CHAPTER V.
THE FIRST SHOT.
Mrs. Orban's words were brave, her whole bearing courageous, butshe was more frightened than she had ever been in her life before.It is doubtful whether she really believed her own assertion thatnothing more would happen that night, though she tried to. As amatter of fact her prophecy was correct. Scared by the screams ofthe women, the unpleasant guest must have promptly run away. He wasprobably alone, and, uncertain as to who was in the house, had fledfrom the chance of being peppered by a revolver.
It was found in the morning that nothing was missing except theservants' watches, their few small trinkets that were lying on thedressing-table, and Mary's rings. The extraordinary silence withwhich he had perpetrated the theft, his skill in taking the ringsoff Mary's hand as it lay outside the coverlet, were not at allunprecedented--the natives were known to be silent and subtle assnakes in their doings.
Mrs. Orban sent Eustace down to the plantation as soon as she knewevery one would be astir. Mr. Ashton, the field manager, wassuffering from fever, so that it was useless to go to him; but onhearing the story, Robertson, the chief engineer, returned with theboy to look into the matter.
Investigations were in vain; the man had left no tracks around thehouse, no footprints on the veranda.
The servants were so terrified that they declared they would notstay another night in the house. They wanted to be sent to Cooktownimmediately--a five days' journey by sea. Robertson, a big burlyScotsman, roughly told them that such a thing was impossible. Theycould not get away for another week, when the schooner might beexpected to bring provisions. He lectured them on their cowardicein wanting to run away and leave their mistress alone at such atime, but the girls would not listen to reason; they said theywould hire horses and ride all the way to the first civilized placethey could find.
Then Mrs. Orban tried persuasion. Had they not better wait at leastto see whether anything could be heard of their lost possessions?She would offer a reward to any one finding the thief or restoringthe stolen goods to their owners--the offer should be made knownall over the plantation.
The suggestion carried the day, and the bargain was made. Mrs.Orban felt that at all costs she must keep the maids until Mr.Orban's return, for the work and the solitude would have been toomuch for her to stand, brave as she had proved herself to be.
The offering of a reward was greatly against Robertson's advice. Hepointed out that it would only prove an incentive to furtherrobbery. The plantation hands were an unprincipled lot, and ifthey discovered that they could get money by stealing things andbringing them back, as if they had discovered them in thepossession of some one else, there would be no end to the thefts,and no tangible means of getting hold of the thieves unless theywere caught red-handed.
But so anxious was Mrs. Orban to keep the servants that shedisregarded Robertson's opinion, and the reward was duly offered.The engineer had one proposal to make, which was accepted. WithMrs. Orban's leave, he said, he, with his wife and two littlechildren, would come up the hill and sleep in the house until Mr.Orban's return. There would be safety in numbers; and if the nightvisitor came again, some one to deal with him better than byscreaming at him.
In spite of the fuller house, and the fact that Robertson'seight-year-old boy was sleeping in Peter's bed that night, Eustacedid not feel particularly happy in the hours of darkness beforehim, after the party had broken up and said good-night.
The door between his mother's room and his own was left open, byway of companionship for them both, but the boy was so overtired asto be restless and unable to go to sleep. To his excited fancythere were unusual sounds about. The creaking of unwarping boards,the soughing of the night breeze round the house, even SandyRobertson turning round in his bed, with an impatient but sleepyflump at the heat, were noises that set his hair on end and madehim feel cold and damp all over again and again. Once or twice hestole from his bed to peer into his mother's room, but she alwaysseemed asleep; or he would look stealthily out of the window, as ifhe could possibly have seen anything in the dark.
Robertson, with his wife and baby, was in Nesta's room at the otherside of the house. It occurred to Eustace that if anything didhappen--anything needing immediate action--Robertson was very faraway and ungetatable. The boy sat up in bed hugging his knees,making feverish plans as to what he should do supposing the nightvisitor came again and he should see him.
Unknown to his mother, Eustace had taken the revolver he had beenentrusted with the night before to bed with him. He meant to sleepwith it under his pillow, but every time he got up to make hisinvestigations he took it, gripped tightly in his hand ready forimmediate use.
When the first gray light stole into the room at last, Eustacebegan to feel drowsy. Almost against his will he lay back on hispillow and fell asleep. He had determined to watch the nightthrough, but a great heaviness overpowered him, and he lay like alog.
It seemed to him he had hardly closed his eyes--indeed, it cannothave been much later, for there was but little difference in thelight--when a resounding pistol report rang through the silenthouse. Eustace awoke with an instant consciousness of having slepton his self-imposed sentry work. He felt queer and oddly shaken as,with a cry of dismay, he sprang out of bed and rushed into hismother's room.
"Oh, what is it?" exclaimed Mrs. Orban, frightened out of her witsby the noise.
She stared at Eustace, who stood, revolver in hand, gazing blanklyround the room.
"I don't know," he began, stopped abruptly, and added in a chokedvoice, "Oh, look! look!"
He was staring towards the window. Outside on the veranda,crouching on all fours in the dusk, was a dark figure. With astrange, sudden movement it raised itself and stretched out an armtowards the room--standing lank, tall, and horribly sinister.
Without a moment's hesitation Eustace raised his hand and fired.There was a splintering of glass, a wild howl of pain, and thefigure dropped like a stone.
"Eustace," cried Mrs. Orban in a horrified voice, "what have youdone?"
"I had to fire first," returned the boy in an odd, sullen tone.
The figure outside moved, and with a succession of dreadful yellsbegan rapidly crawling along the veranda towards the stairs.
At the bedroom door appeared the entire household, Robertsonleading the way, his usually ruddy face ghastly with astonishment.
"What on earth is happening?" he asked, staring at Eustace and hismother.
"I've shot something," Eustace faltered. "It is going down thesteps--"
Robertson waited to hear no more. Seizing the boy's revolver, hetook a short cut through the house for the veranda steps.
"What was it?" asked the frightened women, as they huddled togetherin the doorway.
"I don't know," Eustace answered--"a black-fellow of some sort. Iwonder if I--I killed him."
There had fallen a sudden silence outside; the awful howling hadceased.
Eustace sat down on the edge of his mother's bed feeling sick andshivery. To have killed a man--a white fellow, black-fellow, anysort of fellow; it was horrible!
The most extraordinary sounds arose from the veranda. Had Robertsongone mad, or what could be the matter with him?
"Ho-ho-ho! ha-ha-ha! ho-ho-ho-ho!" he roared.
Every one stood as if paralyzed. There was something terriblyuncanny about the laughter. It seemed so ill-timed, so jarring andunkind.
Robertson appeared at the broken window.
"Upon my word, Eustace," exclaimed the Scotsman, "it's the bestjoke ever I heard or saw. Come and look at your black-fellow and beproud of yourself."
"I can't!" said Eustace, his knees knocking together as heattempted to stand, and he fell back on the bed.
"Oh, what is it, Mr. Robertson?" asked Mrs. Orban.
"Why, it's nothing but a miserable, half-starved dingo-dog thatmust have prowled up to the house in search of food," Robertsonsaid. "You marked him well--I will say that for you, Eustace. Hewas dead before I could reach the steps."
br /> "Thank God it was not a human being," exclaimed Mrs. Orban.
"A dingo!" cried Eustace, sitting up suddenly with a perplexedexpression in his eyes. "Then who fired the first shot? I mean theone that woke me."
The relief faded from Mrs. Orban's face. It was a startlingquestion, an uncomfortable reflection that the first shot had notbeen accounted for.
"Yes, by the way," she said, "there was that other shot. It seemedto come from Eustace's room, and I was frightened out of my wits. Iwas thankful to see him safe and sound a minute later."
"I heard two shots distinctly," Robertson said, looking grave; "butof course I fancied Eustace had fired twice at the dingo."
"Not I," said Eustace. "I never saw the beast till I came intomother's room; and I didn't fire till it stood up against thewindow and looked like a human being."
"H'm," said Robertson. "It strikes me I had better have a lookround. Just stay here till I come back."
The women all looked scared. It was not a pleasant idea that theperson who fired that first shot was possibly lurking aboutsomewhere in the shadows. They listened breathlessly as Robertsonmade the tour of the house, momentarily expecting a freshcommotion, the firing of shots and a struggle. Mrs. Robertson wasdreadfully upset, and held her two children close; the maidshuddled together in a corner. Mrs. Orban stood, revolver in hand,near Becky's bed with such quiet dignity that somehow Eustace wassteadied.
The chances were that, finding himself hunted by Robertson, the manwould try to effect an escape on to the veranda this way as a shortcut to the steps.
If the visitor were the same as that of the night before, it wasall important he should be captured--otherwise this disagreeablenight raid might be repeated.
But no shots and no sound of a scuffle were heard. Robertsonreturned to say that he had investigated every nook and cranny thata man might have hidden in, and found no trace of any one havingentered the house anywhere.
The little gathering stared about with questioning, bewilderedeyes, and no one felt any happier for the news. The fact remainedthat a shot had been fired by a mysterious being who had apparentlyvanished into air. For what purpose had that shot been fired? Atwhat? At whom?
"I can't make it out," said Robertson. "There seems no sense in afellow coming and letting off fireworks in the middle of the nightfor nothing."
"Perhaps it is a trick of some sort," suggested Mrs. Orban; "someone trying to frighten us. But I don't see that that is possible."
"Nor I," said Robertson. "People aren't in the habit of playingpractical jokes without some purpose in them hereabouts. All thesame, it doesn't seem much good all of you staying up like this. Ifyou'll just get back to your beds, I'll watch for the rest of thenight. It may be a better way of trapping a chap, if he hasn't gotclean away by now. That is the most likely thing, of course--hisfirearm probably went off inadvertently as he was coming round theveranda, and he knew he had done for himself, so made tracks atonce. He might come back as soon as he thought the house was quietagain, but I don't expect him."
No one felt much inclined to take Robertson's practical advice. Atthe same time it seemed foolish to stay up and exhaust themselvesfor nothing, and Mrs. Orban agreed that every one should go to bed.
Eustace went very reluctantly. He would have liked to stay up andshare Robertson's watch like a man; it seemed so childish to besent to bed after taking part in such an excitement. He wonderedwhat Nesta would have thought of it had she been there.
"Goodness, wouldn't she have been scared!" he reflected. "I dowonder what she would have done."
At least there would be plenty to tell her when she came home. Shemight be having a jolly time; but Eustace guessed, when it was allover, she would be disappointed at having been out of suchadventures as these. There was a sort of glow about the realizationthat they were such very real adventures--experiences that did notcome every day and to every one. The only stupid part about it washaving to go to bed.
Mrs. Orban felt no glow in her realization of the situation. Shelonged for her husband, and wondered how she was going to bear hisabsence much longer. If this sort of thing were to go on she feltthat it would break her nerve entirely.
Having kissed Eustace and sent him away, she felt too restless toget into bed. Sleep she knew would be impossible; and taking abook, she was just sitting down with the set purpose of makingherself read awhile, in order to quiet her mind, when a sharp cryreached her from the next room.
"Mother! mother!" Eustace cried, "come here--quick!"