Then for a moment Pen let his thoughts run in another direction, but only for a few moments. These were evidently not any of the smuggler's men. He had seen too many of them during his sojourn at the priest's hut not to know what they were like--that is to say, men accustomed to the mountains; for they were all in their way jaunty of mien. Their arms, too, were different, and once more the thought began to gain entrance that his former surmise was right, and that these bearers of swords who had spoken in such deferential tones to one of their party were after all faithful followers or courtiers who had a.s.sumed disguises that would enable them to pa.s.s over the mountains unnoticed. Which then was the King?

"If some of them would speak," said Pen to himself, "it would be easier to tell."

But the silence, save for a faint crack or two from the burning wood, remained profound.

At last the watcher was beginning to come to a conclusion and settle in his own mind that one of the party who was bending forward towards the fire with his cloak drawn about his face might be the King; and his belief grew stronger as a flickering flame from the tiny fire played upon this man's high boots, one of which displayed a rusty spur.

The next minute all doubt was at an end, for one of the men nearest the door uttered a sharp e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n which resulted in the occupants of the _padre's_ dwelling springing to their feet. Swords leapt from their scabbards, and some of the men drew their cloaks about their left arms, while others s.n.a.t.c.hed pistols from their belts, and there followed the sharp clicking of their locks.

It was evident they were on the alert for antic.i.p.ated danger, and Pen's eyes glistened, for he could hear no sound. But he noted one thing, and that was that the booted and spurred individual in the cloak did not stir from where he was seated upon the priest's stool by the fire.

Then, with a gesture of impatience, Pen saw him throw back his cloak and put his hand to his belt to draw forth a pistol which refused to come.

Then with an angry word he gave a fierce tug, with the result that the weapon came out so suddenly that its holder's arm flew up, the pistol exploded with a loud crash, the bullet with which it was loaded pa.s.sed upward through the boarded ceiling, and Pen started and made a s.n.a.t.c.h at the spot where his musket was propped up against the wall, while Punch leaped from where he had crouched and came down again upon the ill-fitting boards, which cracked loudly as if the boy were going through.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

AN AWKWARD POSITION.

There was a burst of excitement, hurried e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, and half-a-dozen pistols were rapidly discharged by their holders at the ceiling; while directly after, in obedience to a command uttered by one of the party, a dash was made for the corner door, which was dragged open, and, sword in hand, several of the men climbed to the loft. The boards creaked, there was a hurried scuffle, and first Punch and then Pen were compelled to descend into the room below, dragged before the leader, forced upon their knees, and surrounded by a circle of sword-points, whose bearers gazed at their leader, awaiting his command to strike.

The leader sank back in his seat, nursing the pistol he had accidentally discharged. Then with his eyes half-closed he slowly raised it to take aim at Pen, who gazed at him firmly and without seeming to blench, while Punch uttered a low, growling e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n full of rage as he made a struggle to escape, but was forced back upon his knees, to start and wince as he felt the point of a sword touch his neck. Then he cried aloud, "Never mind, comrade! Let 'em see we are Bri'sh soldiers and mean to die game."

Pen did not withdraw his eyes from the man who held his life in hand, and reached out behind him to grasp Punch's arm; but his effort was vain.

Just then the seated man seemed to recollect himself, for he threw the empty pistol upon the floor and tugged another from his belt, c.o.c.ked it, and then swung himself round, directing the pistol at the door, which was dashed open by the old priest, who ran in and stood, panting hard, between the prisoners and the holder of the pistol.

He was too breathless to speak, but he gesticulated violently before grasping Pen's shoulder with one hand and waving the other round as if to drive back those who held the prisoners upon their knees.

He tried to speak, but the words would not come; and then there was another diversion, for a fresh-comer dashed in through the open door, and, regardless of the swords directed at him, forced his way to where the prisoners were awaiting their fate.

He, too, was breathless with running, for he sank quickly on one knee, caught at the hand which held the pistol and raised it quickly to his lips, as he exclaimed in French:

"No, no, your Majesty! Not that!"

"They are spies," shouted the tired-looking Spaniard who had given the command which had sent his followers to make the seizure in the loft.

"No spies," cried the _contrabandista_. "Our and his Majesty's friends--wounded English soldiers who had been fighting upon our side."

There was a burst of e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns; swords were sheathed, and the dethroned Spanish monarch unc.o.c.ked his pistol and thrust it back into his belt.

"They have had a narrow escape," he said bitterly. "Why were you not here with the friends you promised?"

"They are outside awaiting my orders, your Majesty," said the smuggler bluntly. "May I remind you that you are not to your time, neither have you come by the pa.s.s I promised you to watch."

"Bah! How could I, when I was driven by these wretched French, who are ten times our number? We had to reach the trysting-place how we could, and it was natural that these boys should be looked upon as spies. Now then, where are you going to take us? The French soldiers cannot be far behind."

"No, sire; they are very near."

"And your men--where are they?"

"Out yonder, sire, between you and your pursuers."

"Then are we to continue our flight to-night?"

"I cannot tell yet, sire. Not if my men can hold the enemy at bay. It may be that they will fall back here, but I cannot say yet. I did intend to lead you through the forest and along a path I know by the mountain-side; but it is possible that the French are there before us."

"And are these your plans of which you boasted?" cried the King bitterly.

"No, sire," replied the _contrabandista_ bluntly. "Your Majesty's delay has upset all those."

The King made an angry gesticulation.

"How could I help it?" he said bitterly. "Man, we have been hemmed in on all sides. There, I spoke hastily. You are a tried friend. Act as you think best. You must not withdraw your help."

"Your Majesty trusts me, then, again?"

"Trust you? Of course," said the King, holding out his hand, which the smuggler took reverently and raised to his lips.

Then dropping it he turned sharply to the priest and the two prisoners.

"All a mistake, my friends. There," he added, with a smile, "I see you are not afraid;" and noting Punch's questioning look, he patted him on the shoulder before turning to Pen again. "Where are your guns?" he said.

Pen pointed up to the loft.

"Get them, then, quickly. We shall have to leave here now."

He had hardly spoken before a murmur arose and swords were drawn, for there was a quick step outside, a voice cried "_El rey_!" and one of the smuggler's followers pressed through to whisper a few words.

"Ah!" cried the recipient, who turned and said a few words in Spanish to the King, who rose to his feet, drew his rough cloak around him, and stood as if prepared for anything that might come.

Just then Pen's voice was heard, and, quite free now, Punch stepped to the door and took the two muskets that were pa.s.sed down to him. Then Pen descended with the cartouche-boxes and belts, and handed one to Punch in exchange for a musket, and the two lads stood ready.

The smuggler smiled approval as he saw his young friends' prompt action, and nodded his head.

"Can you walk?" he said.

Pen nodded.

"And can you fire a few shots on our behalf?"

"Try us," replied Pen. "But it rather goes against the grain after what we have received. You only came in time."

"Yes, I know," replied the smuggler. "But there are many mistakes in war, and we are all friends now."

The _contrabandista_ turned from him sharply and hurried to the door, where another of his followers appeared, who whispered a few words to him, received an order, and stepped back, while his leader turned to the father and said something, which resulted in the old man joining the two lads and pressing their hands, looking at them sadly.