IN WHICH A ROCK MOVES, A DISCOVERY IS MADE AND
MORE THAN ONE AVENUE IS OPENED
In the light of Betty's fire Jim hastily poured forth the contents of
his bag and never did a child's eyes at Christmas time shine like
Betty's. She had hungered until she was weak and trembling and now
such articles as Jim displayed were amply sufficient to elicit from her
that little cry of delight. Tortillas and beans, meat and coffee and
sugar and milk--it was a banquet fit for a king and a queen!
"The only thing," cautioned Kendric, "is to go slow. It's a course
dinner, Miss Betty. And first comes a bit of milk."
He ripped open a can with his pocket knife, poured out half of the
thick contents into the silk-water bag and diluted the remainder with
water. Thereafter he watched Betty while she forced herself, at his
bidding, to eat and drink sparingly. And he noted that during his
absence she had been busy working on her wardrobe. Using both the red
garment and the cloak, employing in her task the obsidian knife and
strips of green fiber, she had made for herself a garment which it
would have been hard to classify and yet which was astonishingly
becoming. As much as anything Kendric had ever seen it resembled a
stylish and therefore outlandish riding habit. She wore Zoraida's
shoes and stockings.
"I washed them with sand and water first," said Betty around a corner
of her sandwich. "And I let them air all day."
"No visitors?" said Kendric. "No sign of anyone on our trail?"
Betty assured him that she had been unmolested, that the terrible
stillness of the mountain had been unbroken. And she sought to tell
him how long the day had been.
"I know," he said. "It was long enough for me, and I was out in the
open and stirring. It must have been a slice of torment for you here
alone all day, not even knowing if I'd ever get back or have any food
when I came."
"I knew you'd come," said Betty. "But it was lonesome and shivery."
He told her of his day and finally of the man he had seen across the
cañon. Further, of his suspicion that it was Ruiz Rios. Betty
shuddered.
"He is a terrible creature," she said. "I'd rather it was anyone else.
Do you think he has an idea we're here?"
He stretched out by the fire, helped himself to a bit of the dried beef
and told her his thoughts.
"I know just about how Rios would reason things out. And, oddly
enough, it strikes me that though he began with a false premise he has
come pretty close to reaching the right conclusion. You see, he knows
that I came down here with Barlow looking for treasure. He knew
Captain Escobar was ahead of him on the same trail and when he could
get nothing further out of Escobar he killed him. But he did know in a
general way where we expected to find the stuff. So, when you and I
skip out and don't head straight back to the gulf, he's pretty sure I'm
still making a stab at getting the treasure. And it has happened that
you and I, blundering along in the dark, have hit on this spot which is
not far from the place where the treasure is supposed to be. So Rios
hides in the brush with a pair of glasses and keeps his eye peeled for
us. I think that's the whole explanation of his being out yonder. And
I think that's all he knows."
"It's enough." Betty shook her head dubiously.
"Of course," he admitted, "this is just a guess on my part. He may
know more than I think.--During the day," he added, "and just now while
I lay out yonder waiting for dark, I've had a lot of time to think
things out. First, it strikes me as best to hide out here one more day
and then, tomorrow night, to make a break for the outside. Personally,
I don't know that I'd be fit for much tonight; it's a good stiff hike
to where we left the _Half Moon_ and I won't be able to keep awake much
longer. Then by tomorrow night, even if Zoraida is as keen as ever to
get us back, I doubt if her men's enthusiasm for vigilance will have
lasted at the first heat. There'll be a better chance for us to slip
through."
Here, again, the responsibility in Betty's way of thinking was his and
she accepted his plan without challenge.
"Another thing I've been thinking of," he went on, "is that queer,
smooth hole in that boulder; where we've our water stored. What have
you made of it?"
"A reservoir," she answered lightly, her spirits risen swiftly with his
coming and a taste of food. "What else?"
"Rios is hard set in his belief that there's ancient treasure nearby.
So is Barlow. So, evidently, was Escobar. If so, what more likely
place than where we are? That hole didn't make itself after that
regular fashion. I don't see just what it has to do with the case,
I'll admit. But somebody made it a long time ago and didn't do it just
for the fun of the job. I've a notion that it has its bearing on the
thing. Somehow."
"It isn't big enough to hold much treasure," said Betty. "Maybe they
didn't finish it?"
But from this they went to other matters. Kendric merely decided that
while they spent a long tomorrow of inaction he would look into the
matter. There was no great temptation to tarry for treasure and the
incentive to be on the way, traveling light, was sufficiently
emphasized. But there was a quiet day to be put in tomorrow, if all
went right, and he was not the man to forget what had brought him
southward.
"We'll both go to sleep," he said presently, "and not do any worrying
about what the other fellow may be doing. With our fire out and a lot
of dead limbs scattered about the entrance to crack under a man's foot,
they'll not surprise us tonight, even if they should know where we are.
Tomorrow we'll keep a watch over the ravine. And tomorrow night I hope
we'll be on the trail toward the gulf. Now do you want to slip out
with me for a goodnight drink of water? Or would you rather wait here
for me?"
Betty was on her feet in a flash.
"I've done enough waiting today to last me the rest of my life!" she
cried emphatically. "I'll go with you."
So again, and as cautious as they had been last night, they made their
way down the steep slope and drank in the starlight. They tarried a
little by the trickle of water, heeding the silence, breathing deep of
the soft night, lifting their eyes to the stars. The world seemed
young and sweet about them, clean and tender, a place of infinite peace
and kindness rather than of a pursuing hate. They stood close
together; their shoulders brushed companionably. Together they
hearkened to a tiny voice thrilling through the emptiness, the
monotonous vibrating cadences of some happy insect. The heat of the
day had passed with the day, the perfect hour had come. It was one of
those moments which Jim Kendric found to his liking. Many such still
hours had he known under many skies and out of the night had always
come something vague and mighty to speak to something no less mighty
which lay within his soul. But always before, when he drank the fill
of a time like this, he had been alone. He had thought that a man must
be alone to know the ineffable content of the solitudes. Tonight he
was not alone. And yet more perfect than those other hours in other
lands was this hour slipping by now as the tiny voice out yonder
slipped through the silence without shattering it. Certain words of
his own little song crept into his mind.
"Where it's only you
And the mountainside."
That "you" had always been just Jim Kendric. After this, if ever again
he sang it, the "you" would be Betty.
"Shall we go back?" he asked quietly.
He saw Betty start. Her eyes came back from the stars and sought his.
He could see them only dimly in the shadow of her hair, but he knew
they were shining with the gush of her own night-thoughts. They
scooped up their water then and went back up the mountain. Their fire
was almost down and they did not replenish it. They went to their beds
of boughs and lay down in silence. Presently Jim said "Good night."
And Betty, the hush of the outside in her voice as she answered, said
softly "Good night."
They were astir before dawn. Fresh water must be brought before
daylight brightened in the cañons. This time Jim went alone to the
creek and when he got back Betty had their fire blazing. Betty made
the breakfast, insisting on having her free unhampered way with it.
"There are some things I can do," said Betty, "and a great many I
can't. It happens that I know what things are beyond me and those that
are within the scope of my powers. One thing that I can do is cook.
And I have camped before now, if you please."
So, when Jim had brought her firewood and had placed the various
articles of their larder handy for her and had offered his services
with jack-knife to open a can or hack through a bit of beef, he stood
back and fully enjoyed the sight of Betty making breakfast. He enjoyed
the prettiness of her in her odd costume of blouse, scarlet sash and
knickerbockers, silk stockings and high heeled slippers; the atmosphere
of intimacy which hovered over them, distilled in a measure from the
magic of a camp fire, certainly aided and abetted by the homey
arrangement of Betty's brown hair; the aroma of coffee beginning to
bubble in a milk tin; the fragrance of an inviting stew in the other
tin wherein were mingled _frijoles_ and "jerky." Ruiz Rios might lurk
around the next spur of the mountain; Zoraida might be inciting her
hirelings to fresh endeavor; much danger might be watching by the trail
which in time they would have to follow--but here and now, for the few
minutes at least, there was more of quiet enjoyment in their retreat
than of discomfort or of fear of the future.
"Let's go camping some time," said Jim abruptly. "Just you and me.
We'll take a pack horse; we'll load him to the guards with the proper
sort of rations; we'll strike out into the heart of the California
sierra--where there are fine forests and little lakes and lonely trails
and peace over all of it."
Betty looked at him curiously, then away swiftly.
"Breakfast is ready," she announced.
He sipped at his coffee absently; his eyes, looking past Betty, saw
into a hidden, cliff-rimmed valley in those other, fresher mountains
further north, glimpsed vistas down narrow trails between tall pines
and cedars and firs, fancied a lodge made of boughs on the shore of a
little blue lake. He'd like to show Betty this camping spot; he'd like
to bring in for her a string of gleaming trout; he'd like to lie on his
side under the cliffs and just watch her. He had whittled two sticks
for spoons; he ate his stew with his and forgot to talk.
And Betty, watching him covertly, wondered astutely if over the first
meal she had cooked for him Jim Kendric wasn't readjusting his ancient
ideas of woman. For some hidden reason, or for no reason at all, her
silence was as deep as his.
After breakfast, however, it was Betty who started talk. They sought
to plan definitely for tonight. Kendric told her of the way he and
Barlow had come, of the _Half Moon_ awaiting his and Barlow's return,
of his determination to make use of the schooner if they could come to
it. Barlow's plans were not at Kendric's disposal; the sailor might be
counting on the vessel and he might not. At any rate he and Betty
could slip down the gulf in it and either take ship at La Paz, sending
it back up the gulf then, or steer on to San Diego. Of course he would
seek to get in touch with Barlow; he could send a message of some sort.
But after all Barlow had taken the game into his own hands and had said
that it was now each man for himself.
"We can make the trip during the night, if we can make the get-away,"
he told her. "We'll have to take a roundabout way at first, edging the
valley along the foothills on this side until we're well past the ranch
house, then cut across the shortest way and pick up the trail on the
other side. We can take enough water in our milk tins to last us,
especially since we're traveling in the cool."
"And if," suggested Betty, "the _Half Moon_ isn't there? Or if Zoraida
has set some of her men to watch for us there?"
Naturally he had thought of that. If they came to the gulf and a new
problem of this sort offered itself, then it would be time to consider
it.
"We'll just hope for the best," he answered, "and try to be ready for
what comes."
Carefully they conserved each tiny fragment of food, using the flour
sack for cupboard. They went cautiously to the entrance of their
hiding place and for a long time crouched behind the bushes, watching
the cañon sides, seeking for a sign of Rios as they fancied Rios was
seeking them. And during the quiet hours they explored the place in
which they were.
First they considered the odd hole in the big boulder, seeking to find
some logical reason for its being, asking themselves if it could have
any connection whatever with the ancient hidden treasure. Clearly it
was the result of human labor. Therefore it appeared to have its
relation to an older order of civilization since it was not conceivable
that a modern man had taken such a task upon himself. But its meaning
baffled.
"It could be a sign, like a blazed tree or a cross scratched on a block
of stone," said Kendric. "But it could mean anything. Or nothing," he
was forced to admit.
It was only in the late afternoon, after a long period of inactivity
and silence, that an inspiration came to Kendric. Meantime they had
poked into every crack and cranny, they had scraped at any loose dirt
on the ground, they had gone back and forth and up and down over every
square inch of the place repeatedly. And Kendric thought that he had
given up when the last idea came to him. He went quickly back to the
boulder. Betty watched him interestedly.
"I thought we'd given that up," she said.
He had both hands on the boulder, his fingers gripping the edge of the
baffling hole, and was seeking to shake the big block of rock. Betty
came to his side.
"You think that it was made as a hand-hole? That you can turn the rock
over?"
"It does move--just a little," he said. He put all of his strength
into a fresh attack. The boulder trembled slightly--that was all.
"I'll bet you my half of the loot that I've got the hang of it, Miss
Betty," he announced triumphantly.
"Wait and see."
He began looking about him for something.
"If I only dared slip outside for a minute," he said. Then his eye
fell on the rifle. "We'll have to make this do. I run a risk of
jamming the front sight but I guess we can fix that."
He protected the sight as well as he could by wrapping his handkerchief
about it. The muzzle of the gun he thrust down into the hole in the
rock.
"Get it now?" he asked. "If that hole wasn't made to allow a lever to
be inserted, then tell me what it _was_ made for. And here's even the
place to stand while a man uses it! I'll double the bet!"
That excitement which always gets into any man's blood when he believes
that he is on the threshold of a golden discovery, already shone in his
eyes. He stepped to a sort of shelf in the cavern wall close to the
boulder, so that now his feet were on a level with the top of the rock
he meant to move. So he could just reach out and grasp the butt of the
rifle. Betty stood by, watching with an eagerness no less than his
own. Gradually he set his force at work on his lever, trying this way
and that. And then--
"It's moving!" cried Betty. "The rock is turning!"
And now it turned readily, his leverage being ample to the task.
"Look under the rock as it tips back," he told Betty. "See if there
isn't a hole under it. Big enough for a man to go through!"
"Yes!" answered Betty after a breathless fashion. "Yes. A little
more. Oh, come see. It looks almost like steps going down!"
"I'll have to force it back a little farther," he returned. "Maybe it
will balance there. If not we'll have to get loose stones and wedge
under it."
He pried it further and further until at last it would not budge
another inch. He loosened his grip a trifle on the rifle-lever and the
rock began to settle back into its former place. But Betty had seen
and already was bringing fragments of stone to block under the edges.
"Now," she called. "Come see."
He jumped down; the boulder, wedged securely, lay on its side. He went
to Betty and from what they saw before them they looked into each
other's eyes wonderingly.
"The tale was true," he said with conviction. "You and I have found
the way to the treasure."
In the floor was an opening a couple of feet square. Very rude, uneven
steps led down, vanishing in a forbidding black dark. Kendric lay flat
and looked down. Little by little he could penetrate a bit further,
but in the end there lay a region of impenetrable darkness into which
the steps merged.
"You're going down _there_!" gasped Betty.
"_Am_ I?" he laughed. "You wouldn't want us to skip out tonight
without even having looked into it, would you?"
"N-o." But she hesitated and even shuddered as she too lay down and
peered into the forbidding place.
"We'll not take any chances we don't have to." He got up and began
immediately to make his few preparations. "Here's the rifle; I'll
leave it handy for you in case our friend Rios should surprise us.
I'll take a handful of stuff with me to burn for a torch. And we'll
have another look out into the cañon to begin with."
He drew out the rifle and gave it to Betty. He placed other stones
with the ones she had slipped under the edges of the boulders. And
finally he went to look out into the cañon.
"No one in sight," he reported. "And now, here goes."
He sat down at the edge of the opening in the floor, set a match to his
crude torch, grinned comfortingly up at Betty and wriggled over and set
his foot to the first step. As he did so there came to him an
unpleasant memory of the fashion in which Zoraida had guarded her own
secret places with rattlesnakes; he wondered if any of the ugly brutes
lived down here? As it happened the thought had its influence in
saving him from mishap later. For, though he came upon no snakes, he
went warily and thus avoided another danger.
His torch burnt vilely and smoked copiously. But what faint light it
afforded was sufficient. Step by step he went down until feet and legs
and then entire body were lost to Betty above; she had set the rifle
aside and was kneeling, her hands clasped in her excitement. Now she
could see only his head and the torch held high; he looked up and
smiled at her and waved the faggot. Then she saw only the dimly
burning fire and the hand clutching it. And dimmer and dimmer grew his
light until she strained her eyes to catch a glint of it and could not
tell if it were being extinguished for want of dean air or if he were
very, very far below her.
"Jim!" she called.
"All right," his voice floated back to her.
He had reached the bottom of the stone stairway; his feet shifting back
and forth informed him that he was on a rock floor that was full of
inequalities and that pitched steeply ahead of him. His fire was
almost out, deteriorating into a mere smudge curling up from dying
embers. The air was bad, thick and heavy; breathing was difficult. He
looked up and made out the dim square by which Betty knelt. He could
go a little further without danger, since if the air grew worse he
could still turn and run back up the steps? The floor seemed to be
pitching still more steeply. Fearful of a precipice or a pit and a
fall, he went down on his hands and knees and crept on. Thus he held
his poor torch before him and thus he made a first discovery. The
smoke was drifting steadily into his face. And that meant a current of
air.
Still crawling, he pressed forward eagerly, sniffing the air. But he
relaxed none of his caution; the floor underneath still pitched steeply
and, it seemed to him, grew steeper. Then his light began to brighten;
the embers glowed and when he blew on them, broke again into flame. He
looked up; he could not see the square of light above now. Evidently
he was passing into some sort of wide tunnel or lengthy chamber. Dimly
he could descry walls on either side of him. Ahead was only black
emptiness; underfoot the uneven floor seeming to grow smoother and to
slant still more abruptly downward.
"I'd better go easy," he told himself grimly. "If a man started
sliding here I wonder where he'd land!"
Decidedly the air was better. He filled his lungs and stopped where he
was, moving his torch above his head, lowering it, peering about him on
all sides. At last he made out that a dozen steps further on there was
a level space about which the walls were squared so as to give the
effect of a small room. He drew nearer step by step and again was
forced to kneel and then feel his way forward with his hands for the
floor under him grew steadily steeper so that it was difficult to keep
from sliding down the incline. When he saw his way sufficiently
clearly he did slide the last three or four feet. And now, as again
his torch flared and the air freshened in his nostrils, he saw that
which put an eager excitement in his blood. The small room had every
appearance of an ancient storeroom. He saw objects piled on the floor,
objects of strange designs, cups and pitchers and vessels of various
shapes. He caught one up and it was heavy. He clanked two together
and the mellow, bell-like sound had the golden note.
"Solid gold," he muttered. And as something upon one of the
vessels--it was a drinking goblet of ornate design--caught the light
and shone back at him like imprisoned fire, "Encrusted with precious
stones!"
He put the things down and looked further. There was a big chest. As
his foot struck it it burst asunder and tumbled its contents to the
floor. From the disordered heap there shone forth from countless
places the colorful glow of jewels. He passed to another chest, a
smaller one placed as in a position of honor upon a square tablet of
rock. He held his torch close and looked in; he thrust in his hand and
withdrew it filled with pearls. Even he, no connoisseur like Barlow,
would have staked his life on their genuineness. They were of many
sizes but more large ones among them than small; their soft, rich
loveliness dimmed even those of Zoraida's wearing.
"A man could carry a million dollars out of here in his hands!"
He went on. But what he held in his hand he thrust into his pocket as
he went. The remembrance of Zoraida's rattlesnakes came to him
abruptly. Thus he moved with renewed caution and thus he was saved
from a misadventure. For even so he almost stepped to a fall. Between
two heaps of tumbled articles was a square hole, sheer and black,
several feet across. He stooped over it. The air came up with a rush.
At first he could see only a little way. Then he made out that the
shaft went straight down only a few feet and then slanted away in a
great chute like the floor down which he had already come, only so much
steeper that he knew had he fallen there would have been no return
possible for him. To what eventual landing place would he have
plunged? For a moment or so his eyes strained in vain into the gloom.
Slowly faint and then growing detail rewarded him. It was but a small
section offered him because of the angling of the tunnel. But before a
watch could have ticked ten times he knew into what place he would have
fallen, into what regions his glance had penetrated. The light was dim
down yonder but he knew that he was looking down into the gardens of
the golden king of Tezcuco.
"Another way into the hidden place, and one that Zoraida herself knows
nothing of," he thought. "If a man took this drop and then the slide,
he'd land with the breath jolted out of him but there is shrubbery to
fall on and it wouldn't kill him. But in there he'd stay! There would
be no climbing back up the slippery chute."
He withdrew and looked about him again. Expecting pitfalls, he took no
single step without making sure first. He crossed the chamber and upon
the further side he came to a second pit and a second tunnel. This
like the first was steep and smooth; this also gave him a glint of
light at the further end. The light was dim; he made out that the
distant mouth of the tunnel was obscured by a tangle of brush and scrub
trees.
"Another underground garden?" he wondered. "Or the outside world?"
He filled his lungs with the air flowing upward. He fancied that it
had a fresher, sweeter smell, that there was the wholesomeness of
sunlight in it.
"It would be a joke," was his quick thought, "if there were a way out
for us here while Rios watches the cañon above!"
It was then that there came to him, faint from far above, Betty's
scream. He whirled and ran. Again he heard her screams, echoing
wildly. As he stumbled on there came to him the muffled sound of a
rifle-shot.