“Throw up nothing!” shouted Dick Darrell when Martin Mudd called out,
“Throw up your hands!” and he rushed forward, firing two shots as he
went.
This rather took Mudd & Co. by surprise, as they had not expected
anything of the sort.
One of the shots went through Mudd’s rusty “tile,” knocking it off his
head.
“Oh, I’m shot! I’m shot!” he yelled. “Spare my life, boys!”
Down he fell all in a heap.
Tony had fired one shot, but, seeing Charley rush up to help Dick,
letting fly with his revolver as he came, the valiant Tony took to his
heels and sprinted off into the depths of the cavern.
Dick lost no time in making Mudd a prisoner.
Clara and Charley lent a hand and with a stout cord, which the latter
happened to have in his pocket, they tied the fellow’s hands behind him.
While this was going on Mudd kept up a dreadful racket, calling out in
one breath that he was shot and the next begging the boys not to shoot
him.
He made so much noise about it that Dick unfeelingly suggested that he
was not shot at all and told him he had better hold his tongue.
“Yes I am, too,” growled Mudd. “I know I am. This is a nice way to
treat a man who has been deserted by his friend. Miss Clara, you might
plead my cause, I think. I was always a good friend of your father’s,
as you know very well.”
“What impudence!” exclaimed Clara. “After the way you have used me,
too!”
“Don’t see it in that light at all,” returned Mudd. “I haven’t ill used
you. Your father owes me money that I can’t collect. I simply detained
you until I could collect it--that’s all.”
“If you don’t stop your noise, mister, I’ll put a gag in your mouth!”
cried Dick. “Just stand still, will you, and I’ll soon see where you
are hurt. Charley, pick up his hat. Clara, hold the lantern. We will
straighten this thing out right now.”
It was Mudd’s own lantern, which he dropped when he fell. Clara
had picked it up and lighted it again and Dick now made a careful
examination of the man, but could find no wound.
“You are not hurt at all,” declared Dick.
“One shot went through his hat,” said Charley.
“It’s a pity it didn’t go through his head,” added Dick. “Now, then,
Mr. Mudd, seeing that you know the way out of this place I’ll thank you
to show it to us, and be quick about it, do you understand?”
Mudd began to snuffle.
“I’ll do it,” he drawled. “I do it under protest, because I have to
do it. I’m a man of very sensitive feelings and I don’t like to be
talked rough to like that. I’m like the devil. I’m not as black as I’m
painted. I’ve acted in your interest, Dick Darrell, right along.”
“So you say,” replied Dick. “I suppose, of course, you were acting for
my interest when you tried to stick a knife into my back in the streets
of Washington. Oh, you’re a bird, you are! Travel on and show us the
way out of here and hold your tongue or I’ll make you--that’s all!”
Mudd seemed thoroughly cowed. With his hands tied behind him he
shuffled on through the cavern.
Dick noticed that he kept in a direct line with the lake and seemed to
know just where he was going, which, indeed, proved to be the case, for
in a few moments he paused beside what seemed to be a flight of stone
steps.
“There’s the way out,” he growled.
“Why, these are regular stairs!” exclaimed Dick.
“It’s right,” said Clara. “I was brought down this way.”
“Of course it’s right,” growled Mudd. “If I may be allowed to speak
now, I would like to say that these steps constitute a most important
archæological discovery and one which should be communicated to the
Smithsonian Institute. Yours truly, Martin Mudd, is the discoverer, so
please mention his name in your report. You might call them the Mudd
stairs, only that would be rather a misnomer, seeing that they are made
of stone.”
“Upon my word, you are the windiest beggar I ever came across,” said
Dick. “Who built these stairs, anyway?”
“There you go hurting my feelings again, and without the slightest
reason,” retorted Mudd. “To the best of my knowledge and belief they
were built by some prehistoric tribe of Indians like the cliff dwellers
of the Colorado canyon. Don’t forget to mention my name when you make
your report.”
“Oh, I’ll mention your name in my report fast enough--don’t you fret,”
replied Dick. “Lead on, Clara. If these steps will take us out of this
hole we don’t want to lose any time.”
“There’s a big stone to lift at the top of the flight,” said Mudd. “If
you will untie my hands I’ll show you how to work it. You needn’t be
afraid that I’ll run away.”
But Dick would have none of his assistance, and, as it proved, it was
not needed, for he was easily able to lift the stone himself.
It seemed to move on two dowels set in sockets cut in the ledge; a very
clever piece of work, which Dick determined to study into later on.
When they came up into the open air our little party found themselves
at the very point where the horse had stopped, proving Doctor Dan to
have been entirely right in his conclusions.
They were now free, but with the boat gone it seemed rather a
discouraging situation, for night would soon be upon them and to take
the long walk through the canyon and down the mountain and then up
again on the other trail was not to be thought of at all.
“Mr. Mudd,” said Dick, turning to their prisoner, “you left a note for
me in that hut over there by the lake?”
“Ah! So you found it, did you?” replied Mudd. “Well?”
“You asked me to meet you there alone at midnight and promised some
important disclosures. You will have an opportunity to make them in the
hut very soon, for I’m going to take you there now.”
“You may take me there if you wish, same as you can take a horse to
water,” growled Mudd.
“By which I suppose you mean that I shall have the same trouble making
you talk against your will that I would in making the horse drink
unless he chose--is that it?”
“That is it exactly. Same time, young feller, I’m willing to talk if
I’m paid.”
“I told you what I’d do,” said Dick. “You put a million dollars in my
hands and I’ll give you a hundred thousand.”
“Will you give it to me in writing?” asked Mudd, quickly.
“Yes, I will.”
“Good enough! Come on to the hut. This is no joke, Dick Darrell. You
have been wronged out of a large fortune and I know it. I could name
the man who did it if I chose and I have a great mind to do it, too.”
As he spoke Martin Mudd shot a malignant look at Clara, which Dick did
not at all understand just then.
“Name him,” he said. “Speak out. I mean business; show that you do,
too.”
They were walking along through the canyon at the time and Mudd kept on
for some moments in silence.
Suddenly he looked up, exclaiming:
“Well, I will name him. He is Colonel Tom Eglinton, the father of that
girl!”