CHAPTER XXIV
THE PRISONER
"Well, what do you want? Who are you?"
Gus felt his heart almost leap in his bosom. The voice may have been alittle huskier, with an accent of suffering and despair, but it wasrecognizable.
"Keep very quiet, Tony. I'm not supposed to be here, but out yonder,guarding the path. Paid to do it, you understand? But lie low untilto-morrow. Then----"
"But tell me; I seem--I--who can you be? Oh, what----?"
"Oh, you don't know me, sure enough. I'm Gus, Tony--Gus Grier. BillBrown and I are down here to get you. We--, but that must keep. Lie low,old chap. I've got to get away now and go awfully careful, but it'll beall right----"
"Oh, Gus! My friend Gus! You here and for me? I believed the world--butno matter now. Oh, my good friend Gus, you will not never give up? Youwill--oh, my friend----"
"Go slow, Tony, not so loud! Do you think we would come this far andthen go back on you? I must get away now--right off. Lie low."
Gus felt an almost irresistible desire to break open the window or thedoor at once and get his friend out. Then, if need be, fight their wayto safety, but common sense told him that the certain noise of doingsuch a thing would be heard and perhaps his effort defeated, with greatdanger to himself, and Tony, too. If there had been but one guard oreven two--but three were too great odds.
Back he went to his position, and there he watched for the rest of theday, elated with his discovery of Tony, saddened by the delay, grinningat the thought of the Malatesta and their confederate compelled towatch, almost motionless, for the supposed prowlers.
At last darkness threatened. Those small banditti, the mosquitoes, asbloody-minded as the Malatesta, began to sing and to stab. The assassinowls made mournful cadences in keeping with the scene and itshalf-tragic human purposes, while the whippoorwills voiced the oneelement of brightness and hope.
The young fellow in the narrow, dark, log-walled cabin, with its barredwindow and padlocked oaken door, had been long disconsolate. But now,for the first time in many days, hope came to him as he walked back andforth, fighting pests, still tortured in mind, fearing failure,wondering, praying, yet proud and never beseeching, waiting for anotherand perhaps a brighter day.
For three months he had been a prisoner, waking from a fevered sleepafter a long illness, his splendid constitution alone serving to doctorhim, he had found himself mysteriously at sea, in the locked cabin of atossing yacht that knew no harbor of rest. He had been denied even thechance to talk to, or to know his jailers. He had managed to keep aliveon the rough, often unpalatable food poked under his door. There was noresponse to his callings, hammerings or threats. A less balanced,hopeful, kindly, gentle fellow would have gone insane.
Then, gagged and bound, he had been dumped about almost like a sack ofwheat and landed in this horrible place alongside of which his prisonroom in the yacht was a palace. Now here for the first time had come afriendly voice, that of more than a friend, indeed, and he had againseized upon hope.
Yes, he would lie low, be patient, hope on and wait.