IN COLONEL MORELLO'S FORTRESS.
Directly ahead of them the gorge terminated abruptly in a blank wall
of rock, in precisely the same manner that a blind alley in a city
comes to a full stop. But "blank" in this case is a misnomer. The
rocky rampart, which towered fully a hundred feet above the trail, was
pierced with several small openings, which appeared to be windows. A
larger opening was approached by a flight of steps, hewn out of the
rock. Although Nat did not know it, the spot had once been a habitation
of the mysterious aborigines of the Sierras. The colonel, stumbling
upon it some years before, had at once recognized its possibilities
as a fortress and a gathering place for his band, and had hastened to
"move in." Stabling for the horses was found in a rocky chamber opening
directly off the trail.
But Nat's wonderment was excited by another circumstance besides the
sudden appearance of the rock fort. This was the strange manner in
which the abyss terminated at the pierced cliff. As they came along,
the boy had heard the sound of roaring waters at the bottom of the
rift, and coupling this with the fact that the gorge emerged into the
cliff at this point, he concluded that a subterranean river must wind
its way beneath the colonel's unique dwelling place.
Small time, however, did he have for looking about him. About a hundred
yards along the trail from the pierced cliff there was a strange
contrivance extending outward from the face of the precipice along
which the trail was cut. This was a sort of platform of pine trunks
of great weight and thickness, on the top of which were piled several
large boulders to add to the weight. This affair was suspended by
chains and was an additional safeguard to the outlaws' hiding place.
In the event of a sudden attack the chains were so arranged that they
could be instantly cast loose. This allowed the platform to crash
down, crushing whatever happened to be beneath it, as well as blocking
the trail.
The colonel paused before they reached this, and whistled three times.
"Who is it?" came a voice, apparently issuing from a hole pierced in
the rock at their left hand.
"Two Eagles of the Pass," came the reply from the colonel as he gave
utterance to what was evidently a password.
"Go ahead, two Eagles of the Pass," came from the invisible rock
aperture, and the party proceeded.
A few paces brought them from under the shadow of the weighted platform
and to the foot of the flight of stone steps. A shaggy-headed man
emerged from the stable door as they rode up, and took the horses
of the new arrivals. He gazed curiously at Nat, but said nothing.
Evidently, thought the lad, the colonel is a strict disciplinarian.
This was indeed the case. Col. Morello exacted implicit obedience
from his band, which at this time numbered some twenty men of various
nationalities. On more than one occasion prompt death had been the
result of even a suspicion of a mutinous spirit.
With Manuello still leading him along, as if he were a calf or a sheep,
Nat was conducted up the stone staircase and into the rock dwelling
itself. The contrast inside the place with the heated air outside was
extraordinary. It was like entering a cool cellar on a hot summer's day.
The passage which opened from the door in the cliff was in much the
same condition as it had been when the vanished race occupied the
place. In the floor were numerous holes where spears had been sharpened
or corn ground. Rude carvings of men on horseback, or warring with
strange beasts covered the walls. Light filtered in from a hole in the
rock ceiling, fully twenty feet above the floor of the place. Several
small doors opened off the main passage, and into one of these the
colonel, who was in the lead, presently turned, followed by Manuello
leading the captive lad.
Nat found himself in a chamber which, if it had not been for the rough
walls of the same flame-tinted rock as the abyss, might have been the
living room of any well-to-do rancher. Skins and heads of various
wild beasts ornamented the walls. On the floor bright rugs of sharply
contrasting hues were laid. In a polished oak gun-case in one corner
were several firearms of the very latest pattern and design. A rough
bookshelf held some volumes which showed evidences of having been
well thumbed. From the ceiling hung a shaded silver lamp, of course
unlighted, as plenty of light streamed into the place from the window
in the cliff face.
The three chairs and the massive table which occupied the centre of the
place were of rough-hewn wood, showing the marks of the axe, but of
skilled and substantial workmanship, nevertheless. The upholstery was
of deerskin, carefully affixed with brass-headed nails.
The colonel threw himself into one of the chairs and rolled a fresh
cigarette, before he spoke a word. When he did, Nat was astonished, but
not so much as to be startled out of his composure.
"I've heard about you from Hale Bradford," said the outlaw, "and I have
always been curious to see you."
"Hale Bradford! Could it be possible," thought Nat, "that the rascally
millionaire who had appropriated his father's mine was also associated
with Col. Morello, the Mexican outlaw?"
Nat suddenly recalled, however, that it was entirely likely that
Bradford, in his early days on the peninsula, had met Morello, who, at
that time, was a border marauder in that part of the country. Perhaps
they had met since Bradford's abrupt departure from Lower California.
Or perhaps, as was more probable, it was Dayton who had told the
colonel all about the Motor Rangers, and this reference to Bradford was
simply a bluff.
"Yes, I knew Hale Bradford," was all that Nat felt called upon to say.
"Hum," observed the colonel, carefully regarding his yellow paper roll,
"and he had good reason to know you, too."
"I hope so," replied Nat, "if you mean by that, that we drove the
unprincipled rascal out of Lower California."
"That does not interest me," retorted Morello, "what directly concerns
you is this: one of my men, an old acquaintance of mine, who has
recently joined me, was done a great injury by you down there. He wants
revenge."
"And this is the way he takes it," said Nat bitterly, gazing about him.
"I don't know how he means to take it," was the quiet reply. "That must
be left to him. Where is Dayton?" he asked, turning to Manuello.
"Off hunting. The camp is out of meat," was the reply.
"Well, I expect Mr. Trevor will stay here till he returns," remarked
the colonel with grim irony, "take him to the west cell, Manuello. See
that he has food and water, and when Dayton gets back we will see what
shall be done with him."
He turned away and picked up a book, with a gesture signifying that he
had finished.
Nat's lips moved. He was about to speak, but in the extremity of his
peril his tongue fairly clove to the roof of his mouth. To be left to
the tender mercies of Dayton! That was indeed a fate that might have
made a more experienced adventurer than Nat tremble. The boy quickly
overcame his passing alarm, however, and the next moment Manuello was
conducting him down the passage toward what Nat supposed must be the
west cell.
Before a stout oaken door, studded with iron bolts, the evil-visaged
Mexican paused, and diving into his pocket produced a key. Inserting
this in a well-oiled lock, he swung back the portal and disclosed a
rock-walled room about twelve feet square. This, then, was the west
cell. Any hope that Nat might have cherished of escaping, vanished as
he saw the place. It was, apparently, cut out of solid rock. It would
have taken a gang of men armed with dynamite and tools many years to
have worked their way out. The door, too, now that it was open, was
seen to be a massive affair, formed of several layers of oak bolted
together till it was a foot thick. Great steel hinges, driven firmly
into the wall, held it in place and on the outside, as an additional
security to the lock, was a heavy sliding bolt of steel.
Manuello gave Nat a shove and the boy half stumbled forward into the
place.
The next minute the door closed with a harsh clamor, and he was alone.
So utterly stunned was he by his fate that for some minutes Nat simply
stood still in the centre of the place, not moving an inch. But
presently he collected his faculties, and his first care was to cast
himself loose from the rawhide rope the Mexican had enveloped him in.
This done, he felt easier, and was about to begin an inspection of the
place when a small wicket, not more than six inches square, in the
upper part of the door opened, and a hand holding a tin jug of water
was poked through. Nat seized the receptacle eagerly, and while he was
draining it the same hand once more appeared, this time with a loaf of
bread and a hunk of dried deer meat.
Nat's hunger was as keen as his thirst, and wisely deciding that
better thinking can be done on a full stomach than on an empty one, he
speedily demolished the provender. So utterly hopeless did the outlook
seem that many a boy in Nat's position would have thrown himself on
the cell floor and awaited the coming of his fate. Not so with Nat. He
had taken for his motto, "While there is life there is hope," although
it must be confessed that even he felt a sinking of the heart as he
thought over his position. Guided by the light that came into the cell
through the small wicket, the boy began groping about him and beating
on the wall. For an hour or more he kept this up, till his hands were
raw and bleeding from his exertions. It appeared to him that he had
pounded every foot of rock in the place, in the hope of finding some
hollow spot, but to no avail. The place was as solid as a safety vault.
Giving way to real despair at last, even the gritty boy owned himself
beaten. Sinking his face in his hands he collapsed upon the cell floor.
As he did so voices sounded in the corridor. One of them Nat recognized
with a thrill of apprehension, as Dayton's.