THE LONE CASTAWAY.
When Frank opened his eyes he found himself lying on a rough sort of
couch, spread with coarse net over clean blankets, in a place that he at
first thought was the rocky chamber at the bottom of the shaft. Square
windows, cut in the walls, however, through which strips of bright blue
sky were visible, and a large sort of altar in the corner on which
something that gave forth an appetizing odor, was cooking in an earthen
pot, soon disillusionized him. It was a rough dwelling, but after what
they had endured, the recollection of the details of which was still dim
in the boy leader’s mind, it seemed like a taste of paradise. Outside he
could hear the voices of Harry and Billy and another that was not
familiar to him.
Throwing off the blanket that had been thrown over him, the boy,—still
so weak that his knees seemed to have developed strange sort of hinges
and his head reeled,—felt his way along by the rough walls of the
dwelling to the door. Harry and Billy, already recovered from their
experience, were seated outside the place, which Frank now saw, was dug
out in the face of a steep cliff, on a bench also cut out of a kind of
soft sandstone. The boys jumped up with a loud “Whoop,” when they saw
Frank, and throwing their arms round him, escorted him to the bench and
dragged him down by their sides.
“This is our rescuer, Frank;” announced Harry gratefully, indicating a
thick-set, sinewy man, burned almost to the color of the cliffs round
about by exposure. Frank recognized the hair-fringed face,—almost
monkey-like,—with its kindly eyes as the same that he had seen peering
over the edge of the shaft as he had looked up, as he thought to take a
good-bye to life. The figure of the man who had saved their lives was no
less remarkable than his face. He wore rough rawhide sandals and his
clothes were shaggy garments, apparently contrived from deerskins. His
hat was an ingenious plaited arrangement of manacca palm leaves.
Frank gazed about him in amazement at the place in which he found
himself after the first words of gratitude had been exchanged. It was a
cliff-rimmed basin possibly two miles in circumference thickly wooded
toward one end, but in the portion in which they were seated, bare and
sterile as the Treasure Cliff. The steep walls, however, were pierced
with numerous openings, some square and some oblong. The honeycomb of
ancient cliff dwellings was joined by steep flights of wide steps cut
out of the living rock.
After Frank had eaten a good portion of broth out of the earthen pot, he
was prepared to hear the story of their rescue and the no less
remarkable narrative of their savior. It appeared that late in the
afternoon before that man in the deerskin garments had seen Frank’s
smoke signal curling up from the mouth of the shaft, which lay about
half-a-mile away. He had at once hastened over and gazed down at the
first white face he had seen in two long years.
At first he was so startled that he could not believe that the lads
lying apparently dead at the bottom of the tunnel were human beings as,
for a reason which will be given later, he believed that the other end
of the tunnel was impossible of entrance or exit. After the first few
minutes of stunned surprise, however, he realized that they were real
boys and in sore need of help.
He hastened at once to the burrow that he had selected as his dwelling
and secured a long rawhide rope for which he had never imagined he would
have any use again. Fastening this to a bush near the top of the shaft,
he had hastily secured a bowl of water and some food and after letting
these articles down carefully, one at a time, he had lowered himself.
After the first application of water to their parched lips the boys
recovered their senses and strength rapidly—that is, all but Frank, who
for a time they feared was past recovery. Their rescuer, after the boys
were sufficiently recovered to be able to stand up and eat some of the
stewed, dried deer’s flesh and roasted bread-fruit he had lowered into
the shaft, then clambered up on his rawhide rope. The next to reach the
surface was Billy with the aid of the man above pulling with all his
muscular might.
The rope was then lowered again to Harry who attached it beneath Frank’s
armpits, padding it where it came in contact with his body, with their
soft felt hats. Harry then clambered up and then all three laid on to
the rope and hoisted the senseless Frank to the surface.
“How long ago was this?” asked Frank, who had no idea what day it might
be.
“Two days,” was Harry’s astonishing reply.
It was then the turn of the man who had come to their aid in the nick of
time to tell his story. His name was Ben Stubbs, and before he became a
castaway under as strange circumstances as ever befell a man, he had
been a sailor before the mast. He had quit the sea when on the west
coast of Guatemala to become a mahogany hunter. From this he had drifted
into prospecting for gold in Central America, and about two years
before, while sojourning with a band of wandering Nicaragua Indians, had
cured the cacique of the tribe of a deadly fever. In return they had
confided to him the secret of a legendary basin, high in the mountains
worked at one time, so they told it, “by old, old people who were here
long before us, when the land was young,” meaning, as Ben realized, the
Toltecs.
They offered to escort him to the place up a hidden trail and the
ex-seaman, after consulting with a couple of friends in Corinto—as
adventurous characters as himself—decided that they would at least test
for themselves the truth of this marvelous legend. They traveled several
days’ journey from the western coast and at last had reached a deep
ravine in the heart of a rugged chain of mountains. Their path had lain
up a trail apparently once well worn, but at the time they traversed it
so ruined by time that it was hard for the burros, on which they carried
their mining implements and camp equipment, to maintain a footing.
The ravine was crossed by a rough bridge formed of the trunk of a single
huge tree. The white men got across it in safety, the Indians bidding
them farewell at that point, saying that the land beyond was haunted by
“spirits of the men that came before them,” and that they could go no
further. Beyond the ravine a sheer cliff shot up, but the Indians told
the adventurers that by making a day’s march to the north they would
find an opening in it. The trail they then followed began at the end of
the bridge and was so narrow that at times it was necessary to blindfold
even the surefooted mountain burros. On one side lay the huge ravine, on
the other the steep cliff. They found the opening, or rather bore, in
the cliff exactly as the Indians had told them, and after traversing a
short passage had entered the cup-like valley in which the boys and
their rescuer now were.
“That was two years ago, shipmates,” sighed Ben Stubbs, “and it seems
like fifty. We thought we would all be millionaires afore long. Poor
Jack Hudgins, Bill Stowe and me. Well, mates, we found it all as the
Injuns had tole us—the shafts an’ all; but we hadn’t got no way of
gittin’ down ’em. Howsomever that didn’t worry us none as we found
enough bar gold stored up in them houses on the cliff above to make us
all rich. We loaded it on our burros after a week’s work, and got all
ready for the start back.
“That night there come a bit of an earthquake. Not much as you might say
for these lands—just a little tremor—we was so used to ’em we paid no
’tention to ’em. The next day was bright and fair and we hit the trail
for the timber bridge and riches and the land of the free. Of course, we
meant to cache the gold some place and take it out by degrees as they
don’t like Yankees to take any money out of these countries, an’ if
they’d caught us they’d have taken the gold an’ jailed us. But it wasn’t
ter be. We gets to the end of the trail where the bridge ought to be an’
there weren’t none! The earthquake had dislodged it.
“I guess, then we all went a little mad. There we were trapped. We had
to drive the burros off the cliff. There was no room to turn them. Every
day for months we used to walk down that trail to where it broke off,
an’ there was a drop plumb clear down to nothing as you might say, and
holler and holler just like we was all locoed, and I guess we were. You
see we figured that maybe them Injuns would come back; but they never
did. Well, shipmates, first poor Jack sickened and died; the thought of
his wife and kiddies in ’Frisco, as ’ud never know what had become of
him, drove him inter a sort of consumption, I guess. Then Bill Stowe got
bit by a rattler as he was on his way to the big bell on the top of the
east cliff. You see——”
“The big bell,” exclaimed all the boys, recollecting the mysterious
clangor.
“Yes,” replied the castaway, “it’s on the top of the cliff, yander,” he
pointed to the east, “I guess the old timers put it there. We’d go up
there and watch sometimes out over the valley, an’ when we’d see the
camp-fires of rubber men or mahogany hunters or travelers, we’d jus’
naturally ring it to beat thunder. Only the other night I seen a fire
down there and I rung and then at last I looked over, but it didn’t do
no good——”
“Why, Ben,” shouted the boys, “that was our fire you saw.”
“Your fire,” repeated Ben, thunderstruck.
“Yes, you scared us almost to death,” went on Frank, “we couldn’t make
out what it was.”
“Thought it was a monkey,” put in Billy.
“Well, I guess I’m more monkey than man at that,” sighed Ben Stubbs,
“living the way I’ve done, trapping and stalking my food and clothes
from the animals in the wood yonder—but, tell me, how did you fellows
ever get up here if that was your camp I seen?”
Rapidly they told him of their discovery of the tunnel and it was the
ex-sailor’s turn to sit back and look astonished.
“But how did you cross that ’ere hole in the ground?” he demanded, “Long
ago, when me and my mates was first stranded on this ’ere island, as you
might call it, we tried to get out that way—yes, an’ we tried other
tunnels, too, but we couldn’t find no way of doin’ it. If we’d known
about the sarpints, I’ll bet you we wouldn’t have tried.”
Frank told him about the chain and about the impossibility of reaching
it.
The sailor’s rugged, bearded face took on an interested air.
“You say you left it dangling thar?” he demanded.
“That’s about it,” replied Frank. “We could reach it with a long hook or
branch, but how are we to overcome the difficulty of the white serpents?
It means death to try to get across that chasm, now that they have been
aroused from their long sleep.”
To the boys’ amazement Ben Stubbs winked sententiously. He said not a
word, but rising to his feet, led the boys up the cliff to a small cave.
In it were several kegs.
“Read that,” commanded the ex-sailor pointing to the stenciled lettering
on them. Bending down the boys read:
DYNAMITE—(GIANT POWDER)—KEEP
AWAY FROM FIRE OR BOILERS
m’f’d by
THE VULCAN EXPLOSIVE COMPANY OF
S. F.
“I guess if we set off a keg of that stuff in that thar hole it won’t be
’xactly healthy for them thar sarpints, eh?” questioned the castaway.
“The very thing,” excitedly cried Frank, who had begun to fear that in
being rescued by Ben Stubbs, they had only got into another trap. The
next minute, however, his hope dropped down to zero once more.
“What about the battery and the fuse wires and the fulminate of mercury
caps,” he cried, “we can’t set a charge off without them.”
“We could do without ’em, I reckon——,” began Ben.
“You mean throw a stick of dynamite down in there,” cried Frank, “why,
man, it would kill the serpents all right, but it would kill the man who
threw it.”
“——but we don’t have to,” calmly continued the castaway, “’cause we
three was practical miners as came up here, two years ago, and we
brought ’em with us.”