Nevertheless, Pencroff was so excited in finding himself again close to the corral that he would have hurried forward had not the strong hand of Spilett detained him. “In a few minutes it will be dark,” whispered the reporter.
Pencroff grasped his gun nervously, and waited unwillingly.
Very soon the last rays of light disappeared. Mount Franklin loomed darkly against the western sky, and the night fell with the rapidity peculiar to these low latitudes. Now was the time.
The reporter and Pencroff, ever since their arrival on the edge of the wood, had watched the corral. It seemed to be completely deserted. The upper edge of the palisade was in somewhat stronger relief than the surrounding shades, and nothing broke its outlines. Nevertheless, if the convicts were there, they must have posted one of their number as a guard.
Spilett took the hand of his companion, and crept cautiously forward to the gate of the corral. Pencroff tried to push it open, but it was, as they had supposed, fastened. But the sailor discovered that the outer bars were not in place. They, therefore, concluded that the convicts were within, and had fastened the gate so that it could only be broken open.
They listened. No sound broke the silence. The animals were doubtless sleeping in their sheds. Should they scale the fence? It was contrary to Smith’s instructions. They might be successful or they might fail. And, if there was now a chance of surprising the convicts, should they risk that chance in this way?
The reporter thought not. He decided that it would be better to wait until they were all together before making the attempt. Two things were certain, that they could reach the fence unseen, and that the place seemed unguarded.
Pencroff, probably, agreed to this, for he returned with the reporter to the wood, and a few minutes later Smith was informed of the situation.
“Well,” said he after reflecting for a moment, “I don’t think that the convicts are here.”
“We will find out when we have climbed in.” cried Pencroff.
“To the corral, my friends.”
“Shall we leave the wagon in the wood?” cried Neb.
“No,” said Smith, “it may serve as a defense in case of need.”
The wagon issued from the wood and rolled noiselessly over the ground. The darkness and the silence were profound. The colonists kept their guns in readiness to fire. Jup kept behind, at Pencroff’s order, and Neb held Top.
Soon the dangerous zone was crossed, and the wagon was drawn up beside the fence. Neb stood at the head of the onagers to keep them quiet, and the others went to the gate to determine if it was barricaded on the inside.
One of its doors was open!
“What did you tell us?” exclaimed the engineer, turning to the sailor and Spilett.
They were stupefied with amazement.
“Upon my soul,” cried the sailor, “It was shut a minute ago!”
The colonists hesitated. The convicts must have been in the corral when Pencroff and the reporter had made their reconnoissance; for the gate could only have been opened by them. Were they still there?
At this moment, Herbert, who had ventured some steps within the inclosure, rushed back and seized Smith’s hand.
“What have you seen?” asked the engineer.
“A light!”
“In the house?”
“Yes, sir.”
All went forward and saw a feeble ray of light trembling through the windows of the building.
Smith determined what to do at once.
“It is a fortunate chance, finding the convicts shut up in this house not expecting anything! They are ours! Come on!”
The wagon was left under charge of Top and Jup, and the colonists glided into the enclosure. In a few moments they were before the closed door of the house.
Smith, making a sign to his companions not to move, approached the window. He looked into the one room which formed the lower story of the building. On the table was a lighted lantern, near by was Ayrton’s bed. On it was the body of a man.
Suddenly, Smith uttered a stiffled exclamation.
“Ayrton!” he cried.
And, at once, the door was rather forced than opened, and all rushed into the chamber.
Ayrton seemed to be sleeping. His face showed marks of long and cruel suffering. His wrists and ankles were much bruised.
Smith leaned over him.
“Ayrton!” cried the engineer, seizing in his arms this man found so unexpectedly.
Ayrton opened his eyes, and looked first at Smith, then at the others.
“You! Is it you?” he cried.
“Ayrton! Ayrton!” repeated the engineer.
“Where am I?”
“In the corral.”
“Am I alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then they will come here!” cried Ayrton. “Look out for yourselves! Defend yourselves!” and he fell back, fainting.
“Spilett,” said the engineer, “We may be attacked at any minute. Bring the wagon inside the enclosure, and bar the gate, and then come back here.”
Pencroff, Neb, and the reporter hastened to execute the orders of the engineer. There was not an instant to be lost. Perhaps the wagon was already in the hands of the convicts!
In a moment the reporter and his companions had gained the gate of the enclosure, behind which they heard Top growling.
The engineer, leaving Ayrton for a moment, left the house, and held his gun in readiness to fire. Herbert was beside him. Both scrutinized the outline of the mountain spur overlooking the corral. If the convicts were hidden in that place they could pick off the colonists one after the other.
Just then the moon appeared in the east above the black curtain of the forest, throwing a flood of light over the interior of the corral, and bringing into relief the trees, the little watercourse, and the grassy carpet. Towards the mountain, the house and a part of the palisade shone white; opposite it, towards the gate, the fence was in shadow.
A black mass soon showed itself. It was the wagon entering within the circle of light, and Smith could hear the sound of the gate closing and being solidly barricaded by his companions.
But
