Charley was floundering around in the whirl of waters, struggling for
dear life to prevent being dragged down into the boiling pot.
Dick was engaged in a struggle of another sort. He was making it
decidedly hot for the men who had tackled him, kicking and turning and
twisting. They tried hard to throw him over the edge of the bank and
might have succeeded if another man had not come running out of the
mouth of the canyon, shouting:
“No, no! Don’t pitch him in! Let the other go to thunder, but I want
this one, as I told you before.”
It was Tony. As Dick recognized him he was suddenly stretched upon the
ground by a stunning blow between the eyes that one of his captors
found a chance to get in.
It nearly knocked the breath out of his body and his wits went with it
for the moment.
When he came to himself again Tony had him by the collar and was
lifting him up, while three tough-looking specimens stood around ready
to help.
The Boiling Pot had stopped boiling now and Charley was nowhere to be
seen.
“Say, Dick Darrell, brace up! Pull yourself together!” cried Tony.
“Where’s Mudd and the gal?”
“Find out,” panted Dick. “I’m not telling. What have you done with my
friend?”
“Oh, he’s gone back in the cave all right, I reckon,” chuckled Tony.
“You’re a slick fighter, you are. See the black eye you have given my
friend here? Never mind, though, you’ll be paid up for this.”
Dick was silent. There was no chance for any further struggles, for
his hands had been tied behind him and he knew by the feeling that his
revolver had been taken away.
“I guess Mudd is up to the hut all right, and the gal, too,” said Tony.
“Hustle him along, boys. I’ll go ahead and make sure.”
Tony ran on and by the time Dick reached the hut Martin Mudd came out
to meet him, with Tony by his side.
“Yes, that’s the right boy,” he said, glancing at Dick. “I knew you
wouldn’t desert me, Tony. I shan’t forget this.”
“Well, you see I fell in with these here friends of mine,” said Tony.
“Old cow punchers, every one on ’em. I was going down to Node Ranch for
help, but thought I might as well come back and help you out when I met
them.”
“Help me out still further by giving me a chance to talk to this boy,”
said Mudd. “I’ve got something very important to say to him. With the
girl stowed away in my place up in the loft the hut gives me just my
chance.”
“And you want us to stay out--is that the idea?” asked Tony.
“Why, yes.”
“The boys won’t never consent to it while the whisky jug is inside, as
they happen to know it is.”
“Go in and get the jug and help yourselves. Here’s the key to the
locker,” replied Mudd, thrusting his hand into his pocket, adding:
“No, by Jove, it isn’t, either. I must have left it in the pocket of my
other coat. Come on in and we’ll all have a drink.”
“But what about the boy?” asked Tony.
“Oh, tumble him over on the ground. He can’t get up with his hands
tied.”
“Yes he can, too.”
“Then tie his feet into the bargain and make sure. We won’t be gone ten
minutes anyhow.”
And this was just the way they served poor Dick.
Tied hand and foot, he lay there on the shore of the lake filled with
anxiety for his friends and forced to listen to the drunken songs and
wild shouts of Mudd and his crew inside the hut.
The proposed ten minutes had lengthened into an hour and still no one
came out of the hut.
Mudd seemed to have forgotten all about his proposed talk with Dick,
until at last the door of the hut flew open and he came staggering
along with his rusty old plug tilted back on his head and his necktie
twisted around under his chin.
“Hello, Dick--Dick Darrell,” he said, thickly. “Are you there?”
“Can’t you see me?” replied Dick. “You could if you weren’t drunk.”
“Don’t sass me, boy, for it won’t pay you,” replied Mudd, staggering up
to Dick and sitting down upon the ground beside him.
His back was now against a pile of rocks, which at this point cropped
out upon the shore.
“Let me free, Mudd,” said Dick. “Come, now, no use in us two
quarreling. Let me free.”
“Not a bit of use in our quarreling,” hiccoughed Mudd, “but I won’t set
you free yet. Say, Dick Darrell, here’s the--here’s the--hic--the whole
business in a clam shell. Clara’s father robbed your father of the big
Gold Queen mine up in the Black Hills and hired a man to do your father
up and he did.”
“Do you know this,” cried Dick. “You are pretty drunk, Mudd; do you
feel sure you are speaking the truth?”
“Sure!” cried Mudd. “Why, of course, I’m sure! Hain’t I the--well,
never mind. I was paid $5,000 to do you up all right, though, and Tom
Eglinton is the man who paid the plunks. Burn him! He’s no good. That
Gold Queen mine belongs to you, young feller, and it’s worth more’n
a million, by Jove! Sign that air paper ’bout the hundred thousand
dollars and I’ll give you evidence against Tom Eglinton what will hold
good in any court--oh, great snakes, what’s this?”
Dick was scarcely listening now--he was staring up at the rocks above
Martin Mudd’s head.
Over the edge of the rocks a monstrous head had just been thrust--it
was the head of a Plesiosaurus--it dropped down and knocked off the
battered plug.
Mudd looked up and sprang to his feet with a frightened yell.
“Got ’em again!” he bellowed loud enough to rival old P. D.