Real Gold: A Story of Adventure. Fenn George Manville

but I daresay Diego has some spot marked out in his eye, for he has evidently been along here a good many times before.”

      Ten minutes later, as the snowy peaks which came into view began to grow of a bright orange in the western sunshine, one of the mules in front uttered a whinnying squeal, and the rest pricked up their ears and increased their pace.

      “Steady there! Wo-ho!” shouted John Manning. “Hadn’t we better sound a halt, sir, or some of ’em ’ll be over the side of the path.”

      “I think we may trust them; they smell grass or something ahead, and know it is their halting-place.”

      “But look at that brown ’un, sir; he’s walking right out from under his load.”

      A few hitches, though, and a tightening of the hide ropes, kept the loosened pack in its place; and soon after, to Perry’s great delight, the gorge opened out into a bright green valley, where, a snug, well-sheltered nook being selected, the mules were once more unloaded, and a fire lit. Then, thanks to John Manning’s campaigning cleverness, before the light on the mountain tops quite died out, they were seated at a comfortable meal, with a good fire crackling and burning between them and the Indians, wood for once in a way being fairly plentiful, there being a little forest of dense scrubby trees low down by the stream which coursed through the bottom of the valley.

      “Not quite such a savage-looking place, Master Perry,” said John Manning, when the colonel had taken his gun and gone for a final look round before they retired to their blankets on the hard ground.

      “Savage! Why, it’s beautiful,” cried Perry, who had been watching the colours die out on one snowy peak.

      “Yes, sir, I suppose it is,” said the man, shaking his head; “but we didn’t take all the trouble to see things look beautiful. We can do that at home. What I’m thinking is that the place don’t look healthy.”

      “Not healthy? Up here in the mountains?”

      “Tchah! I don’t mean that way, sir; I mean healthy for your pocket. This looks like a place where you might have a farm and gardens, and keep sheep. You’d never come here to search for di’monds, and sapphires, and things.”

      “N-no,” assented Perry.

      “O’ course not. We want good wild broken stone muddle over rocky places, where you have to let yourselves down with ropes.”

      “Or ride down on rocs’ backs, eh, John?”

      “Yes, sir, that’s your sort. We’ve passed several good wholesome-looking places that I should have liked to have hunted over; but of course the colonel knows best, and he is leading us somewhere for us to have a regular good haul. Tired, sir?”

      “Yes, pretty well, but one feels as if one could go on walking a long way up in these mountains.”

      “Well, sir, we’ve got every chance, and I’d just as soon walk as get across one of these mules, with your legs swinging, and the thin, wiry-boned crittur wriggling about under you. I always feel as if my one was groaning to himself, and looking out for a good place where he could thrust his hind-legs up and send me flying over his head into the air, where he could watch me turn somersaults till I got to the bottom.”

      “Oh, they’re quiet enough,” said Perry.

      “Oh, are they, sir? Don’t you tell me. My one never misses a chance of rubbing my leg up against a corner, and when he has done there, he goes to the other extreme and walks right along the edge, so that my other leg is hanging over the side; and if I look down, I get giddy, and expect that every moment over we shall both go.”

      “I tell you, they don’t mean anything,” cried Perry.

      “Then why does my one, as soon as he knows he has frightened me, begin to show his teeth, and laugh and wriggle his ears about, as if he were enjoying himself right down to the roots. I don’t believe these mules are any good, Master Perry, that I don’t, and as aforesaid, I always feel as if I’d rather walk.”

      Further conversation was put an end to by the return of the colonel, and soon after, leaving the Indians crouching near the fire, which they seemed reluctant to leave, the English party sought the corner which had been selected for their sleeping-place, rolled themselves in their blankets, and with valises for pillows, and their stores piled up for a shelter from the wind, they were not long in dropping off to sleep.

      Perry’s was sound enough at first, but after a time he began to dream and go through the troubles connected with crossing the swinging bridge again. He found himself half-way across, and then he could go no farther in spite of all his efforts, till, just as the condor was about to take advantage of his helplessness, and descend to fix its talons in the sides of his head and pick out his eyes, the Indian made a snatch at him, and dragged him across for him to awake with a start.

      It was all so real that his brow was wet with perspiration, but he settled what was the cause, and changed his position peevishly.

      “That comes of eating charqui late at night, and then lying on one’s back,” he muttered, and dropped off to sleep again directly.

      But only to begin dreaming again of the condor, which was floating overhead, spreading its wings quite thirty feet now; and there was the scene of the day repeated with exaggerations. For the Indian guide bent an immense bow, and sent an arrow as big as a spear whizzing through the air, to strike the huge bird, which swooped down close by, and looked at him reproachfully, as it said in a whisper: “I only came to bring back your knife.”

      Perry lay bound in the fetters of sleep, but all the same, his ears seemed to be open to outer impressions, for the words were repeated close to him, and he started up on to his elbow.

      “Who’s there? who spoke?” said a low firm voice close to him. “That you, Perry?”

      “Yes, father,” replied the boy, as he heard the ominous click-click of the double gun that lay by the colonel’s side.

      “What were you doing?”

      “Nothing, father. I just woke up and fancied I heard some one speak.”

      “There was a whisper, and some one brushed against me just before. Did you move from your place?”

      “No, father,” said Perry, feeling startled now.

      “Manning!”

      “Sir!”

      “Have you been moving?”

      “No, sir; fast asleep till you woke me, talking.”

      “Then some one has been visiting us,” whispered the colonel. “Hah! what’s that?”

      “Something rustling along yonder, sir.”

      Bang! bang! Both barrels were discharged with a noise which seemed to have awakened all the sleeping echoes of the mountains around their camp.

      Then, as the colonel hastily reloaded his piece, Perry and John Manning sprang up, each seizing his gun, and waited.

      “I missed him; but, whoever it is, he won’t come prowling about again. Follow me quickly. Stoop.”

      Bending down, they hurried across the few yards which intervened between them and the smouldering ashes of the fire, which, fanned now and then by the breeze sweeping along the valley, gave forth a faint phosphorescent-looking light, by which they could just make out the figures of the three Indians standing with their bows and arrows ready, as if about to shoot.

      “Which of you came over to us?” said the colonel in Spanish; but there was no reply, and the speaker stamped his foot in anger. “What folly,” he cried, “not to be able to communicate with one’s guide!”

      “Could it have been some one from the valley lower down?” whispered Perry, who then felt a curious startled sensation, for he recalled perfectly the words he had heard while asleep, or nearly so: “I only came to bring back your knife.”

      “Then it must have been the little Indian, and he could speak English after all.”

      Accusatory words rose to Perry’s