Читать книгу Roughriders of the Pampas: A Tale of Ranch Life in South America - F. S. Brereton - Страница 4

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"A thief! Expelled from his school for theft, and sent out to South America to get him out of the way! Impossible! The boy is not lying. I swear he is honest, or ever after this I cease to believe that I am even the poorest judge of men."

Quite unconsciously Mr. Blunt uttered the words aloud, while he looked searchingly at Dudley. As for the latter, he had made his admission, he had told this new friend of his bluntly that he had just recently been expelled from his school for theft, and now he still regarded him without flinching, and in a manner which went far to persuade this tall man from the pampas that he was innocent. Mr. Blunt had not been meeting all manner of men during his life without encountering many rogues as well as honest men. The experience he had gained in various parts of the world was always proving serviceable, and now more than ever before perhaps. He prided himself on his judgment. That judgment told him without error that Dudley Compton was not a thief, despite the fact that the lad had just admitted that it was for theft that he had been expelled from his school. It was just like the kind-hearted fellow he was for the tall, raw-boned stranger at once to stretch out a huge brown paw and snatch hold of Dudley's hand.

"Tell me all about it," he said simply. "Tell me how it all occurred, and why you were selected as the culprit. Come, it may help you to talk. This matter has been weighing on your mind for some time and making you miserable. You will be happier and easier when you have given your confidences to me. Speak out, and do not fear that I shall not listen with sympathy."

He pressed Dudley's hand very gently, and looked away over the rail of the tossing ship. For his words, his sympathy, his openly expressed belief in his young friend had had their effect. Dudley Compton had for many a day now bravely borne the trouble which was on his mind, and had been there ever since the hour that he was expelled. His guardian, a busy man whose time was so occupied that he had little opportunity of going into outside matters, was possessed of very little sympathy. He was, in fact, not the best guardian for a lad, for he did not understand boys, and his mind was so wrapped up in business matters, so encompassed as it were by office affairs, that he could only look at outside questions superficially. He was disgusted that his charge should have been accused of thieving, and he thought it only natural that, when asked as to his guilt, Dudley should make the best of a bad matter and declare his innocence.

"Strange! Strange!" he had said, when their interview was over. "I have seen very little of the boy; too little in fact. But all have been fond of him and have given him a good character. I would not have thought him capable of such an act. But there——"

It never occurred to him to go deeply into the matter. He took it for granted that the evidence against his ward was convincing, and, that being so, he at once arranged to send him out to Montevideo, where in any case he would have gone after the next term. That done, he said good-by to the lad, gave him some excellent and prosaic advice, and, having seen him safely aboard, promptly dismissed the subject of theft from his mind, and in a short while he had allowed even the memory of his ward to be clouded by those business affairs which were the main object of his existence. He was not an extremely selfish man; but he was one of those business gentlemen who, being bachelors, and immersed in city affairs, give themselves up to them heart and soul, allowing them to take all the time and attention which other men would give to home affairs.

"There! Speak out. I'll listen and tell you what I think," said Mr. Blunt. "I've had trouble myself and know what it is. Tell me the whole tale."

He still looked away over the rail at the tossing sea, for his words, and his sympathy expressed by the gentle grip of his big and powerful fingers, had a strange effect upon Dudley. He had been stunned at first by the disaster which had befallen him. Then he had closed his lips firmly. He had become hard, and had wrapped up his feelings in an impenetrable cloak of silence. This tall Englishman, with his soft, kindly voice, his openly expressed belief in him, and his sympathetic grip, had broken Dudley's hardness and resolution. He gulped at the lump which had suddenly risen in his throat, tears welled up in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, while a half-suppressed sob escaped him. The sound brought all his manhood back. He drew his hand out of Mr. Blunt's, straightened his back, and dashed the tears from his eyes.

"I will speak," he said. "I have not told a soul up to this, but now I can say safely what I have to say. I am no thief, sir."

"Look at me," came swiftly from his friend. "Look me in the eyes and say that again on your honor."

Mr. Blunt swung round, and now, instead of regarding the sea, stared at our hero. Dudley met his gaze at once, returned his glances without a waver, and spoke with the utmost deliberation.

"I swear on my honor as a gentleman that I am not a thief," he said solemnly. "If you care to hear the tale, I shall be glad to tell it to you. It will help me immensely, for it has been weighing on my mind."

"Then fire away, lad. I'll listen carefully, and let you know what I think at the end. But I say now, too, that you are no thief. I am sure of it. No youngster of your stamp could look me in the eyes las you have done and not be truthful. Fire away, and let me have the whole story."

His cigar was going again by now, and he sent big clouds rushing from his mouth, clouds which were caught at once by the wind and whisked away out over the sea.

"I was at Blackheath, at a school where there were one hundred and eighty boys," said Dudley slowly. "I had been there for five years, and as I have told you it was arranged that I should leave after the next term, and go out to South America. I lived at home, at my guardian's, and saw very little of him. I suppose he paid all my bills, and made provision for pocket money. He was fairly liberal, so that I often had a shilling, and sometimes many, in my pocket to use as I liked. I was a prefect."

"A prefect!" interrupted Mr. Blunt. "Then you were not such a dunce?"

"I was in the upper sixth, halfway up the form, sir; but though not a dunce I was considered anything but quick. That is why I was not selected by my guardian for office work."

"And perhaps you will have occasion to bless the fact to the end of your days. Give me a free and open life, where a man may work for hours healthily and without fatigue. But I am interrupting. You were in the sixth. You were not a dunce, and yet not brilliant. Many and many a lad could be described in a similar manner, and of those quite a few astonish their parents later when they have discovered, perhaps by pure accident, the life for which they are suited. They get congenial work and put their backs into it. Set their shoulders to the wheel, in fact, and do well. But, there, there, I am off again! You were fond of games? You liked cricket?"

"Rather, sir. I always liked the game, and was captain. In fact I was captain of the school for all games, and about tenth from the top in classwork."

"Then you had friends?" asked Mr. Blunt.

"Plenty, sir, I think," was the answer. "The fellows were very good to me when I left."

There was silence for a while, and Mr. Blunt turned away discreetly again, for he saw that Dudley was manfully endeavoring to suppress his emotion. As for the lad himself, as he mentioned his friends his thoughts flew away back to the school, where he had been so happy, and so popular if he had not been too modest to say it. He remembered with a pang how old school friends and chums had mustered round him when the dreadful news was issued to all, and he, Dudley Compton, their games captain, was declared a thief. In a hundred little ways they had shown their belief in and sympathy for him. Indeed, Dudley could have told how with very few exceptions the whole school had been in his favor, how for a few hours the question of his innocence or guilt was discussed with eagerness and no little warmth, and how, as he drove away from the doors of the place he liked so well, heads and arms were thrust out of every available window and wild cheers were flung after him. Yes, he had had heaps of friends, and many and many a time had the memory of their simple belief in him comforted the poor fellow's aching heart.

"Captain of the school? Then you were popular, that's clear," said Mr. Blunt decisively. "Go on, lad. You had plenty of friends."

"Plenty, sir. I often think of them. In the upper sixth we were a happy family, and all got on splendidly together. One fellow, named Joyce, was perhaps an exception."

"Ah! Joyce. That was his name. We are coming nearer to the matter," exclaimed Mr. Blunt, taking his cigar from his lips. "Yes?"

"Joyce had wealthy parents, who allowed him a liberal amount of pocket money. He was one of those fellows who cut a big dash, who dress better than the other chaps, wear a lot of linen and scatter their money fairly freely. In fact, he was very liberal, particularly if he wished to secure the friendship of some particular fellow."

"Ah! I've met many similar men in everyday life. A little arrogant, conceited, don't you know; inclined to give themselves airs and be high and mighty. Often very shallow, and always fond of good things, and in particular of scattering their cash so as to make a good impression. Yes, they are to be met with here and there, and many are excellent fellows at heart. They lose their conceit later and settle down. Yes, they are their own enemies. No one takes them very seriously. His name was Joyce?"

"Yes, sir," replied Dudley. "He was all you say, and beyond thinking him stuck up and foolish I certainly never had a bad word to say about him. We were friendly, and often enough when he had run through his monthly allowance he would come to me and borrow a shilling or two."

"Ah! He overspent his allowance and borrowed. A bad plan!" exclaimed Mr. Blunt. "Never borrow and never lend unless under very exceptional circumstances. It leads to trouble, and often loses one a friend."

There was silence for a little while again, as Dudley pictured the lively, smooth-tongued Joyce, with his fine clothes, and his great display of collar and cuff, while Mr. Blunt no doubt was occupied with his own thoughts. Perhaps he could tell tales of lending and borrowing which had led to misery and trouble. He tossed the stump of his weed into the air, where the gale caught it and whisked it overboard. Then he turned again to Dudley and spoke abruptly.

"Joyce borrowed once too often," he said with decision. "He asked you to lend him something, and in some manner implicated you in this theft. He was the culprit."

"Without a doubt, sir," answered Dudley promptly. "I can say it to you safely, I know. Joyce was the thief. It was he who stole the money, and he it was who should have been expelled."

"Humph! You know that now. Did you know it then? Did you shield him?"

The questions were fired at our hero one after another, while the answers were awaited with eagerness, for Mr. Blunt was more than a little interested in the tale his young friend had to tell him.

"I am sure of it now. I am as certain that Joyce stole the money as I am that you and I are seated here. I guessed it at the time. There was scarcely any possibility that it could be anyone else. But I could not speak. If he was the thief he was there to admit it. He heard me accused, and if he was the culprit it was his duty to come forward."

"Duty! Of course it was, lad. But it isn't every boy, or man for the matter of that, who has the moral pluck to confess to a theft even when he sees a friend accused of the act of which he himself is guilty. You relied on his honor and pluck. You were too proud to speak. Go on. I am interested."

"There is little more to tell you, sir," continued Dudley. "It seems that there had been robberies from one of the masters' rooms. I was warned of the fact, and indeed did what I could to put a stop to the matter, for such things are exceedingly disagreeable in a school. But they still continued, and as a result a trap was set for the thief. Money had been disappearing from one of the masters' rooms, and it was hard to say who could take it, for several of the upper school had occasion to go to that room during the day. I was often there, and so were Joyce and other members of the sixth. But you can guess what happened. Some silver was placed in a drawer, the one from which other sums had been taken, and that silver was marked. It disappeared, and promptly the whole school was mustered in its various rooms, and each one ordered to bring out his purse or show the money he possessed. Seven shillings had been stolen, all marked coins. Six of those shillings were found in my purse."

He stopped abruptly, all the bitterness of the old scene returning at once. He recollected how he had produced his little wealth, how he had rolled the silver on to the desk, and how, all of a sudden, the face of the headmaster had changed. He had looked incredulous, then as if deeply pained. A second later he was questioning Dudley in icy tones.

"This is your money?" he asked. "You are sure that it is yours?"

"Quite," was Dudley's easy answer. "It is all that I possess, sir."

"Then it is not yours, sir. Those shillings were stolen from the very drawer from which many thefts have taken place. See for yourself. They are marked. They have been stolen. I am grieved to have to call you a thief. Go to your room at once, sir."

The whole dreadful scene flashed before his eyes. He remembered his own amazement, how the accusation had stunned his senses so that he could not even protest his innocence, and how, without a word, he had gone to his room. And there, what agony of mind he had suffered till the school was assembled, and he was declared the culprit before them all. It was then that Dudley had recovered his courage and found power to speak. Very quietly, and with an earnestness which would have impressed anyone, he declared his innocence.

"I swear that those marked shillings were given me scarcely two hours before my purse was examined. They were given me by one of the boys of this school who owed me six shillings."

"His name?" the headmaster had demanded icily.

"I cannot give it. I am not here to accuse a comrade," Dudley answered firmly.

"Then I will ask the question. Boys," said the headmaster, "a series of despicable thefts has been taking place. I was determined to put a stop to them, and for that purpose placed seven marked shillings in a drawer in Mr. Harland's room. Those shillings were stolen, and within two hours six of them were found in the purse of your late captain. You have heard what he has to say. Is there any truth in it? Is there a boy here who owed him money, and refunded it after the theft? I beg of him, if that boy is here, to come forward and save the honor of Dudley Compton."

Silence was his only answer. The boys looked askance at one another, and two or three of the older ones even glanced across at Joyce. But the latter looked as jaunty and cool as ever. His eyes were fixed on the headmaster, and he seemed to have forgotten poor Dudley. But his heart was beating furiously. His legs would hardly support him, and the boy was trying and trying to screw up his courage to declare himself the thief, and so save his old friend and comrade. He hesitated. Dread of what would follow sealed his lips, and in a second or two the opportunity had gone. It was too late to speak. Dudley was condemned to be expelled, and was already out of the room. Only when Joyce returned to his own cubicle did the enormity of his offence fully appeal to him. Then, when it was almost too late, he saw what a coward he had been, how dishonorable and despicable had been his conduct. For he it was who had actually stolen the coins. In fact it was Joyce who had for some time been acting as a common thief. He had been tempted. The power to spend money, to be able to cut a dash and appear grand before his fellows, possessed a huge fascination for him, and he had fallen to the temptation. After that he had repeated the offence. And now he groaned when he reflected on this last act, to which thieving had led him. He had always had a large amount of friendly feeling for Dudley. He had looked up to the lad, recognizing in him a stronger nature. And now he had stood aside and had seen him condemned, knowing all the while that he was innocent.

"I can't bear it. I will go at once and set the matter right," he cried.

He rushed to the door of his cubicle, dragged it open, and ran into the passage. And there his courage again oozed through his finger tips. It was so easy to let matters rest where they were. It was so hard to go and make that declaration, and afterwards to be expelled, to face all that that meant. He hesitated, returned to the cubicle to think it over, and finally did nothing. But for days and weeks Dudley's look of anguish haunted him. Joyce became a different person. He no longer displayed such an amount of linen. His clothes were less conspicuous, and the cash which he had freely spent before was now kept in his pocket. Remorse was steadily altering the boy. The subject of the theft was never out of his mind in waking hours, and when asleep he even dreamed of poor Dudley. For Joyce was not a bad fellow at heart. True, he was a thief, a mean contemptible thief; but there was a lot of good in the lad if only he could be induced to show a little more moral courage. If he had been otherwise, if he had been hardened and callous, he would hardly have given a thought to his crime, or to the suffering imposed on Dudley. At length, tortured by the recollection of what he had done, he finally resolved to declare his guilt, and straightway went to the headmaster. Later, strong in his purpose, he faced the whole school, admitted that he was guilty, and begged earnestly that every boy present would recollect that Dudley was innocent. Then he left the school, and once at home set about to consider how he was to make amends to Dudley.

Dudley finished his portion of the tale while Mr. Blunt listened attentively.

"Joyce could have saved me," he said solemnly. "He owed me money, and repaid it with the coins which were marked. How did he become possessed of them? And remember, sir, that scarcely two hours passed between the theft and the discovery of the marked coins. To my mind there is no doubt that Joyce was the guilty person, and I am sure that if he had had more pluck he would have come forward. In any case I am sure that life has been unbearable to him since. At heart he is a decent fellow, and I am certain that his conscience will have been very active."

"And you were expelled? You went out of that house knowing what you tell me, and yet you would not speak?"

Mr. Blunt asked the question quietly, while the look in his eyes belied his manner and showed plainly that he was not a little excited.

"What else could I do, sir?" came the simple answer. "I was not absolutely sure, and even then it was not for me to clear myself at the expense of a comrade."

"Tommy rot! False pride, sir! A wrong impression of your duty to your comrades! But it was fine! Shake hands!"

Mr. Blunt seized Dudley's hand and shook it eagerly, his eyes flashing strangely as he did so.

"I repeat, it was wrong," he said earnestly, "but none the less you were a true comrade. You were not certain, and I know how hateful it is to have to accuse a friend. Rather than do that you suffered. Well, all I have to say is this: If that lad Joyce does not admit his guilt very soon, and entirely clear you, he is a cur of the worst description. It is bad enough for him to be a thief. It is worse when he has so little pluck that he can stand by and see another accused and disgraced, whom he knows to be innocent. No, if he does nothing he is a cur. But I shall be surprised if the lad does not learn a serious lesson, and I look to this matter to make a man of him. I expect that guilty lad to turn over a new leaf, to give up thieving and his shallow ways, and to act like a man. There, Dudley, you and I understand each other. You at least have behaved with honor. You know you are no thief, and you are equally sure that I, who have heard the tale, believe implicitly in you. Banish it from your mind for a time. Do not brood on it. Let the future set matters right, for I look forward to the day when you will return to that school to listen to the apologies of your masters. Now let me tell you more of Entre Rios, of the Pampas, and of the gauchos and the Indians."

They sat chatting for two hours, after which another meal was served, when Dudley descended to the saloon boldly, feeling himself again, and fresh and hungry. More than that, now that he had unburdened himself to this stranger, to whom, boylike, he had taken such a sudden fancy, he felt much happier. A huge weight was lifted from his mind, and he felt that he could go on without brooding on his misfortune, in the hope that something would occur to set the matter right. Indeed, thanks to Mr. Blunt's lively chatter, to the vivid descriptions he gave of South America, and to the narratives of his adventures there, Dudley very soon was taken entirely out of himself. A bright prospect was opened up before his eyes, and he longed for the hour of their arrival, wishing many a time that he were going to Mr. Blunt's estancia.

Two days later the wind went down, the sea became smooth, while the passengers put in an appearance one by one, looking pale and emaciated after their trying experience. The ship made Cape St. Vincent, having called in at Lisbon, and in due course furrowed her way across the wide Atlantic to Rio de Janeiro. By that time all the passengers were on excellent terms.

Every day Dudley had spent an hour under his friend's tuition with gun and revolver, till he had become an expert and an exceedingly rapid shot. Bottles and old boxes tossed into the sea had made excellent targets.

"You will do well if there is trouble, and it may come when you least expect it," said Mr. Blunt. "Remember this, the gauchos, as we call the natives of the country, are extremely polite to one another and to strangers, but one meets a ruffian now and again, and all are very excitable. They are quick to take advantage of one who they think is helpless, and more particularly of a gringo. You can hold your own at shooting. It now remains for you to learn to ride the wildest animal that can be provided."

On the following day the ship dropped her anchor off Rio de Janeiro, and the passengers made ready to go ashore. Dudley was to accompany his friend, and ran below at the last moment to fetch a stick which he had left in his cabin. As he reached the deck again, one of the ship's boats was being lowered, two of the sailors standing at the slings at the bow and stern of the boat, while Mr. Blunt and another passenger sat in the centre.

"A free ride," he sang out to Dudley. "We shall be in the water in a moment, when you can join me."

Hardly had he spoken when there was a shout from the deck, the men who were lowering the slings gave exclamations of dismay, and in a second the swinging boat fell from one of the davits, the slings at one end having parted, and hung, bow downwards, with her nose just dipping into the water. Her sudden upset was accompanied by four loud splashes, as the two passengers and the sailors were thrown into the water, and then by loud calls, and by a titter from those on the deck above. For all who had been tossed so unceremoniously into the sea were able to swim, and as Dudley looked over the side, there they were, treading water and looking up to the rail, Mr. Blunt's sunburned features unusually jovial, while a broad smile was on his lips.

"Spoke too soon and too truly," he sang out, seeing his young friend. "Said we should be in the water in a moment, and here we are, very wet, too."

Dudley laughed, for the scene was very comical. He clambered on to the rail, and leaned over, holding all the while to a halyard. Then, of a sudden, he became pale, his eyes opened wide, and he shouted with consternation. His eye had caught the flicker of a passing shadow down in the depths, a shadow which had rapidly enlarged and become brighter, till it developed into a long, silvery streak, getting broader every moment as the monster shark, for such it was, turned over preparatory to seizing its prey. It swirled across the few yards between it and the swimmers, selected one, and rushed open-mouthed at him. A second later, while the passengers above shrieked in consternation, the cruel beast had seized Mr. Blunt by the elbow and was endeavoring to back away, while the victim, suddenly realizing his precarious condition, snatched at the hanging bow of the boat, and clung there for life.

Dudley did not hesitate. He flung the stick behind him, took one swift glance below, and then leaped at the monster, hoping to strike him as he fell, or to frighten him by the splash he made. It was madness, perhaps, to make such an attempt. It was endangering his own life for that of a friend. But he had a warm heart and a brave one, and, moreover, he felt that he already owed Mr. Blunt a debt of gratitude. He could not stand there and see him dragged down beneath the surface. He must make an effort for him, and with that gallant resolve he plunged into the water.