Long Live the King, Guy Boothby [red queen ebook TXT] 📗

and, so far as they knew, reached the camp without anyone being the wiser that they had absented themselves from it.

Next morning, as soon as it was light, the camp was roused by Moreas. The best mules had been set apart for the onward journey, and, as soon as the morning meal had been eaten, and the beasts were saddled, the two adventurers prepared to set off. When all the final arrangements had been made, and the place of meeting, should the pair return, settled, it was time for them to bid the rest of the party farewell. It was a solemn moment in their lives, and every one seemed aware of the fact. Moreas shook hands with the two Spaniards first, and then approached Bertram.

"Farewell, Senor," he said, with a bow. "I trust I shall have good news for you when next I see you."

Max observed that they did not shake hands. The hatred that existed between them was so mutual and so strong, that even the fact that, in all human probability, they would never see each other again, was not sufficient to make them part friends. Then came Max's turn. He shook hands with Antonio and Diego, and, having done so, approached the man for whom he entertained such a genuine liking.

"Good-bye," he said. Then looking him straight in the face, he added, "If by any chance I should not return, you know whom to make acquainted with my fate. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," answered the other, his voice shaking as he said it. Then, seeing that Moreas was out of earshot, he added, "For heaven's sake, your Highness, run no undue risks. If you will not think of yourself, think of those in England who love you."

"You may be sure I shall do that," Max replied. Then, uttering another hearty good-bye, and shaking Bertram once more by the hand, he set off in pursuit of his partner.

As they turned the corner of the canon, he looked back and waved his hand. Bertram was standing where he had left him, still looking after him.


CHAPTER XVI.


The first day's march, after they left the main camp, could not be said to have been, in any sense of the word, either a pleasant or a comfortable one. Both the men were ill at ease, not only with their present lot, but also with each other. Moreas entertained the unpleasant suspicion that Max, while he never failed in his duty, was, in reality, more in sympathy with Bertram than with himself. The anxiety of what was before them lay heavily upon their minds, while there was a nameless, indescribable something that Max could not understand, and yet which stood like a shadow between them. It soon became apparent to him that the dangers to which they were to be subjected had not been in the least exaggerated. For no less than four days they continued on through the mountains, and it was only after incredible hardships that they managed to reach the plains on the other side. Here, however, as it turned out, they were in scarcely a better plight. As they expected, on leaving the mountains they found themselves confronted by a stretch of desert. To attempt to cross it seemed to be to run too great a risk, and yet to turn back, when they were so near the end, seemed an equally foolish undertaking. With a dogged determination, worthy of a better cause, and with which Max had never credited him, Moreas decided in favour of pushing on. It was a rash decision, for with every hour the condition of the mules was becoming more and more pitiable, while the men themselves were in scarcely a better case. Still Moreas remained in a state of sullenness. When the animals were no longer able to bear their weights, he got off and walked sulkily beside his own beast, grudged them the delay when they rested, and after they had prepared their camp at night, went so far as to insinuate that Max had been keeping the mules back to serve his own purpose. It was indeed a dreary resting-place they had that night. There was no shelter; no water, save that they had brought with them; no food to revive their starving animals, save a few mouthfuls of corn and half a dozen handfuls of parched grass. As soon as his own meal was eaten, Moreas rolled himself up in his blankets and went to sleep, leaving Max by the fire, watching its dull glow and wondering whether he was destined to come safely out of this perilous adventure or not. Overhead the great stars shone brilliantly, while the low wind moaned like a banshee across the waste. He thought of those who loved him in England, of Ottilie, and later of myself. At such a moment his curiosity was excited as to what I had done when I discovered he had left Rio.

Next morning, as soon as it was daylight, they saddled up once more, and continued their march. For the moment the country, which consisted of barren plains in front, behind, and on either side, showed no signs of changing. As on the previous day, Moreas stalked grimly in front, never looking behind him, and to all appearances oblivious of his companion's presence.

One thing was growing more certain every hour, and that was the fact that the hardships through which they had passed had combined, with natural greed, to turn Moreas' brain.

"I shall have to keep my eyes on him, day and night," said Max to himself. "In his present condition there is no saying what he may do."

This knowledge added a fresh horror to the situation. It is bad enough to be starving anywhere, but it is a thousand times worse to have to do so when alone in the wilds with a madman. As soon as they got into camp that night, the second on that awful plain, Moreas commenced to walk in circles round the fire, talking to himself meanwhile, and shaking his fist at the darkening desert. When Max offered him a portion of the dried _biltong_--all that remained to them in the way of food--he refused it with an oath, adding, that he could not eat when they should be pushing towards their destination!

"You won't be strong enough to reach it at all, if you don't eat something," said Max philosophically.

He, himself, made as good a meal as possible, and then lay down to rest, but he was too anxious for his own safety to fall asleep, until he was quite convinced that Moreas was asleep also. He had no desire that the other should steal a march on him during the night. What he had seen that day in the mountains, when Moreas had stalked Bertram, was quite sufficient to show him that his companion was not one who would stick at trifles. At last, however, he dozed off.

As the afternoon of the next day approached, they saw before them another low range of hills. These, when they approached them, proved to be of iron-stone formation, a fact, which, as soon as he heard it, caused Moreas to utter a cry of joy.

"We are nearly there!" he cried. "Those are the hills of which the Indian told the old man. We have only to cross them, and we shall be at the place where the diamonds are. Let us push on, push on. For heaven's sake, man, stir yourself; there is not a moment to lose."

At last they reached the summit of the last hill, and looked down upon the plains on the other side.

"It is the place! it is the place!" cried Moreas, almost beside himself with excitement. "Yonder is the river he spoke of, and there, away to the right, is its old course. You can even see the big black rocks that he told me of, rising out of the sand. The Saints be praised, we are here at last! We are here at last!"

So overcome was he by his excitement, that it was as much as Max could do to prevent him from setting off at a run down the hillside. This was the place, then, of which the poor, old, half-witted diamond hunter had told Moreas. The place where diamonds were as large as hazel nuts, and could be had for the picking up. He wondered how true the story would prove to be. For his own part, he was not going to pin too much faith upon it. If it turned out trumps, well and good; if not, he could console himself with the reflection that the old fellow had played off on Moreas a grimmer practical joke than had ever been perpetrated on himself. The afternoon was well spent before they reached a spot which they considered favourable for a camp. Max had already noticed with satisfaction that there was a fair amount of game to be had for the shooting, water was abundant, while for the animals there was a greater supply of herbage than they had seen for many a long day. By this time Moreas' head appeared to be quite turned. They had scarcely reached their camp before he was off to try his luck among the sands of the old river bed.

It was almost dark when he returned. When he did so, however, he shook like a man with the palsy.

"Look what I have found!" he said, scarcely able to contain himself for joy. "The old man did not deceive me after all. They are here. Here, I tell you. I shall be the richest man on earth."

As he spoke he unclasped his fist, and showed Max _two fair-sized diamonds_ lying in the hollow of his hand.


CHAPTER XVII.


The week following their arrival at their destination was remarkable in more senses than one. After the success which had attended Moreas' search among the sands of the river-bed it was impossible for him to be idle for a moment. It was no sooner light than he was at work; he kept at it with feverish eagerness until darkness fell; and grudged every hour until dawn should reappear again. Under the influence of their success his old antagonism for Max seemed to have left him. If he were not quite so friendly as he had once been, it seemed as if he were at least anxious to make amends for his conduct in the immediate past. One thing, however, puzzled Max more than he liked to say, and made him suspicious of the other's overtures. This was the fact that Moreas invariably preferred to do his work alone, and did not appear to mind very much what excuse he made so long as he achieved his object. It is true that in the evening he invariably added his day's findings to the general store with scrupulous exactness, but on no account would he allow his companion to be present at the washings. Scarcely a day passed without their discovering something of value.

By the end of the month they had discovered six stones of considerable size, fourteen medium, and some twenty or thirty small ones, varying from a quarter to a carat each. These they placed in a small bag and religiously counted every evening.

Influenced by such a run of luck, Moreas' manner underwent yet another change. He became geniality itself, upbraided himself for his former treatment of Max, and declared that if he had searched the whole world through he could not have found a better companion. He vowed that he entertained the affection of a brother for him.

How, considering all this, Max's suspicions were first