FISHING FOR A PRIZE.
It is no easy task, even for a trained athlete, to climb forty or fifty
feet of rope. The majority of men, if put to the test of making their way
out of that cave by shinning up the long lariat suspended from the opening
above, would have failed altogether.
Remembering how well his hearing had served him under somewhat similar
circumstances, young Munson, watching so anxiously for the appearance of
his friend, pressed his ear against the tough, untanned rope and listened.
He could hear the scraping of the hands and the friction of the limbs
against the rope, working steadily and in such a manner as to show that
the man was succeeding well in the excelsior business and was sure to
reach the top in time, if his strength held out.
"I guess that's Mickey O'Rooney climbing up," muttered the boy, "and yet I
can't tell till I get a sight of him. It may be an Apache, and I'd better
get ready, for I don't mean to have any of them creeping up on me."
Fred did not wish to cut the rope, as that would have ended the
operations, so he concluded to resort to his weapon. There were two or
three chambers of the revolver undischarged and he did not believe that it
would be necessary to use them. The simple presentation of the muzzle had
accomplished his purpose some hours before, and there was little doubt
that it would do the same thing again.
The sky was absolutely free from clouds, and the moon, near her full, shed
such a light over the scene that the lad almost dreaded the result.
While all remained profoundly dark in the cave, at the moment the man
reached the surface and was brought into relief against the sky beyond, he
would be distinctly visible to any one who might be looking upward, and
half a dozen rifles pointed and fired at that juncture could scarcely fail
of fatal results. The lad's misgivings increased as the man neared the
top. When he again applied his ear to the lariat, he could understand that
the fellow was working hard, and could only be a few feet below him.
"There's nothing like being ready," he concluded, as he straightened up,
and, rising to his feet, stood, pistol in hand, ready for the issue.
He stepped back several feet, where his vision was entirely unobstructed.
"If it's an Indian, he won't have a chance of showing anything more than
his head, and if he don't take that out of the way in a hurry, I'll let a
ray of moonlight through it."
He stood thus, as rigid as a statue, fully appreciating the difficulties
of his position and the fatal consequences of allowing himself to be
outwitted.
"Mickey, is that you?" he asked, in a cautions whisper, a moment later.
As he asked the question he noticed that work upon the rope instantly
ceased.
"It's Mickey," he said to himself, "but he doesn't think it safe to
speak."
Then to him: "All right old boy, come ahead, and you may do the speaking
after you land. Come ahead--you're near the top."
Again the toiling climber resumed his labor, and he was within a foot or
two of the opening. One more hitch and he would emerge into the moonlight.
"Come old fellow, give me your hand," he added; "you've had pretty hard
work."
Just then the bronzed face of an Apache Indian, smeared with paint and
contorted with eager passion, slowly rose in the moonlight. The exhausted
warrior, feeling that the critical moment was at hand, when all depended
upon prompt and decisive work, made furious efforts to clamber out of the
cavern before the lad who held the key of the situation could prevent.
Although Fred had contemplated this issue, and had prepared for it, yet he
had become so thoroughly imbued with the belief that it was Mickey
O'Rooney who was toiling upward that he was almost entirely thrown off his
guard. Because of this, the cunning Apache would have secured his foothold
and clambered out upon the daring lad, but for one thing. He had done,
tremendous work in climbing a rope for such a distance, and his strength
was nearly gone when he reached the open air.
Before he could reap the reward of all this labor, Fred recovered.
Whipping out his revolver as before, he shoved it directly into his face,
and said: "You ain't wanted here, and you'd better leave mighty quick!"
The warrior made a clutch at the weapon so close to him, but his
exhaustion caused a miscalculation, and he failed altogether. He was
supporting himself at this moment by one hand, and he acted as if the
single effort to secure the pistol was to decide the whole thing. He
failed in that, and gave up.
Instead of letting go and going to the bottom in one plunge, he began
sliding downward, his head vanishing from sight almost as suddenly as if
the lasso had been cut. It is generally easier to go down than up hill,
and the work of twenty minutes was undone in a twinkling. A rattling
_descendo_, and the Apache was down the rope again, standing at the bottom
of the cave, and Fred was again master of the situation.
"Goodness!" exclaimed the lad, when he realized this gratifying state of
affairs, "I had no idea that that was an Indian; but I ought to have
suspected it when I called to him and he didn't make any answer. That
stops that little sort of thing; but I don't know when Mickey is going to
get a chance at the rope."
The lad was disheartened by this great disappointment, for it looked very
much as if the redskins would guard all approaches to the lower end of the
lasso, and his friend be shut out from all participation in the chance
that he was so confident was placed at his disposal.
"I don't know what they can do with the rope," thought the lad, as he
carefully took it in hand, "but then it's no use to them, and I may as
well keep it out of their reach while I can."
He gently pulled it, to test whether it was free.
No one at that juncture seemed to have hold of it, and, fearful that it
would not remain so, the lad gave it a sudden jerk, which brought it far
beyond the reach of any one who might be gathered on the sand below.
"That upsets all my calculations," said Fred, with a sigh. "The chance of
getting out of here is poorer than ever. I am afraid Mickey is in a scrape
where there ain't much show of his helping himself!"
The lad remembered, however, that his friend still had one resort--the
last one--at his command. When it became absolutely apparent that no other
way was open, he would make the plunge down the stream, and risk all in
the single effort to dive from the inside to the outside of the cave.
"I don't want him to try that, just yet," added Fred, as he lay upon the
ground, carefully considering the matter; "for I think that will wind up
the whole thing."
The boy seemed to be considering every phase of the question, and he
debated with himself for a long time whether he couldn't do something for
his friend. He thought of going back to the entrance by which he had
escaped--thanks to the assistance of the wolf--reenter it, without going
to a distance which would cause any danger of losing his way, and signal
to him. The great obstacle to this was that, as he could readily see from
the distance he had gone over since emerging therefrom, it would be
utterly impossible to send a signal so far, through such a chamber of
sound as the cave had proven itself to be. There remained the same
probability that the Apaches would hear it as soon as Mickey, and they
would be stupid beyond their kind if they had not already gained a correct
idea of the situation.
Still, it was possible to see how the Irishman could succeed. Men placed
in fully as desperate situations as he had pulled through by showing nerve
and readiness of resource when the critical moment should arrive.
Mickey O'Rooney possessed originality and pluck. He had acquired
considerable experience and knowledge of Indian "devilments" on his way
across the plains, and, if the Apaches comprehended the situation, it was
not to be supposed that he was not posted fully as well. If he could see
no chance of getting a pull at the rope, he could easily keep out of the
way of the redskins. He had no fear of meeting any of them singly, and if
he could arrange it so as to encounter them one after another, and at his
own convenience, he might clear the track in that fashion.
As it was, therefore, Fred Munson could only await for the issue of
events. He was powerless to do anything until the sign should be made by
his friend at the other end of the rope.
For fully two hours things remained in _statu quo_. The lad lay upon the
ground close to the opening, listening, looking and thinking so intently
that there was no danger of his falling asleep. The profound stillness
remained unbroken during all that time. The murmur of the cascade had a
faint, distant sound, as if it came from the ocean, many long leagues
away, but there was nothing more--not even a signal from Mickey, who, if
he had any plans, was working them with admirable secrecy. At the end of
that time the lad concluded that it would be best to lower the lasso
again.
"If he is down there, he must have a chance to get hold of the rope, or he
can't come up here," was the reasonable conclusion of the lad, who passed
it downward slowly and in perfect silence.
Fully a score of theories flitted through his head as he lay thus
speculating upon the situation down below. At one time he was sure that it
was useless to attempt to help his friend in that style. A half-dozen
Apaches would not permit a single white to climb into safety immediately
before their eyes, especially when they could cover him with their rifles
if he should succeed in giving them the slip at the start. Then it
appeared anything but reasonable to suppose that the Indians would remain
directly below him, waiting for their chance to try their fortune in the
trapeze line again. More likely they would scatter and hunt separately for
the outlet which had permitted their intended victim to gain his safety.
They could expect to gain nothing by remaining, and they were too shrewd
to do so.
When the matter presented itself in this shape, Fred was ready to call
down to Mickey, instructing him to grasp the lasso, and ascend without
further delay. Too much precious time was being wasted. Fortunately,
however, before he acted upon this theory, enough doubts arose to prevent
his carrying it out.
He had had enough experience with the rope to know how to gauge it very
well, and he lowered it until the other end was within two or three feet
of the bottom. Having placed it thus within easy reach, he let it pass
over his hand, holding it so delicately poised that the slightest
disturbance was sure to be detected. He was in the position of the
fisherman who is angling for some plump piscatorial prize, which requires
the most skillful kind of persuasion to induce him to nibble the hook.
For a half-hour nothing touched it, and then Fred fancied that he felt a
slight jerk. He made no response, but instantly became all attention and
waited. A second later the jerk was repeated so distinctly that there
could be no mistake. The lad gave it a twitch in reply, and then all
remained still for a short time. Suddenly the thong was snapped from his
hand, and instantly became taut.
Fred applied his ear as before. Yes; some one was climbing up the rope
again.