His hand went to his trigger suddenly, and he fell on his face in the undergrowth, for he had caught sight of a native some few paces away.

He seemed to be leaning against a tree, and was partly in the open. A second glance, however, told that he was dead, for his head lay on his breast, and only the tree which supported him prevented his falling from his knees.

"Looks as though he had knelt to take a shot, and had been killed in the act," thought d.i.c.k. "He will be fired at again, perhaps. One of our men will see him, and not knowing that he has already ceased to be an enemy will fire. It would be safer for me to crawl on a little."

Once more he sneaked through the forest, his senses all alert, for now, at any moment, he might come full upon the enemy. Suddenly he heard voices, and at the sound crouched on his face. Then there came the rustle of vines and leaves, the soft tread of naked feet, and the dull blow of something harder striking the trunk of a tree. The voices grew louder, and, to d.i.c.k's consternation, they seemed to be coming directly towards him. He looked about him like a hunted animal, saw an immense cotton tree with wide-spreading roots, just such another as had sheltered the party during the storm which they had encountered in the forest, and promptly crept into the narrow archway beneath. He was barely in time. Hardly had he squatted in the shadow, and found an aperture for his rifle, when a group of natives came into view, slashing the vines and creepers with their knives. And in their midst, his wide-awake hat and sallow features making him conspicuous, appeared James Langdon, his face convulsed, while his hands and teeth were clenched with rage. He could hardly speak, but turned every now and again towards the stockade and shook his fists, while he growled out an oath.

Once more d.i.c.k's rifle went to his shoulder, his cheek lay down on the stock, and he aligned the sights dead upon the half-caste's forehead.

One pressure of the finger, the gentlest pull, and the man would be slain. The temptation was great, the call for such action clear, and yet, and yet--

"Be a sportsman," whispered d.i.c.k to himself. "Shoot a fellow in cold blood, d.i.c.k Stapleton, even though he be a rogue and a robber? Never!"

He lowered the rifle, while the half-caste, all unconscious of his danger, s.n.a.t.c.hed his hat from his head, and called a halt. It was clear that he was baffled. One could see it on his ugly, resentful face.

There was a scowl in his every look, while his eyes, when he turned them towards the stockade, flashed in a manner which boded little good to the defenders, should they come into his power.

"They have us beaten, comrades," he suddenly exclaimed, while at the words the scowl became even more p.r.o.nounced. "This white man is the cause of our failure. He must have suspected, else how comes it that when we arrived they bolted to their lair? There was a shout as we came from the trees, and then the men at the heads of the shafts began to wind for their lives. In two minutes they were all racing for the stockade, and when we got there they were safe, while their bullets were flying amongst us. It is that cursed Englishman!"

The bitterness of his misfortune seemed to overwhelm him, for he threw himself on the gra.s.s, muttering and beating his hands together. Then he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, for this half-caste had accustomed himself to the manners of Europeans, and lit it with a match.

"To add to our trouble, there is no gold to be had," he almost shouted.

"The dogs carried their day's takings to the stockade, where the remainder is stacked, I suppose. There are weeks of profit there, comrades; and we have heard that they have done well. Shall we retire now till our friends come to help us, or shall we make a second attempt?

In a day we can have a hundred men to aid us, and then there will be no doubt of success."

"While the booty will be the smaller, for the reason that it must be divided," added one of the natives.

"Which is better than losing more lives," exclaimed James Langdon.

"Besides, there will be plenty of booty for us all, for you know what is happening. We are on the way to Elmina. Your king is going to drive these white men out of the country, and that means plenty of loot for every man of us. But I will leave it to you. We will attack again now, for there are fifty of us, or we will make a ring round them, and hold them tight till our friends come. We have them safely, in any case."

d.i.c.k listened with all his ears. At the mention of reinforcements his heart sank into his boots, while the news that war with Britain had broken out came as a shock to him. True, there had been grave rumours of trouble before he and the expedition had left the coast. But it was expected that the difficulty would be settled amicably. If there was war, he was cut off from his friends. In all probability the enemy were already between him and the coast, and, in any case, they would make for the river. It was a serious situation, and had he been in any other place, and not beset by foes, d.i.c.k would then and there have sat down and thought deeply, for, young and inexperienced though he was, his wits had been sharpened by the responsibility thrown upon him. He was naturally a shrewd young fellow; but till he came to Africa he had never been called upon to settle questions of great moment. He had hardly given a command in his life, save to the boys in his company in the cadet corps at school, and there, there had been no difficulty about the matter. Here, in the heart of the Ashanti forest, it was all so different. And yet d.i.c.k did not fall short of the estimate his employers had formed of him. Long before they had departed from the mine they had approved, time and again, their appointment of him as their agent.

"He is born for command," Mr Pepson had said. "He is quiet, and inclined to be cool. He will not be hurried. I've watched him. Rather than give a hasty decision he will slip away for a time, and then one sees him smoking his pipe and evidently cogitating. That's the sort of lad I can rely on. Ready, if there is need to act in haste, but given to reflection, weighing his words, and venturing no opinion unless he has considered beforehand. As to courage--well, that he has, we know."

Meinheer Van Somering had invariably replied that d.i.c.k was indeed brave, and who could realise the fact if he--a Dutchman--did not do so?

But under the present circ.u.mstances who could give thought to any question? d.i.c.k was crouching beneath the archway of roots within easy reach of a band of cutthroats who had made an attack upon his stockade.

And in their midst was the ruffian who had systematically robbed his father, and who had wound up his crimes by robbing d.i.c.k, and then making a murderous attack upon the expedition. Would James Langdon spare him if he happened to discover his whereabouts? Would he cause the forest to be searched if he suspected that hidden within it was the youth whom he had wronged, and against whom he was so embittered? If d.i.c.k had had any doubts, the next few words of the miscreant relieved his mind of them, and set the perspiration again pouring from his forehead.

"Yes," said the half-caste, reflecting. "Our course is clear. We have failed to rush them, thanks to this white man and his precautions. I felt that he would be suspicious of a second attack, and would be ready for us. Then we will surround the stockade, for what hope have we of rushing the place? They are armed with sniders, my comrades, and can fire three shots to our one. Then they are under perfect cover, while we are exposed in the open. No, no, it would be foolish to attack again. It would be wasting lives. We will sit down and wait for our friends, and when they come, ah! then there will be a different tale.

These miners shall hand over their gold, and this white man--what shall we do with him? Think of your brothers who are slain!"

"We shall be able to deal with him," answered one of the natives. "We can send him back to k.u.masi, and there he will be slain as a sacrifice.

Yes, it will be good to appease our juju with the blood of a white man."

d.i.c.k had heard of the frightful rites perpetrated at k.u.masi. He knew that these Ashantis were a warlike race, who were forever battling with their neighbours, and the tale had come to the coast, a tale the truth of which had been proved time and again, of a hideous bowl, of an executioner's heavy knife, and of the manner in which the captives were killed. He shuddered when he imagined that he was so near to such a fate. That within a little while he might be in the town of k.u.masi, and while thousands looked on, hooting and shouting for joy, and James Langdon mocked at him, eagerly watching for a sign that his captive quailed, while the executioner made ready, might be dragged to that awful bowl, forced to his knees, and have his head struck off at a blow, while his life's blood was caught in the receptacle. Yes, he had heard the details. It was said that many thousand wretched captives uttered their last sigh in this vile town of k.u.masi every year, and that King Koffee and his warriors sought constantly to increase the number. No wonder that he shuddered, that he crouched still lower, while his hands became clammy with fear. The thought unmanned him. These natives, with their leader, looked like ogres waiting to take his life, and he, all alone there, was so helpless. But a sudden movement brought the manhood that was within him to the fore again. A native fidgeted. Then he strolled from the band, and noticing the tree, came and sat down with his back leaning against it. d.i.c.k could hear his breathing. His own heart, as it thudded against his ribs, sounded even louder, and to him, in the extremity of his danger, it seemed that discovery was an accomplished fact. He gripped the rifle till the cords in his wrists stood out clearly. Then he directed the muzzle at the man's neck, while his finger went to the trigger.

"Then we will arrange our stations," cried James Langdon, suddenly, rising to his feet. "We will surround them so thoroughly that there can be no escape. Come, all of you, to the edge of the clearing, so that we may discuss the situation."

The native rose to his feet at once, to d.i.c.k's huge relief, while the whole band crept to the edge of the forest, and looked across at the stockade. In their centre was the half-caste, eager and confident, in complete command of his men, and though they were now farther away our hero could distinctly hear and understand his directions. The circle was indeed to be complete. Men were told off to occupy the summit of the rocky crest, from which they could look down upon the stockade. It would be a full moon that night, so that these natives could watch the surrounding country almost as completely as in the daytime. Others were ordered to occupy certain sc.r.a.ps of cover, with directions to fire at any one who showed above the stockade. And lastly, a second ring would encompa.s.s the inner one, for James Langdon would leave nothing to chance.

"We have a crafty fellow to deal with, and a big stake to win," he cried, as he glared across at the stockade. "There is gold there, my comrades, and there are men, too, to repay for the death of your brothers. True, they are of your own country, but they have defied you.

They are not fighters. They live for wealth, and run when their country has need of them. Think, too, of the white man. He would be a prize indeed in k.u.masi."

How much longer he would have continued to talk it would be unwise to guess, though there was little doubt that these natives under his leadership required no further encouragement. They were warriors of Ashanti, cruel-minded and blood-thirsty, and it was nothing to them whom they fought if they imagined they had a grievance. But there were others paying attention to that gathering. As the half-caste turned to see what effect his words had had, a single shot rang out crisply from the stockade, and a native standing beside him sprang into the air and fell dead on his face. There was a stampede at once, the gathering broke up and melted into the forest, leaving d.i.c.k alone, breathing more freely now that the danger was lessened.

"There is some one alert at the stockade," he said, with satisfaction.

"Some one who can shoot, too. Then I need not worry myself for the present. They will do well till I join them. But how is that to be done? Regain the stockade I must, but how, that is the question?"

It was a sufficiently knotty one, and not to be settled in a moment.

d.i.c.k reflected that he could still make for the launch and steam down the river, for it was hardly likely that she had been discovered, so well were the creek and the tiny tributary hidden. But then--

"Can't," he said, with decision. "There are the men and the stockade to be thought of. Besides, I have to think of the gold. I must get to the stockade and join my men. Then we can decide what course to take."

He lay in his hiding-place for hours, till the twilight came, and then he crept to the clearing and looked out to see if he could discover the position of the natives who formed the inner circle about the stockade.

He had heard a shot every now and again, and now as he stared from amidst the ferns and vines, he saw first one and then a dozen dusky prostrate figures, hiding behind boulders of large size, or ma.s.ses of bush which happened to lie in the open, and which they had been able to reach by stealthily crawling across to them upon their bellies. At the back of the stockade, seeming in that half light to stand on the very top of it, were more figures, half concealed, keeping watch upon the place.

"Very good," said d.i.c.k, as he lay in the bush. "I know where they are at least, and must try to avoid them. Go I must, and if any man comes in my way, why--"

He rose to his knees and drew the short sword with which Mr Pepson had provided him. Satisfied that it would easily free itself from the scabbard, he inspected his revolver and popped that back into its case.

Then his rifle went across his shoulder, and with a hitch he shortened the sling till there was no danger of the weapon swinging about. Half an hour later twilight had gone and darkness had settled down upon clearing and forest.

"This is my only chance," said d.i.c.k, as he rose to his feet. "There will be darkness for a few minutes, and then the moon will be up. I must make a bold dash for it."

He swung the rifle back on to his shoulders, drew his sword and revolver, and struck off across the clearing in the direction of the stockade.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

BESIEGERS AND BESIEGED.

It was intensely dark in the clearing, as our hero struck into it, but by contrast with the shadows in the depths of the forest it was light, so that he could see a few feet before him. He could distinguish vaguely the outline of the rocky crest near the summit of which the stockade was posted, and beyond it and to one side the dull black band of the encircling forest. In one direction there was a faint glimmer in the sky, the herald of the rising moon, while a glare rose above the stockade, not intense, to be sure, but sufficient to tell him that a fire was burning there.

"Then they are not alarmed," he whispered, in tones of delight. "They are cooking their evening meal, which reminds me that I am hungry and thirsty, too. I must move on. Hullo!"

He fell like a stone, and lay with his body pressed close to the ground, for his ear caught a sound, and his eye detected a figure on his right.

In that semi-darkness it looked huge and weird in shape, and might have been an ox or any other animal. But the low tones of men talking showed him that it must be the enemy, and caused him to grip his sword with extra determination.

"Hoot! Hoot!" Once more he heard the call of the night owl, the same cry as had awakened him when ascending the Pra, and which had aroused his suspicion. It seemed certain that this was the signal commonly used by the Ashantis, just as it had been for many and many a year by the Red Indians of America. "Hoot! Hoot!"

The call was repeated, and almost at once, from a point but a few yards nearer to the stockade, came the answer, "Hoot! Hoot!" Then the men advanced, and halted close to their comrade, while a few words of direction pa.s.sed. d.i.c.k could with pleasure have dropped through the earth, so great was his dismay and consternation. Then he could have shouted with delight.

"Just a bit of sheer good fortune," he thought. "Here was I advancing right on to one of the enemy, and these fellows gave me a warning. Very well. The hoot of the owl is the signal, and why should I not make it?

Why should I not follow these beggars on their rounds? They will be visiting the sentries, and I shall then know where all are. I will go a little way with them, and then slip through between two of the men."

It was a brilliant idea, and he set about carrying it out at once. He lifted his head and kept watch on the natives, while he listened to their conversation. Not that he could hear the words, for these men were experienced warriors, and they knew that a whisper carried far on such a still night. They conversed in the lowest of tones, and then moved on. "Hoot! Hoot!" The weird call again broke the silence, and was responded to. Then the native chiefs who were going the rounds moved on, and after them crept d.i.c.k, as silent and stealthy as a snake, one hand placed before the other, groping the ground to see that it was clear of twigs or other material which might betray his presence. Then the other would follow, and afterwards his knees would be drawn up beneath him, and he would repeat the whole process. "Hoot! Hoot!"

There it was again. A third sentry had been approached, but d.i.c.k could not see him even though he was so close.

"Which shows me clearly how difficult the task is," he thought. "But for those fellows going the rounds I should have walked right on to this batch of sentries, and then there would have been a row. Hullo! Some one else is on the alert."

He could have laughed, for as the natives went on their way and repeated their signal, the Ashanti miners in the stockade must have carefully listened. Then they thought they espied the enemy, standing against a piece of open ground which happened to be exceptionally light in colour.