Real Gold: A Story of Adventure. Fenn George Manville

learn.”

      “That was it; and they egged Mariniaz on till he called me an English beast, and that upset me and made my tongue loose.”

      “Well?”

      “He said he knew from the first I had a spite against him, and had been trying to knock him over with the ball; and, feeling what a lie it was, I grew pepper, and told him it wasn’t the first time an English ball had knocked over a Spaniard, for I got thinking about our old chaps playing bowls when the news came about the Armada.”

      “Yes?” cried Perry, for Cyril had stopped.

      “Well, then, he turned more yellow than usual, and he gave me a backhanded smack across the face.”

      “And what did you do?” cried Perry hotly, for the boy once more stopped.

      “Oh, I went mad for a bit.”

      “You – went mad?”

      “I suppose so. My mother said I must have been mad, so I expect I was.”

      “But you don’t tell me,” cried Perry impatiently. “What did you do?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Yes, you do: tell me.”

      “I can’t recollect, and I never could. I only know I turned very hot and saw sparks, and that there was a regular banging about, and sometimes I was up and sometimes I was down; and then all at once I was standing there, with Mariniaz lying on the ground crying, and with his nose bleeding. Another chap was sitting holding his handkerchief to one eye, and two more were being held up by some of the players, who were giving one of them some water to drink, while the other was showing them a tooth which he held in his fingers.”

      “Then you’d whacked four of them?” cried Perry excitedly.

      “I don’t know,” said Cyril, with his face screwed up. “I suppose I had been knocking them about a bit, and they wouldn’t fight any more. They all said I was an English savage, and that I ought to be sent out of the place; and then I began to get a bit cooler, and felt sorry I had knocked them all about so much.”

      “I don’t see why you should,” cried Perry.

      “But I did. It made such an upset. There was no end of a bother. My mother cried about it when I went home, and said I should never look myself again; and when my father came home and saw me with bits of sticking plaster all over my face and knuckles, he was in a regular passion, for he had been hearing about it in the town, and had words with the other boys’ fathers. Then he made me tell him all about it from the beginning, sitting back, looking as fierce and stern as could be, till I had done; and I finished off by saying, ‘What would you have done if you had been me?’

      “‘Just the same as you did, Cil, my boy,’ he cried, shaking hands; and then my mother looked astonished, and he sat back in his chair and laughed till he cried. ‘Why, mother,’ he said, ‘they tell us that the English stock is falling off. Not very much, eh? One English to four Spanish.’

      “‘But it’s so terrible,’ my mother said. ‘Yes,’ said my father, ‘fighting is very disgraceful. No more of it, Cil, my lad; but I’ve made a mistake: I ought to have made a soldier of you, after all.’ I say, though, Perry, I do wish I were going with you, all the same.”

      “I tell you what,” cried Perry; “I’ll ask my father to ask yours to let you go with us.”

      “You will?” cried Cyril, making a rush.

      “Mind! we shall have the boat over.”

      It was a narrow escape, but by sitting down they made the boat right itself.

      “Yes, I’ll ask him to. I say, though, it isn’t so dangerous as you say, is it?”

      “They say it is, particularly if you are going to hunt for the gold the Indians have buried.”

      “But I don’t know that we are. Would you go, even if it is so dangerous.”

      “Of course I would,” cried Cyril excitedly. “I do so want a change. Ahoy! Hurray! Dinner!”

      “Eh? Where?” cried Perry.

      “Look. Father’s hoisting the flag.”

      He pointed in the direction of one of the white villas up on the high cliff slope, where a union jack was being run up a tall signal staff by a figure in white, clearly seen in the bright sunshine, while another figure was evidently using a telescope.

      “There’s my father watching us,” said Perry, shading his eyes.

      “Lend a hand here and help to haul up this stone,” cried Cyril, and together the boys hauled up the heavy block which served for an anchor.

      Five minutes after, they were rowing steadily for the wharf – Incas’ treasure, perils from Indians, fights with Spanish boys, and heights of snow peaks forgotten in the one important of all questions to a hungry youth —Dinner.

      Chapter Two

      A Failure

      Dinner was over at Captain Norton’s. Mrs Norton had left the dining-room, after begging her son and his visitor not to go out in the broiling heat. The boy had promised that he would not, and after he had sat listening to Colonel Campion’s – a keen grey-haired man, thin, wiry in the extreme, and giving promise of being extremely active – talk to his father about the preparations for his trip up into the mountains, Cyril gave Perry a kick under the table, and rose.

      Taking the sharp jar upon his shin to mean telegraphy and the sign, “Come on,” Perry rose as well, and the two boys, forgetful of all advice, went and sat in the dry garden, where every shrub and plant seemed to be crying out for water, and looked as if it were being prepared for a hortus siccus beloved of botanists, and where the sun came down almost hot enough to fry.

      Here the boys had a long discussion about the promise Perry had made in the boat; after which they waited for an opportunity.

      Meanwhile, as the two gentlemen sat chatting over their cigarettes, Captain Norton, a frank, genial, soldierly-looking man, said:

      “So you mean to take all the risks?”

      “Risks!” said the colonel, turning his keen eyes upon the speaker, as he let the smoke from his cigarette curl up toward the ceiling. “You an old soldier, and ask that?”

      “Yes,” said Captain Norton. “I have been here a long time now, and know something of the country.”

      “Are the risks so very great, then?”

      “To an ordinary traveller – no: to a man going with some special object or search – yes.”

      “I did nut say that I was going on a special search,” said Colonel Campion quickly.

      “No, but everything points to it; and as you came to me with letters of introduction from an old friend and brother-officer, I receive you as my friend, and treat you as I would a brother.”

      “And as the man whom you treat as a brother, I am very reticent, eh?”

      “Very,” said Cyril Norton’s father; “and if I try to know why you are going upon so perilous a journey, it is not from curiosity, but because I am eager to save you from running into danger.”

      Colonel Campion held out his hand, which was taken, and the two men sat for a few moments gazing in each other’s eyes.

      “If I spoke out, Norton, you would immediately do everything you could to prevent me from going, instead of helping me; so I am silent, for I have made up my mind to go, and no persuasion would stop me.”

      “Then you are going on an insane quest of the treasures of gold said to have been buried by the Incas’ followers to preserve them from the Spaniards.”

      “Am I?” said the colonel quietly.

      “I take it for granted that you are; so now, listen. It will be a very dangerous search. That the gold exists, I do not doubt; and I feel pretty sure that the Indians have