For, eager and panting with her exertions, her eyes bright with excitement, the peasant-girl suddenly dashed in through the open door, caught Pen by the breast with one hand, and pointed with the other in the direction from which she had come, as she whispered excitedly, "_Los Franceses_!"

Then, loosening her grasp, she turned quickly to the boy and pa.s.sed one hand beneath his neck, signing to Pen to help her raise the wounded lad from the bed, while Pen hurried to the door to look out.

"Yes," he whispered quickly, as he turned back, "she means the enemy are coming, and wants me to carry you to a place of safety.--All right, my la.s.s; I understand.--Here, Punch, I won't hurt you more than I can help.

Clasp your hands round my neck, and I will carry you.--Here, girl, take my rifle!"

He held out the piece, and the girl caught it in her hand, while Pen drew his companion into a sitting position, stooped down, and turned his back to the bed.

"All right; I won't squeak, comrade. Up with me. For'ard!"

But the boy could not control his muscles, the contractions in his face showing plainly enough the agony he felt as with one quick movement Pen raised himself, pressing the clinging hands to his breast, and swung the poor fellow upon his back.

The girl nodded sharply, as, rifle in hand, she made for the door, beckoning to Pen to follow quickly; and then, with a look of despair, she stopped short, her actions showing plainly enough what she must be saying, for there was a quick rush among the trees outside, and the young Spaniard dashed to the front of the hut, made a s.n.a.t.c.h at the rifle the girl was bearing, and tore it from her grasp as he drove her back into the hut and barred the way, uttering a loud hail the while.

"Too late! We are too late, Punch," said Pen bitterly. "Here they are!

Prisoners, my lad. I can do no more."

For, as he spoke, about a dozen of the enemy doubled up to the front of the hut, and the young Spaniard who had betrayed the two lads stood before Pen, showing his white teeth in a malignant grin of triumph, as he held the girl by the wrist.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

PRISONERS.

"Are you in much pain, Punch?" said Pen, as, with his wrists tied tightly behind him, he knelt beside his comrade, who lay now just outside the door of the hut, a couple of French cha.s.seurs on guard.

The officer in command of the little party had taken possession of the hut for temporary bivouac, and his men had lighted a fire, whose flames picturesquely lit up the surrounding trees, beneath which the new-comers had stretched themselves and were now partaking of bread, grapes, and the water a couple of their party had fetched from the stream.

The young Spaniard was seated aloof from the girl, whose back was half-turned from him as she sat there seeming to have lost all interest in the scene and those whom she had tried to warn of the danger they were in.

From time to time the Spanish lad spoke to her, but she only jerked her head away from him, looking more indifferent than ever.

"Are you in much pain, Punch?" asked Pen again; for the boy had not replied, and Pen leaned more towards him, to gaze in his face searchingly.

"Oh, pretty tidy," replied the boy at last; "but it's better now. You seemed to wake up my wound, but it's going to sleep again. I say, though, I didn't show nothing, did I?"

"No, you bore it bravely."

"Did I? That's right. I was afraid, though, that I should have to howl; but I am all right now. And I say, comrade, look here; some chaps miche--you know, sham bad--so as to get into hospital to be fed up and get off duty, and they do it too, you know."

"Yes, I know," said Pen, watching the lad anxiously. "But don't talk so much."

"Must; I want to tell you, I am going to miche--sham, you know--the other way on."

"What do you mean?" said Pen.

"Why, make-believe I'm all right. Make these froggies think my wound's only a scratch. Then perhaps they will march me off along with you as a prisoner. I don't want them to--you know."

"March you off!" said Pen bitterly. "Why, you know you can't stand."

"Can't! I've got to. You'll let me hold tight of your arm. I've got to, comrade, and I will. It means setting one's teeth pretty hard.

Only wish I had got a bullet to bite. It would come easy then. Look here, wait a bit, and then you back up a bit closer to me. Haven't tied my hands like yours. Just you edge close so as I can slip my fingers into your box. I want to get out one cartridge for the sake of the bullet."

"You can't, Punch. Didn't you see they slipped off the belt, and that young Spaniard's got it along with my rifle?"

"So he has! I didn't know. Now then, wasn't I right when I said you ought to have fired at him and brought him down? Well, I must have a bullet somehow. I know. I will try and get the girl to get hold of the case; only I don't know how it's to be done without knowing what to say.

Can't you put me up to it, comrade?"

"No, Punch."

"But you might give a fellow a bit of advice."

"My advice is to lie still and wait."

"Well, that's pretty advice, that is, comrade. Wait till they comes and makes an end of a fellow if he breaks down, for I am beginning to think that I sha'n't be able to go through with it."

"Let's wait and see what happens, Punch. We have done our best, and we can do no more."

Just then Pen's attention was taken up by the young officer, who came to the door of the hut, yawned, and stood looking about at his men before slowly sauntering round the bivouac as if to see that all was right, the sentries drawing themselves up stiffly as he pa.s.sed on, till he caught sight of the Spanish girl and the lad seated together in the full light cast by the fire.

Then turning sharply to one of his men, the young officer pointed at the Spaniard and gave an order in a low, imperious tone.

Two of his men advanced to the lit-up group, and one of them gave the lad a sharp clap on the shoulder which made him spring up angrily, while the other cha.s.seur s.n.a.t.c.hed the English rifle from his hand, the first cha.s.seur seizing the cartridge-belt and case.

There was a brief struggle, but it was two to one, and the Spaniard, as Pen watched the encounter eagerly, was sent staggering back, catching his heel in a bush and falling heavily, but only to rebound on the instant, springing up knife now in hand and making at the nearest soldier.

"Ha!" gasped Punch excitedly, as he saw the gleam of the knife; and then he drew in his breath with a hiss, for it was almost momentary: one of the two French soldiers who had approached him to obey his officer's orders and disarm the informer just raised his musket and made a drive with the b.u.t.t at the knife-armed Spaniard, who received the metal plate of the stock full in his temple and rolled over, half-stunned, amongst the bushes.

Another order rang out from the officer, and before the young Spaniard could recover himself a couple more of the soldiers had pounced upon him, and a minute later he was firmly bound, as helpless a prisoner as the young rifleman who watched the scene.

"Say, comrade," whispered Punch, "that's done me good. But do you see that?"

"See it? Why, of course I saw it. That's not what he bargained for when he led the Frenchmen here."

"No, I don't mean that," whispered Punch impatiently. "I meant the gal."

"The girl?" said Pen. "What about her?"

"Where is she?" whispered Punch.

"Why, she was--"

"Yes, _was_," whispered Punch again; "but where is she now? She went off like a shot into the woods."

"Ah!" exclaimed Pen, with a look of relief in his eyes.

"Yes, she's gone; and now I want to know what's going to be next. Here comes the officer. What'll be his first order? To shoot us, and that young Spaniel too?"