IN THE SMUGGLER'S CAVE.
The soft purling of water was the first sound which greeted Billie's ear
when he was again able to collect his thoughts. He was lying upon his
back and looking up into darkness. He tried to move, but was unable to
do so, and so closed his eyes and tried to think what had happened.
As his mind became clearer, he remembered his fall; and, as he became
more and more normal, and could move his hands about, he realized that
he was lying in the bottom of a boat and that the purling of the water
was caused by the rapid movement of the boat through the water.
"I wonder what makes it so dark?" he thought. "It was dinnertime the
last I remember, and I don't feel as though I had been asleep very
long."
All at once the noise of the water ceased, and a moment later he heard
the boat grate upon the sand. A man sprang over him and beached the
boat, and Billie could feel it being pulled up onto the shore. Then a
light appeared, and in another minute a man with a lighted torch in his
hand came and peered into the boat.
"_Buenos noches_," Billie exclaimed, after the man had been gazing
silently into his face for several seconds. "_Que hora es?_"
He thought it must be quite right to say "good evening" because it was
dark, but he asked the time to make sure.
The man made no reply, but turned and walked hastily away.
"That's funny," said Billie. "I think I'll follow him."
He attempted to arise, but a strange feeling in his head and in the pit
of his stomach caused him to forego the attempt.
"I must be hungry," he thought. "That's what I get for going without my
dinner. But I've been hungry before and never felt this way."
Somehow or other he didn't seem able to figure it out, and so he closed
his eyes and lay perfectly quiet, with a sense of going to sleep.
The next time he opened his eyes, the whole scene had changed. He was
lying on some sort of a coarse bed and by the light that came in through
a small grated window in the ceiling, he could see that he was in a
good-sized room, the walls of which appeared to be solid stone.
There were several pieces of furniture in the room, consisting of
chairs, a table and a chest of drawers. On the walls were a couple of
old-fashioned gun-racks, but no guns. The general impression it gave was
not pleasant, and reminded him of some of the old Scotch prisons he had
read about in the works of Sir Walter Scott.
"I wonder where I am," was the first thought that came to his mind. "I'm
out of the boat, that's certain, but how did I get here?"
Again he attempted to arise, and this time found that he was stronger
and able to sit up.
He made a careful inspection of the room, and discovered that there was
only one door, directly facing the bed, and no windows save the one in
the ceiling. Then he happened to think of his revolver, and felt for it.
It was gone, but his holster and belt, filled with cartridges, still
remained about his waist.
"I'm in a jolly nice fix," he muttered to himself, and, for want of
anything better to do, he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, still
wondering what had happened.
A few minutes later he heard the door open, footsteps approach his bed,
and a hand was laid upon his head.
Billie looked up through half-closed eyelids, and was surprised to see
bending over him a strange-looking individual, who reminded him strongly
of the Zuni medicine man, only that his face was more refined.
"What do you think of him, Santiago?" asked a voice in English, whose
owner Billie could not see, but which sounded somewhat familiar.
"I do not think he is badly hurt. I think he will be all right soon."
"_Bueno!_ Then I will leave him in your care; but see to it that he does
not escape. Our safety may depend upon keeping him prisoner."
"That's nice, pleasant information," thought Billie as he heard the
speaker withdraw. "To be kept a prisoner, am I? Well, we'll see about
it."
He uttered a faint groan and threw his hands over his head as though in
pain.
"I'll not get well as fast as they expect," was his mental resolve.
"I'll make them think I'm too sick to get away until the right time
comes."
Again Billie felt a hand upon his head and again he observed the man
beside him with half closed eyes.
When the man spoke again his voice was as soft as a woman's.
"Where do you feel badly?" he asked.
Then for the first time it occurred to Billie to wonder how he happened
to be addressed in English.
"It must be a friend," he thought. So he replied in a voice that sounded
most strange to him: "In my head. It seems too big for the rest of me."
"No wonder," said his companion--whether nurse or jailer, Billie was
trying to determine. "You struck right on top of it when you fell off
the rock."
It was the first time that Billie had thought of the rock; but at the
word, the happenings of all that had gone before came back to him.
"Now I remember," he thought. "I must have fallen right in the middle of
that bunch and they have brought me here--wherever this is. That must
have been Don Rafael who was in here; but why are they all talking
English?"
It was a bigger problem than he felt like answering, so he just lay
quiet as he felt a cooling lotion applied to his head and a pleasant but
very pungent odor filled the room.
"I think I'll go to sleep if you don't mind," he finally said and he
closed his eyes.
It did not seem to Billie that he had slept more than fifteen minutes
when he again opened his eyes, but as he learned afterwards he must have
slept nearly twenty-four hours. The strange man still stood beside him,
holding in his hand a dish of steaming soup, while at the foot of the
bed stood Don Rafael.
For just a moment Billie did not recognize either of them, but was
brought to himself by hearing Don Rafael say:
"I am very sorry you met with such a serious accident. I suppose you
must have been hunting and lost your foothold. I have sent word to your
friends and am sure they will come for you as soon as you are able to be
moved."
He spoke with such an air of truthfulness, that if Billie had not been
absolutely certain that he was a bad man, he would have believed him.
However, he said nothing, and after a minute Don Rafael continued:
"You must not think I have any animosity against you for what you did in
helping Pedro to escape me. That is a matter of Mexican politics of
which you young Americans know nothing. The Americans are all my
friends. Now you must eat your dinner. I will come and see you again."
The word dinner sounded pretty good to Billie and so he felt justified
in saying "thank you," and sitting up in his bed took the soup from
Santiago's hand as Don Rafael left the room.
"You are much better," said Santiago, as Billie ate his soup as only a
hungry boy can.
"Yes, I think so; but I don't feel exactly right yet."
"You will in a little while. Do you want some more?" as Billie emptied
the dish and handed it back.
"I usually eat something besides soup," declared Billie. "Have you
anything else?"
"Oh, yes," and Santiago took from a tray which he had placed on the
table a dish of black beans.
"Frijolles!" exclaimed Billie. "They look pretty good. I'm sure I can
eat them," and eat them he did.
"Are you Don Rafael's mozo?" he asked as he finally finished his meal.
"Santiago is no man's servant," was the soft but dignified reply.
"Santiago belongs to Mexico."
"I wonder what he means by that?" thought Billie, but he didn't think it
wise to ask, so he simply said: "Oh!" But after a few minutes he
ventured to ask:
"How do you come to speak English?"
"So that everyone who hears me will not understand. Don Rafael is the
only one here who understands English. It is a foreign tongue."
Again Billie replied "Oh!" to himself. He thought: "Funny, isn't it,
that English is a foreign language. I never thought of it before."
"Do you wish to get up?" Santiago finally asked.
"After a little. If you don't mind, I think I'll lie here a while
longer."
"Very well. I'll be back soon."
For a long time Billie lay with wide-open eyes, looking at the ceiling.
"I wonder why I don't feel like getting up?" he asked himself. "I guess
I must have had a hard bump. I wonder where Donald and Adrian are, and
if they really do know what has become of me. Of course they'll come and
get me after a while; but where do you suppose I am? It must be some
sort of a cave, I guess."
He looked at the grated window in the ceiling, through which came the
sunlight as the leaves which almost covered it on the outside were blown
backward and forward by the breeze.
"I wonder where that opening leads to," he thought. "If I could only get
through that, I'd be all right; but I reckon that's impossible."
Still he kept on looking and wishing he were on the other side of the
grating.
All at once something shut off the light.
"Hello!" exclaimed Billie. "I wonder what's happened?"
In another second the obstacle was removed and the sun shone in again,
only to be shut out a minute later.
"By George!" exclaimed Billie, sitting up in bed, "there's something
looking in at the window. I believe it's a dog."
He got out of bed, and stood directly under the opening, looking upward.
"It is a dog," he declared. "I wonder whose?" Then all of a sudden: "It
might be Pedro's. Suppose it is! Tanto! Tanto!" he called.
The animal gave a low whine, as of recognition.
"By George, I'm right!" declared Billie, becoming much excited. "There
must be somebody with him. They must be looking for me. Tanto! Tanto!"
he again called.
At this the dog gave a sharp bark and immediately disappeared.
For a long time Billie watched the opening for him to reappear, but he
did not come back, and Billie finally went and lay down; but not for an
instant did he take his eyes from the little window in the ceiling. He
could tell by the way the glints of light moved about that fully an hour
had passed, when again the opening was darkened and a face appeared at
the grating.
"Don Guillermo! Don Guillermo!" a voice softly called, and then Billie
recognized that his caller was Pedro's sister, Guadalupe.