The Fugitives: The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ to finger it. He was a splendid player. He used sometimes to go to the back of the door when we had a small blow-out, an’ astonish the company by playin’ up unexpectedly. He was great at Scotch tunes—specially the slow ones, like this.”

      He put the little instrument to his lips again, and let it nestle, as it were, in his voluminous beard, as he drew from it the pathetic strains of “Wanderin’ Willie,” to the evidently intense enjoyment of Ebony, who regarded music as one of the chief joys of life—next, perhaps, to cooking!

      But Mark and Ebony were not the only listeners to that sweet strain. Just outside the mouth of the cave there stood a man, who, to judge from the expression of his face, was as much affected by the music as the negro. Though he stood in such a position as to be effectually screened from the view of those within, a gleam of reflected light fell upon his figure, showing him to be a tall, handsome man in the prime of life. He was clothed in what may be styled a mixed European and native costume, and a gun on which he rested both hands seemed to indicate him a hunter. He carried no other weapon, except a long knife in his girdle. The mixed character of his garb extended also to his blood, for his skin, though dark and bronzed from exposure, was much lighter than that of most natives of the island, and his features were distinctly European. Quiet gravity was the chief characteristic of his countenance, and there was also an expression of profound sadness or pathos, which was probably caused by the music.

      When Hockins finished his tune the three friends were almost petrified with astonishment—not unmingled with alarm—as they beheld this man walk coolly into the cave, rest his gun on the side of it, and sit gravely down on the opposite side of the fire.

      The first impulse of our three friends, of course, was to spring up, but the action of the man was so prompt, and, withal, so peaceful, that they were constrained to sit still.

      “Don’t be alarmed. I come as a friend. May I sit by your fire?”

      He spoke in good English, though with a decidedly foreign accent.

      “You are welcome, since you come as a friend,” said Mark, “though I must add that you have taken us by surprise.”

      “Well now, stranger,” said Hockins, putting his musical instrument in his pocket, “how are we to know that you are a friend—except by the cut o’ your jib, which, I admit, looks honest enough, and your actions, which, we can’t deny, are peaceable like?”

      The seaman put this question with a half-perplexed, half-amused air. The stranger received it without the slightest change in his grave aspect.

      “You have no other means of knowing,” he replied, “except by my ‘jib’ and my actions.”

      “Dat’s a fact, anyhow,” murmured Ebony.

      “Who are you, and where do you come from?” asked Mark.

      “I am an outlaw, and I come from the forest.”

      “That’s plain-speakin’, an’ no mistake,” said Hockins, with a laugh, “an’ deserves as plain a return. We can’t say exactly that we are outlaws, but we are out-an’-outers, an’ we’re going through the forest to—to—Anty-all-alive-O! or some such name—the capital, you know—”

      “Antananarivo,” suggested the outlaw.

      “That’s it! That’s the name—I couldn’t recall,” said Mark, quickly. “We are going there, if we can only find the way.”

      “I know the way,” returned the outlaw, “and my reason for coming here is to offer to show it you.”

      “Indeed! But how came you to know our intentions, and what makes you take so much interest in us?” asked Mark, with a look of suspicion.

      “My reason for being interested in you,” returned the stranger, “is a matter with which you have nothing to do. How I came to know your intentions it is easy to explain, for I have followed you from the sea-coast step by step. I saw you escape from the savages, saw you frightened out of the cave by my friends the outlaws, who dwell in it, followed you while you traversed the forest, listened to your conversations, witnessed your exploit with the bull, and observed you when you helped and bandaged the wounded native.”

      It would be difficult to describe the looks or feelings with which the three friends received this information. Ebony’s eyes alone would have taken at least half-an-hour of the pencil to portray.

      “But—but—why?” stammered Mark.

      “Never mind the why,” continued the outlaw, with a pleasant look. “You see that I know all about you—at least since you landed—and I also know that you have been several times in unseen danger, from which I have shielded you. Now, you have arrived at a part of the forest which is swarming with brigands, into whose hands you are sure to fall unless I am with you. I therefore come to offer myself as your guide. Will you have me?”

      “It seems to me,” returned Mark, with something of scorn in his tone, “that we have no choice, for you have us at your mercy—we cannot refuse. I suppose you are the brigand chief, and are guarding us for some sinister purpose of your own.”

      “I said not that I was a brigand,” returned the stranger, quietly; “I said I was an outlaw. What else I am, and my motives of action, I choose not to tell. You say truly—I have you in my power. That is one reason why I would befriend you, if you will trust me.” The outlaw rose up as he spoke.

      There was such an air of quiet dignity and evident sincerity in the man that Mark was strongly impressed. Rising promptly, he stretched his hand across the fire, saying, “We will trust you, friend, even though we were not in your power.”

      The outlaw grasped the youth’s hand with a gratified look.

      “Now,” he added, as he took up his gun, “I will go. In the morning at day-break I will return. Sleep well till then.”

      With something like a courtly salute, the mysterious stranger left them, and disappeared into the depths of the forest.

      Chapter Five.

      The Outlaw’s Friends. Threatened Danger curiously Averted

      As might be supposed, the unexpected appearance of the outlaw, as well as his sudden departure, tended somewhat to interfere with the sleep which he had wished the travellers at parting, and the night was far advanced before they grew tired of wondering who he could be, speculating as to where he came from, and commenting on his personal appearance. In short, at the close of their discourse, they came to the conclusion which was well embodied in the remark of Ebony, when he said, “It’s my opinion, founded on obsarvashun, dat if we was to talk an tink de whole night long we would come no nearer de troot, so I’ll turn in.”

      He did turn in accordingly, and, after exhausting the regions of conjecture, the powers of speculation, and the realms of fancy, Mark and Hockins followed his example.

      One consequence of their mental dissipation was that they slept rather beyond the hour of day-break, and the first thing that recalled the two white men to consciousness was the voice of their black comrade exclaiming:—

      “Ho! hi! hallo! I smells a smell!”

      They lifted their three heads simultaneously and beheld the outlaw sitting calmly beside the fire roasting steaks.

      For the first time the mysterious stranger smiled—and it was a peculiarly sweet half-grave СКАЧАТЬ