The Black Box 16

The Black Box 16

"Well or ill, ’twas done!" I answered hotly; "and now, listen, thou

wicked, murderous jail-bird: before this time to-morrow, the law shall

have both you and your accursed master by the heels."

 

"Ah, say you so?" quoth Tubal Ammon, with a mocking grin. "Well, now,

the law is what I take no great account of. It may be well enough for

some; but me it neither helps nor hinders, therefore, I say, it comes

not in my reckoning."

 

"That being so," I thundered, whipping out my sword, "I will dispense

with it and settle with you now!"

 

With that I sprang into the hollow bent on killing him, but even as I

did so, his hands came from behind him, and in them I beheld the little

bow with one of its poisoned arrows ready fitted to the string.

 

"Stop!" said he. "I give thee warning. Truly this will not carry far,

some twenty paces maybe; but come against me and I will promise thee

sure death within an hour. Go back, or die! Which shall it be, friend?

Choose!"

 

I did so instantly; for this was like waging warfare with the devil, not

with man. Shuddering with horror I leapt back to the crest and once

more faced my enemy.

 

"You have chosen wisely, friend," said he.

 

"I have chosen as a man must choose when matched against a cruel,

murderous demon such as you," I answered.

 

"Well, now, there is some truth in that," replied the shameless knave.

 

"Yes, but more in this," I put in fiercely. "Listen Tubal Ammon, limb

of Satan, as you surely are! Standing here I utterly defy you, dare you,

as an honest man may dare the devil! Do your worst or best, I care not!

Nay, I flout both you and your accursed master with those murderous

plans which I have overheard this night. I care no more for them or you

than that!"

 

Here I shook my sword at him, and having sheathed it with a loud,

emphatic smack, turned and strode down the bank and made for home.

 

That I was far from easy as to what lay behind me needs no saying, and

doubtless it was this that made me hurry when I reached the level

ground. Hurry, at least, I did, with long, quick strides; and thus, with

a moon to light the way, I should have reached The Havering (whose

chimneys rose above the distant trees) in no time, but for the wicked

wiles of Tubal Ammon.

 

I had left him standing, bow in hand, when I turned my back upon the

ridge; and it seemed to me assured that ere he moved he would gather up

the gold that yet remained strewn upon the grass: so much seemed certain

in a man so greedy, and, by way of proving it, I more than once glanced

cautiously behind me.

 

I had thus gone perhaps a hundred yards, when suddenly I heard what

sounded like the gentle clink of coins.

 

Turning, I drew my sword and looked back, listening carefully, but there

was nothing to be seen or heard. The night was still as death, and so,

perhaps, thought I, the sound of Ammon gathering up his gold had carried

thus far.

 

At any rate, I saw no reason for alarm, and therefore, with my sword

still drawn in readiness, strode on again a little quicker.

 

Another dozen yards or so, then--chink! chink! chink! Yes, there could

be no doubt about it; and ’twas nearer this time.

 

Remembering my experience with the oak tree, I went on a few more steps

as though unheeding, then turned sharply round. The plan succeeded

well; for there, sure enough, some fifty yards away, I saw a head pop

down behind a gorse bush.

 

And then, as in a flash, I saw it all. This was Tubal Ammon’s latest

plan for dealing death; this was why he had remained and waited, and

allowed me to depart, as it appeared, without the least concern. I

understood. He had meant to follow me in stealth--to creep upon me from

behind, and shoot me in the back!

 

On realizing this I broke out in a sweat of fear and horror. I am no

coward, and vow that had it been a clean, straight sword-fight, man to

man, I would have waited for my foe without a qualm. But to be done to

death in that heathenish and most atrocious fashion was utterly beyond

me. I could not face it. Sheathing my sword I turned and fled for my

very life.

 

A low, fierce cry, and the pad of swiftly-running feet broke out behind.

Ammon was after me. Taking a quick, back shoulder glance, I saw him

coming like the wind. His feet seemed scarce to touch the ground. It

was as though the Evil One himself were in pursuit. Never before, I

trow, had such a breathless race ’twixt life and death gone forward on

those ancient, wave-washed cliffs.

 

Putting forth all the strength and length of limb which God had given

me, I strove to win, but all in vain. The light-toed villain gained

upon me every yard, the clink of gold grew nearer, louder, every moment,

until there could not have been twenty yards between us, and I could

even hear his hissing breath. At any moment now the poisonous prick

might come. The thought was unendurable. Better turn round and face

sure death than wait for it to strike me from behind, I knew not when.

 

With this thought in my head, I leapt aside, and such was Ammon’s speed

that he had gone flying past a good ten yards ere he could stop himself;

then, as he turned, I drew my sword out and rushed at him. But he was

all too quick for me; with one great, cat-like spring, he saved himself,

so that my upraised weapon clave the air: then, as I turned to face him,

I saw his evil eye beyond the little bow as he took a hurried, deadly

aim.

 

Hiss! the murderous arrow struck me full in the breast and quivered

there, while by the sound of it, it had cut clean through to the bone.

 

I felt no pain--nay, not a prick--and yet, so certain was I that a slow

and hideous death would surely follow, that in the terror of that awful

moment my strength seemed to forsake me, my sword fell to the ground,

and thus I stood and stared at Tubal Ammon, as some dumb stricken beast

might at the giver of its death-blow. I saw his drooping eyelids rise

and fall, his body quivered for a moment, then, with a ravening cry, he

sprang upon me.

 

So fierce and sudden was his rush that I had no chance to pick my sword

up, and as he leapt upon me I was driven staggering backwards for a yard

or two. Then such a fight began beneath that staring moon as makes me

shudder when I think upon it.

 

[Illustration: "THEN SUCH A FIGHT BEGAN AS MAKES ME SHUDDER WHEN I THINK

UPON IT"]

 

My strength must have been three times that of Ammon’s in the way of

common wrestling, but so close and snake-like were his methods that from

the first he had the best of it. His legs and arms wound round me like

the tentacles of an octopus, every moment tightening with a crushing,

suffocating power.

 

In vain I struck and tore and wrenched: he seemed to have no flesh to

bruise, no bones to break; a thing of steel and hide had not been more

impervious to blows. His fetid breath was on my face, his cruel eyes

were close to mine; it was a very nightmare of a fight, in which all

skill and knowledge counted for nothing and were powerless to avail.

 

Thus to and fro we swayed like one, first this way and then that, until

my strength and breath began to fail by reason of the hopeless, stifling

struggle. With one last desperate wrench I tried in vain to cast the

clinging demon from me. His bony hand shot out and gripped me by the

throat, his left leg wound about my right, I staggered for a moment,

then fell crashing backward. My head struck something hard, the moon

shot zigzag down the sky, and with it went the grinning face of Tubal

Ammon. Black darkness followed.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER IX*

 

*The Shadow of Death*

 

 

"Coome, now, zur, another soop o’ this and you’m a man agen."

 

The words fell on my muffled ears as though the voice were calling from

a distance; then the murmur of the sea broke in upon me like a sullen

roar, as, with a wild, bewildering rush I rose to life again.

 

And thus I found that I was sitting up (or lolling like a sack of flour

were better words for it), with a knee and arm behind me, while my head,

which ached abominably, lay back upon a shoulder. So much I made out in

that first dim gleam of consciousness, but for the rest of it I was

still half-dazed and could not think.

 

"Another drop--joost one, zur," urged the voice again.

 

Something (a leathern bottle, as I found out afterwards) was pressed

against my lips. I drew upon it with a will, then nearly choked. Hot,

burning stuff it was, that sent the blood a-dancing through iny veins

like wildfire.

 

"Brandy!" I gasped, as soon as breath would let me.

 

"Aye, aye, you’m right, zur. Brandy it be--best French, too."

 

The cloud of black bewilderment was passing--the voice was now familiar.

Glancing up I met the keen grey eyes of Daniel Ratlaw (or Rat as he was

called), the greatest thorn in Dassell’s side, because he was the king of cargo runners.