"The old mule. Some one shot an arrow, and stuck it in her back."