THE BAG OF DIAMONDS.
Jurgens divined instantly that he had got himself into a serious
predicament; but his predicament was even greater than the four boys
imagined during the first part of their struggle with him.
The scoundrel fought with the fury of a cornered panther, clawing,
kicking and even trying to use his teeth. Dashington exerted himself
entirely to prevent an outcry, and this left Matt to do most of the
fighting until Carl and Dick hurled themselves through the door and
lent their assistance.
With four against him, Jurgens had no hope; nevertheless, his
desperation was so great that he vainly tried to continue his one-sided
battle.
Carl found a piece of rope somewhere in the hut, and while he, and
Matt, and Dashington held Jurgens, Dick put the lashings on his hands
and feet and made them secure with hard and fast sailor's knots. A
twisted handkerchief tied between Jurgens' jaws relieved Dashington of
his part of the work, and the boys got up breathlessly and looked down
at their prisoner.
"That's because you didn't play square with me, Jurgens," said
Dashington, leering into the baleful eyes of the man at his feet. "I'll
back you against all comers, bar none, for being the most treacherous
crook in the business. But here's where you get it handed to you. You
had it easy, last night, but here's where I give you the merry ha-ha."
Jurgens tried to talk, but succeeded only in emitting an incoherent
gurgle behind the twisted handkerchief; then he strained desperately at
his bonds, but Dick's knots were never known to slip.
"Oh, cut it out!" said Dashington. "The ball and chain are as good as
on you so far as your chances for getting away are concerned. What do
you think of yourself, anyway? This is a regular calcimine finish, and
you're going to do time enough to keep you out of mischief for quite a
spell."
"Vat's dis?" asked Carl, stooping down by the edge of the step and
lifting a small canvas bag.
Dashington stared, then jumped into the air and shook his hat.
"Oh, no, this isn't luck!" he remarked, smothering his hilarity with
a tremendous effort. "Not at all! And yet it's as natural as can be.
Of course he wouldn't trust the sparks with either Whistler or Bangs.
He keeps them himself, and when he goes out hunting for Motor Matt he
totes them along. The bag drops out as we roll off the step, and hides
itself up close to the wall of the cabin. Carl finds it--and maybe
we're not all to the good? Take it from me, we are."
"Are the diamonds in that bag, Dash?" demanded Matt, scarcely daring to
credit his ears.
"Nowhere else, cull," exulted Dashington. "I couldn't forget that bag.
It has played a big part in my life, even if it hasn't played a long
one."
"Well, shiver me!" muttered Dick, dropping down on the step. "If that's
not what you call winding this up in handsome style, you can call me a
lubber. Motor Matt's luck--that's what did it."
"Hoop-a-la!" fluttered Carl, doing a two-step. "We're der fellers, und
don'd you forged dot! Der tiamonts is pack, we haf der tiamonts pack,
und eferyt'ing iss so lofely as I can't tell. Hoop-a-la!"
"Stow it, neighbor!" warned Dashington. "We've got our hooks on the
sparks, but we're not liable to keep them if you make too much noise.
Whistler and Bangs are somewhere in the timber, so don't advertise the
fact that we're here and have the stones. Look into the bag, Matt. Make
sure it's no counterfeit."
"That's right," said Dick, tempering his glad feelings until a further
examination was made. "Open the pouch, Matt, and look into it. If the
old hunks has fooled us with a bag of pebbles----"
"He hasn't," cut in Matt. "Look here!"
He pulled one hand from the bag and held up a diamond in the sun. There
could be no doubt, after that.
"But are they _all_ there?" demanded Dashington. "The bag hasn't shrunk
any since I first set my gig lamps onto it, still a few of the stones
might have been taken out. What do you think?"
Matt, Carl and Dick had all seen the diamonds just as they had come
from the idol's head, and they were all firmly of the belief that the
stones in the bag bulked as large as ever.
"This," said Matt, after he had retied the bag and put it away in the
breast of his coat, "makes it necessary for us to clear out of here as
soon as possible. The question is, how are we to do it?"
"The nearest burg is Chef Menteur," answered Dashington. "We could go
that far on our kicks and catch a train into N. O."
"Und leaf dot Jurgens feller pehindt?" protested Carl.
"He'd be something of a load to carry," said Dick.
"One of us could go to the nearest plantation and get a wagon,"
suggested Dashington.
"Und vile dot feller vas gone, Whistler und Pangs mighdt show oop und
blay hop mit der resdt oof us."
"There are four of us," said Matt, "and I think, if we had a long pole,
we could hang Jurgens to it and carry him. He has been the ringleader
in every plot that was directed against Townsend and the iron chest.
It's right that he should pay the penalty of his misdeeds, even if
Whistler and Bangs should never be caught. We let him go once, you
remember, Dick, when he was in our hands, and now, just because of it,
we lost the _Hawk_, and came within one of losing the diamonds."
"That's a good spiel Motor Matt is giving us," declared Dashington.
"I'll go and look for a long pole, and while I'm about it, you fellows
tie Jurgens' hands in front of him."
Dashington was probably ten minutes getting the pole. By the time he
was back, Jurgens' hands had been released and rebound in front of him.
The pole was slipped between his hands and feet, and Matt and Dick,
at one end, and Carl and Dashington, at the other, lifted it to their
shoulders.
Jurgens hung downward, the pole catching the ropes that bound him and
holding him suspended. His position was far from comfortable, but the
boys could not help that.
"I'm wise to the road we've got to take," said Dashington, "so this end
of the pole had better travel ahead. We'll come out on the turnpike a
half mile the other side of where I saw the automobile. It won't be
many minutes before Bangs and Whistler will begin to wonder what became
of Jurgens and the sparks, and they'll probably go out on a hunt. Luck
seems to be on our side, so I'm hoping they sidestep us."
The ends of the pole were shifted so that Carl and Dashington could
travel ahead. Dashington had his bearings, and he led off as briskly as
he could, considering that the thick timber and the long pole made it
necessary to pick their way with some care.
"You can see, fellows," philosophized Matt, from the rear, "what greed
will do for a man. Jurgens wouldn't trust the diamonds with Whistler
and Bangs. He had to take them with him. If he hadn't had them, the bag
of loot wouldn't be in our hands now."
"Jurgens is a four-ply wonder," said Dashington. "He was greedy with
me, and that's how I came to scratch my entry in his free-for-all
grafting game, I hope they give him ninety-nine years at hard labor."
What Jurgens' thoughts were as he was pitched and swayed along and
listened to this talk, did not appear. He was probably meditating on
the changeable nature of human affairs, and thinking of the many times
he had had the treasure of the Man from Cape Town in his hands and had
failed, in the final pinch, to get away with it.
As they got farther and farther into the timber, Matt counseled
silence. They were drawing close to the road and their voices might
carry to the ears of Whistler or Bangs, if they happened to be abroad.
After that the journey was continued in silence, the lads pausing, now
and then, to change the pole from one shoulder to the other.
Everything was going swimmingly, and Matt was looking ahead to an easy
jaunt along the road into Chef Menteur, and then a comfortable ride on
the railroad back to New Orleans, when Carl and Dashington suddenly
laid back on the pole and whirled around to get the front end farther
back into the timber.
Matt and Dick were naturally surprised at this quick move. They were on
the point of speaking when Dashington laid a warning finger on his lips
and motioned for the pole and its burden to be let down.
"What's up?" whispered Matt, when Carl and Dashington had pressed close.
"The benzine cart is right ahead of us!" answered Dashington.
"Oof ve hat gone anodder foot," added Carl, "ve vould haf come oudt
righdt on Whistler und Pangs."
"They're sitting in the front seats with a couple of rifles over their
knees," finished Dashington. "Go take a look, Matt."
Matt crept forward to a place from which he could get a good view of
the wagon road. The automobile was pulled out on the roadside, and
brush had been cut and piled over the bonnet in order to screen the car
from travelers along the highway.
Whistler and Bangs did not appear, as yet, to be very much worried over
the prolonged absence of Jurgens. They were lounging in the car, their
feet on the dashboard and pipes between their lips. Bangs was in his
shirt sleeves, and across the lap of each lay a rifle.
As Motor Matt surveyed the situation, he felt a pang to think that
those two rascals would escape the penalty of their evil actions. This
thought led to another which caused the young motorist's pulses to leap
with an inspiration.
Turning in his tracks, he made his way silently back to his waiting
companions.
"I've got a scheme, pards," he whispered. "How'd you like to ride back
to New Orleans in Jurgens' automobile?"
"Who can run the thing, Matt?" asked Dashington.
"I can," was the answer. "I used to be in the business."
"How'll ve get der pupple?" inquired Carl.
"Here's the scheme," said Matt, and drew the other three close while he
talked.