risked a few minutes of time in washing his face in the rapid current.
He now took off his boots, the better to enact the part of burglar. The
doors of the house, he knew, were never locked. First he secured his
favourite magazine rifle and a large quantity of cartridges, then as,
after all, he was entitled to the board he paid for, he penetrated
softly to the kitchen. Here he secured a couple of loaves of bread and a
cooked ham, together with some other things he wanted, including a
supply of tobacco, and thus overloaded as he had rarely been in his life
before, he stole softly outside, slipped his feet into his boots, and
slowly climbed the hill to the silver cavern. Depositing within his
goods and chattels, he examined his store carefully to learn whether
there was anything more he needed to stand a siege.
Bright as was the moonlight outside, the cavern was pitch dark, so
Stranleigh determined on another expedition to the house, and he brought
back a bunch of candles and an armful of bedclothes.
"Now for the night's work," he said to himself, and having lit a candle,
which he placed at the remote end of the cave, he began picking up
stones, and with them building a wall across the mouth of the pit. No
Roman wall was ever built with such care, and no Roman wall ever
contained within itself such possibilities of wholesale obliteration,
because the structure was intersticed with sticks of dynamite, which
Stranleigh carried with the most cautious tenderness from the rear to
the front of the cavern. When his task was completed the moon had gone
down, and the misty, luminous grey of the eastern sky betokened the
approach of dawn. The young man was thoroughly tired, and with a sigh of
relief he stretched himself out on the bedclothes he had brought from
the house.
The early sun shining on his face awakened him. He knew from experience
that the bunk house men were not afflicted with the vice of early
rising. There was no aperture in their habitation, unless the door was
open, through which the sun might shine upon them. He was therefore not
surprised that no one was visible anywhere near the sleeping quarters.
So he breakfasted in peace, alternating slices of bread with slices of
ham, thus constructing some admirable sandwiches.
A providential jug, which doubtless in its time had contained whisky,
was one of the utensils left when the mine was abandoned. Stranleigh
took this, and stepping over the dangerous wall, filled it three or four
times at the rushing cataract, rinsing out all indication of its former
use. He brought it back, filled with very clear and cold water. He could
not help thinking as he returned what an excellent place the waterfall
would be for the washing of dishes, if a person ran the risk of standing
upon spray-drenched, slippery rock ledges.
Stranleigh sat down where he could see the enemy's quarters, and
carefully examined his rifle, assured himself that the magazine was
full, then with the weapon over his knees in the fashion adopted by his
recent gaolers, watched the bunk house patiently, wishing he had a
morning paper to while away the time.
The laggard sentinel was the first to rouse himself. The broad door
opened, and Jim Dean, palpably bewildered, stepped out. With hand
shading his eyes he minutely examined the landscape, slowly turning his
head from left to right as he scrutinised the distant horizon and the
ground intervening. Stranleigh, kneeling, rested his rifle on the top of
the wall, and as Jim's left ear, a rather prominent feature, became
fully visible, the young man fired.
Jim's action instantaneously verified the Indian romances of
Stranleigh's youth. He sprang clear up into the air and clapped a hand
upon his wounded ear. He was at that moment the most astonished man on
the western hemisphere. His first instinct being to bolt for cover, he
did so without pausing to close the door, which opened outwards, and
this broad piece of woodwork now offered a much more prominent target
than Jim's ear had done a moment before.
Stranleigh, exercising a care that seemed unnecessary with so big a
target, fired out the cartridges of his magazine, then immediately
restocked it, and shot away the second charge. Putting in a third load,
he sat there with his customary nonchalance, awaiting the turn of
events. In that clear atmosphere, and with his sharp vision, he saw
that he had accomplished his intention, and had punctured the letter "S"
on the panel of the open door.
Meanwhile, there was commotion in the bunk house. The first sharp
report, accompanied by Jim's yell, woke every man within. The subsequent
fusilade engendered a belief that the enemy was in possession of a Maxim
gun, and brought every man to the floor, thankful that he was under
better cover than if he stood behind the door, through the panel of
which all the bullets had penetrated.
"How did he escape?" demanded one, addressing Jim, who was holding his
left hand to his ear.
"I don't know," said the wounded man ruefully. "You can search me."
"Seems from that shooting that we'd better search outside. What in the
fiend's name made him batter the door?"
"Sorry he left us, I suppose," muttered Dean, grimly. "Knocking because
he wanted to come in again."
"How did he get his gun?"
"Hanged if I know," said the questioned man, impatiently.
"But you were on guard. You ought to know something about it."
"Look here," said Jim. "There's no use in talking. He got out some way,
and he's got his gun some way. He's holding us up, and we must make
terms with him."
"But where is he?"
"I tell you I don't know! The bullet came from the direction of the
mine. Now, one of you boys throw up your hands, and go outside and hail
him."
At this command, Jim met the first rebellion against his authority.
"Go outside yourself. It is you who have brought all this upon us. You
shot him through the shoulder; you proposed capturing him, and it was
you who fell asleep last night and let him escape."
Jim did not combat their charges.
"All right," he said. "I'll go out, and you sit here and shiver while I
enjoy a little conversation with him."
Raising his hands above his head, Dean stepped across the threshold
into the open, and stood like an oriental about to begin his prayers. He
saw at once the wall that had been built during the night, and then
caught sight of Stranleigh standing behind it. Pulling out a white
handkerchief, and waving it, Dean proceeded towards the mine.
"Have you got a revolver?" shouted Stranleigh.
"No," answered Dean.
"Then put down your hands, and approach as a Christian should."
Jim obeyed.
"Now stand where you are," said Stranleigh, when the other was within
four or five yards of the wall. "I see your ear is bleeding. That was
rather a neat shot of mine, don't you think?"
"It was," admitted Dean, without enthusiasm.
"When you shot at my shoulder, you had a bigger mark."
"Oh, not so very much," growled Dean. "My ears are celebrated for their
size."
"You'd better wrap it up in this handkerchief," commented Stranleigh,
rolling it up in a ball, and flinging it towards Jim. The wounded man
tied it round his voluminous ear.
"And now," said Stranleigh, "get through with your parley as soon as
possible, then go to Miss Armstrong, who will very expertly attend to
your hurt. But in order to win the privilege of surgical treatment, you
must recognise that you are a prisoner."
"A prisoner?" echoed Dean.
"Certainly. You must give me your word you will say nothing to Miss
Armstrong to show that I have had a hand in the game. Make whatever
excuse you like for the disaster, and then get back to the bunk house,
tell your fellows the condition of the game as far as we have gone. I
will allow you five minutes after your return to show those chaps the
letter 'S' I have perforated in the door. They are a very unbelieving
lot, and I wish to gain their affection and respect. Without hurting
anybody I mean to prove that I am a dead shot. I'm well provisioned
here, and prepared to stand a siege. Until Mr. Armstrong returns, not
one of you will be allowed outside the chalet. Don't be misled by the
fact that you outnumber me six to one. I hold a magazine rifle, possess
an ample supply of ammunition, and have just given evidence of the
rapidity with which reloading can be performed."
"Yes," said Dean, meditatively, "your position would be bull strong and
hog tight, if you had a chum with you who could shoot as well as you do.
But as it is, you've nobody to relieve you, and a man must sleep. It
will only take one of us to defeat you. We've no magazine rifles and
don't need none. I'll undertake the job myself."
"How do you propose to do it?"
"That would be telling," said Jim, craftily.
"Why not?" answered Stranleigh. "I'm placing my cards on the table. Why
don't you do the same? I'm not yearning for war and bloodshed, but have
inaugurated a sort of Hague tribunal. There were two things I determined
to accomplish when I broke jail. I hope that wounded ear hasn't impaired
your hearing, so that you may listen with attention. It's always as well
to know what your enemy desires."
"I'm listening," said Jim.
"The first thing was to shoot you through the leg or the arm or the ear,
choosing some spot that was not vital. This in return for your shooting
me. One good turn deserves another, you know. That part of my programme
I have accomplished."
"What's the other part?"
"The second is to keep you gentlemen in prison just as long as you kept
me in prison. One good imprisonment deserves another. Now will you tell
me what you intend to do?"
"No; I won't."
"That's mean of you, Jim; secretive, over-cautious and that sort of
thing. I'm not so chary and so will give you the information. There are
only two portions of the night during which you can come out unnoticed;
before the moon rises and after it sets. You will steal out and take up
a position where you can see the barricade when day begins to dawn.
You'll need to chose a spot a long way off, because the explosion, when
it comes, will wreck everything in the neighbourhood."
"What explosion?"
"The dynamite explosion. This wall is built of rock intersticed with
those dynamite cartridges of yours. It is very likely you will
obliterate the farm-house."
"I'll obliterate you, anyway."
"Quite so, but at a tremendous cost, because whatever the fate of Mr.
Armstrong's residence, the doom of the bunk house is certain. You may be
outside that danger, but you won't be free of another. You suppose,
doubtless, that I shall be asleep in the cavern. As a matter of fact I
shall be sleeping placidly under the stars, quite out of reach of the
main disaster. Your first shot will awaken me. Now, it is by no means
certain that your first shot will send off the dynamite. You may have to
fire half a dozen times, and your best rifle is an old breech-loader. I
use smokeless powder, and you don't. I could pepper away at you for half
an hour and you'd never know where the bullets were coming from. The
smoke from your rifle would give _you_ away at once. When I fire at you
next time, Jim, I shall aim at a more vital point, because, my dear boy,
the person who sets off that dynamite is a murderer. So before you put
your plan into operation, just consult your comrades and explain to them
its disadvantages."
Dean stood there meditating for a few moments before he spoke.
"I'm very much obliged to you," he said at last, "for telling me what
you mean to do. We'll change that plan a little, and come out of the
bunk house together. We'll search the country for you, and so won't need
to blow up the mine."
"That's a much more humane expedient, and will prevent unnecessary loss
of life. I shall be lying quiet under whatever cover I can find. Your
crowd will perambulate the locality, and I may remind you that you are
no lightfooted Cinderellas. A herd of elephants would make less noise. I
shall see you long before you see me, and I leave the result to your own
imagination. And now, Jimmy, take the advice of a true friend. Your time
to act was when you were snoring at that door and I was climbing the
chimney. Once you allowed me to get my rifle, you had permitted
opportunity to pass you, because I am a good shot, and I came West in
order to shoot. When a person accustomed to downy beds of ease slumbers
peacefully, as I did this morning, on hard and jagged rocks thinly
disguised by a blanket, with my right ear against a dynamite cartridge,
there's nothing the matter with his nerves, is there?"
"No; there isn't," said Dean, with conviction.
"Now, what you chaps want is not a battle, but an armistice. Leave well
enough alone, I say, and accept the _status quo_. If you remain in the
bunk house, you are as safe as in a Presbyterian church."
Jim did not reply, but deliberated, his open palm against his bandaged
ear.
"Hurt?" asked Stranleigh.
"Yes, it does," admitted Jim, ruefully.
"Well, my shoulder hurt a good deal after you fired at me. Now, I'll
tell you what I'll do, Jim. Next time I shoot at you, I'll take the
other ear. You're determined to prove yourself a brigand, or a pirate,
or something of that sort, and as pirates always wear earrings, that
will put you in a position to adopt them. What do you say to my proposal
for an armistice?"
"I can't answer for the rest of the boys without consulting them. If we
need an armistice or a _status quo_, why, I suppose we ought to have
them."
"All right. If your ear hurts, the sooner you get it attended to, the
better. You go directly down to the house and see Miss Armstrong, and
you can reflect upon the situation while she is dressing the wound.
Deep thinking will take your mind from the pain. Then go up and consult
the company. Come and let me know what they decide. Meanwhile, I'll
guarantee that no one comes out of that bunk house without being shot
at."
"Mr. Stranleigh, I'll do what you say, but I'll change the order. I'll
go first to our shack, and warn the boys. That's only fair, for they're
watching from that door, and if they see me going to the house they may
think it's all right, and come outside. After talking with them, I'll
visit Miss Armstrong, and then come back here to tell you what the boys
say."
"Yes, Jim; that's a better plan than mine. But first give me your word
that you will take no advantage of this respite until war. An armistice,
you know, is a cessation of hostilities."
"You mean that there will be no shenanigan? I give you my word."
The wounded man made his way to the bunk house. Shortly afterwards
Stranleigh saw him emerge, and go towards the homestead. After a longer
interval he came slowly up towards the fortress, his ear neatly
bandaged in white linen, which showed up, as one might say, like a small
flag of truce.
"Well, what did Miss Armstrong say about the wounded ear?"
"She says it's about as serious as the sting of a bee, and won't hurt
much longer than that would, and will be cured nearly as soon."
"That's first-rate, and relieves my conscience, which has been troubling
me, because I'd much rather smite a man on the ear with my fist than
with a bullet. For the same reason I hope you found your messmates
undergoing a spasm of common sense."
"They agreed with me that it wasn't very healthy to take outdoor
exercise for a while. If we decide to begin fighting again, we'll give
you twelve hours' notice. Will that suit you?"
"I don't know that it does, quite. I want you to promise that you will
not break loose either until Mr. Armstrong returns, or the auction is
over."
"The boys wouldn't agree to that, Mr. Stranleigh. We're bound to attend
that auction."
Stranleigh sighed.
"Very good," he conceded. "I must content myself with what you offer. I
accept your proposal, for I feel certain that Mr. Armstrong will return
before the ranch is sold. So good-bye. Give my love to the boys."
Stranleigh watched the retreating figure until it disappeared into the
bunk house. A moment later the perforated door was drawn shut, and then
he rolled up the bedclothes into a bundle, and deposited it at the
further end of the cavern. This done, he took his rifle under his arm,
crossed the barricade, and strolled down to the farm-house. Miss
Armstrong greeted him with surprise.
"I thought you had gone to New York," she said.
"I took the train east, but only to the next station from Bleachers."
"You've not been stopping at that wretched hotel in Bleachers ever
since?"
"Oh no; I received a pressing invitation from some friends of mine to be
their guest, with a prospect of a little shooting, so I've been staying
with them ever since."
"Did you have a pleasant time?"
"Oh, excellent, and I heard more entertaining stories than ever I
listened to in a similar period."
"Good shooting?"
"First rate. Limited in quantity, but of finest quality. Indeed, I may
boast of a record; I hit everything I aimed at. Camp fare, however, left
a good deal to be desired, so you may imagine how glad I am to return."
"I'm very pleased to have an opportunity of giving you something better.
How would you like some nice broiled trout, freshly caught this
morning?"
"Oh, heavenly!" cried Stranleigh, enthusiastically. "I haven't had
anything but bread and salt pork since I saw you. Who caught the trout?"
"I did. I went down the river early this morning. I must have had a
premonition that you would return, famished for trout, and I had quite
an adventure, or rather, plunged into a mystery which I have not yet
solved. I heard the sound of firing; first a single shot, then a
fusilade. I could not tell from whence the sound came. I hurried home
with my basket, but there was no one in sight. After a while Jim came
in, very much crestfallen, it seemed to me, with his ear tied up
clumsily in a handkerchief. He had been shot through the ear, and of
course I came to his aid at once. With a woman's curiosity, I asked him
how the accident happened. Now, one of Jim's infirmities is that he can
only tell the truth when it suits his convenience."
"Many of us are like that," said Stranleigh.
"Well, this time it didn't suit his convenience."
"What did he say?"
"That the boys were having a sort of shooting match. I told him I had
heard the firing, and feared that there had been a battle of some sort.
He said it was the first shot that did for him. They had some bet on as
to who could fire the quickest at a flying mark. In his hurry to get
ready he had mishandled his gun, and sent a bullet through his ear. The
other men had then fired almost simultaneously."
"Miss Armstrong, I fear you are too sceptical. Why shouldn't that be a
true story?"
"Mr. Stranleigh, you quite underrate my intelligence. The wound in
Jim's ear was not caused by the gun he held. In the first place, his ear
would have been blackened with gunpowder, and likely would have been
partly torn off. Secondly, a mishandled gun would have fired upwards.
The bullet that wounded him was fired from a distance by someone higher
up than the spot where Jim stood. The wound was clean cut, slightly
inclining downwards. Besides all that, Jim's bullet, coming from an
old-fashioned rifle, would make a bigger hole. I know that, for you
remember I tended your shoulder, through which his bullet had gone."
"By Jove, Miss Armstrong, if Sherlock Holmes had a daughter, she would
be just about your age. Was there anything else?"
"Yes; I looked at the handkerchief in which he had bound his ear. It was
of a finer cambric than we have ever seen in this district, or indeed,
than I have seen anywhere else. The corner was embroidered with a very
delicately-worked crest."
"A crest?" said Stranleigh, rather breathlessly.
"I asked Jim where he had got this handkerchief. He seemed confused, but
said he had always had it. Bought it once at a five-cent store in
Denver."
Stranleigh could not refrain from laughing.
"You think it cost more than five cents?"
"Yes; I am sure it cost more than twenty-five."
"Perhaps he stole it?"
"Jim might shoot a man, but he'd never steal."
"I think that when you discover the owner of that handkerchief, you will
have solved the mystery," remarked Stranleigh calmly.
"I think so, too," said the girl quietly. "Now I am going to cook your
trout."
The three days following were among the most enjoyable Stranleigh had
ever spent. He asked Miss Armstrong to show him the portion of the river
in which she had caught those delicious trout. Heretofore, she had used
a baited hook when fishing, landing her spoil with a trout pole, but now
she was to be initiated in the delicate mysteries of fly fishing.
Stranleigh remembered the story told of an English official sent to view
the debateable land adjoining the far western boundary of Canada who
reported the territory useless, because the fish wouldn't rise to the
fly. He wondered what lure the official used, for here they rose readily
enough, and fought like demons until Miss Armstrong deftly lifted them
from the water in the new-fangled landing net, the like of which she had
never seen before.
But in spite of the excellent sport he was enjoying, Stranleigh became
more and more anxious as time went on. Nothing had been heard from
Stanley Armstrong. The fisher began to fear that the detective had
failed in his search. On the morning of the fourth day he dressed in his
ordinary tweed suit. The riding costume attracted more attention than
was altogether convenient. He put in his pocket an automatic revolver of
the latest construction; light, accurate and deadly. The day of the
auction was drawing uncomfortably near, and he was determined that his
journey should not be interrupted, as his former ride had been. Aside
from this, he expected to carry with him a large amount of money, and if
any word of that got abroad, he knew a holdup was quite within the range
of possibility. The coterie confined in the bunk house would doubtless
learn that they were their own gaolers, and with that gang once free
upon the landscape, he anticipated interruption which, if successful,
would completely nullify his plans.
"Are you going fishing to-day?" asked Miss Armstrong, when he came
downstairs. He had appeared unexpectedly soon that morning. The young
woman was always an early riser.
"Fishing!" echoed Stranleigh. "Yes, in a manner of speaking. Isn't there
a text which refers to fishers of men? I'm going fishing for your
father. We should have had him here before this, but now the need of him
becomes imperative. I imagine that a telegram awaits me in Bleachers. If
not, I must communicate with New York, and wait for a reply."
Stranleigh walked up the hill to the bunk house, and rapped at the panel
with the butt of his riding whip. Dean himself threw open the door, and
he could not conceal his astonishment at seeing the young man standing
there, apparently unarmed.
"Good morning, Jim," said Stranleigh cordially.
"I wish to enjoy a few minutes' conversation with the company before
leaving for Bleachers."
"None of the company are out of their bunks yet, except myself, but I
guess they're wide enough awake to hear what you say. Won't you come
inside?"
"Thank you," said Stranleigh, stepping across the threshold; then, to
the sleeping beauties--"The top of the morning to you! Early to bed and
late to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. Has wisdom come to
you since I left? Do you still intend to shoot up Bleachers on auction
day?"
"You bet we do," said Dean.
Stranleigh seated himself upon the chair he had formerly occupied.
"How did you propose to get out?"
"By the same way you escaped," responded Dean with determination.
"What an inconvenient exit! I speak from sooty experience. Why not have
gone by the doorway?"
"We didn't want to get shot," said Jim.
"There was no danger of that. I have been spending my days in fishing,
and my nights in sound sleep."
"Do you mean to say," cried Jim, "that there's been nobody on guard?"
"No; you've been as free as air to go where you pleased."
Dean laughed heartily, and the others joined him. The joke was on them,
but they seemed to enjoy rather than resent it.
"You were right about brain and muscle," observed Jim at last.
Stranleigh ignored the compliment.
"I've got a proposal to make to you men," he went on. "I'm off to
Bleachers to do some telegraphing, trying to learn the whereabouts of
Mr. Armstrong, who has not yet put in an appearance. The sale takes
place day after to-morrow."
[Illustration: "'Put down your hands and approach as a Christian
should.'"]