Jack Benson was on his feet in an instant. An angrier boy it would have
been hard to find.
From overhead came the sound of a loud guffaw.
"Oh, you infernal scoundrel!" raged the submarine boy, shaking his fist in
the dark.
"W'at am de matter wid yo', w'ite trash?" came the jeering query.
"Let me get my hands on you, and I'll show you!" quivered Benson.
"Yah! Listen to yo'! Yo' wait er minute, an' Ah'll show yo' a light."
Gr-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r! That sound from overhead was not pleasant. Jack, in
the few seconds that were left to him, could only guess as to the cause of
the sounds. Then, some fifteen feet over his head, a tiny flame sputtered.
This match-end was carried to the wick of the lantern that the yellowish
guide had been carrying, and now the light illumined the place into which
Jack Benson had fallen.
That place was a square-shaped pit, with boarded sides. Up above, on a
shelf of flooring, knelt the late guide, grinning down with a look of
infernal glee. On either side of the mulatto stood a heavy-jowled
bull-dog. Both brutes peered down, showing their teeth in a way to make a
timid man's blood run cold.
"Put those dogs back and come down here," challenged Jack, shaking his
fist. "Come down, and I'll teach you a few things, you rascal!"
"Don' yo' shake yo' fist at me, or dem dawgs will sure jump down and
tackle yo'," grinned the guide, gripping at the collars of the brutes,
which, truly, showed signs of intending to spring below.
Jack fell back, his hands dropping to his sides. Had there been but one
dog, the submarine boy, with all his grit forced to the surface, might
have chosen to face the brute, hoping to despatch it with a well-aimed
kick. But with two dogs, both intent on "getting" him, young Benson knew
that he would stand the fabled chance of a snow-flake on a red-hot stove.
"Dat's right, gemmun, yo' keep cool," observed the mulatto, mockingly.
"You've decoyed me--trapped me here with a mess of lies," flung back
Captain Jack, angrily. "What's your game?"
"Dis am a free lodgin' house--ho, ho, ho!" chuckled the late guide. "Ah's
gwine gib yo' er place to sleep fo' de night. Yo' sho'ly must feel
'bleeged to me--ho, ho, ho!"
"You lied to me about Sam Truax!"
"Yeah! Ah done foun' dat was de name ob a gemmun in yo' pahty dat wasn't
wid yo'. Truax do as well as any odder name--yah! Now, Ah's gwine leab yo'
heah t' git a sleep. Ah'll toss down some blankets. 'Pose yo'se'f and
gwine ter sleep, honey. Don't try to clim' up outer dat, or dem dawgs'll
sho'ly jump down at yo'. Keep quiet, an' go ter sleep, an' de dawgs done
lay heah an' jest watch. But don' try nuffin' funny, or de dawgs'll sho'ly
bring trubble to yo'. Dem is trained dawgs--train' fo' dis business ob
mine. Ho, ho, ho!"
Mulatto and light vanished, but enraged, baffled, helpless Captain Jack
could hear the two dogs moving about ere they settled down on the shelf of
flooring overhead.
"No matter how much of a liar that rascal is, he didn't lie to me about
the dogs," reflected Jack, his temper cooling, but his bitterness
increasing. "They're fighting dogs, and one wrong move would bring them
bounding down here on me--the two together. Ugh-gh!"
After a few moments the mulatto reappeared with a light and tossed down
three heavy blankets.
"Now, Ah's gwine leave yo' fo' de night," clacked the late guide. "Ef yo'
done feel lonesome, yo' jes' whistle de dawgs down to yo'. Dey'll come!"
While the light was still there Benson, in raging silence, gathered the
blankets and arranged them.
"Roll up one fo' a pillow, under yo' haid," grinned the mulatto. "Dat's
all right, sah. Now, good night, Marse Benson. Ef yo' feel lonesome, Marse
Benson, jes' whistle fo' de dawgs. _Dey'll come!_"
The light vanished while the mulatto's sinister words were ringing in the
boy's ears. Would the dogs jump down? Jack knew they would, at the first
false move or sound on his part. He huddled softly, stealthily, on the
blankets, there in the darkness.
As he lay there, thinking, Benson's sense of admiration gradually got to
the surface.
"Well, of all the slick man-traps!" he gasped. "I never heard of anything
more clever. Nor was there ever a bigger idiot than I, to walk stupidly
into this same trap! What's the game, I wonder? Robbery, it must be. And I
have a watch, some other little valuables and nearly a hundred and fifty
dollars in money on me. Oh, I'm the sleek, fat goose for plucking!"
Lying there, in enforced stillness, Jack Benson, after an hour or so,
actually fell asleep. A good, healthy sleeper at all times, he slumbered
on through the night. Once he awoke, just a trifle chilled. He heard one
of the dogs snoring overhead. Crawling under one of the blankets, Benson
went to sleep again.
"Hey, yo', Marse Benson. It am mawnin'. Time yo' was wakin' up an' movin'
erlong!"
It was the voice of the same mulatto, calling down into the pit. Again the
rays of the lantern illumined the darkness. Both bull-dogs displayed their
ferocious muzzles over the edge of the pit. Jack sat up cautiously, not
caring to attract unfriendly interest from the dogs.
"Ah want yo' to take off all yo' clothes 'cept yo' undahclothes, an' den
Ah'll let down a string fo' yo' to tie 'em to," declared the mulatto,
grinning. "Yo' needn't try ter slip yo' wallet, nor nuffin' outer mah
sight, cause Ah'll be watchin'. Now, git a hurry on, Marse Benson, or
Ah'll done push dem dawgs ober de aidge ob dis flooring."
Jack hesitated only a moment. Then, with a grunt of rage, he began
removing his outer garments. Down came a twine, to the lower end of which
the boy made fast his garments, one after another. His money and valuables
went up in the pockets, for the sharp eyes of the mulatto could not have
been eluded by any amateur slight-of-hand.
"Now, yo' cap an' yo' shoes," directed the grinning monster above.
These, too, Benson passed up at the end of the cord. The mulatto
disappeared, leaving the two dogs still on guard. At last, back came the
light and the yellowish man with it.
"Yo' sho' is good picking, Marse Benson," grinned the guide of the night
before. "Yo' has good pin feathers. Ah hope Ah'll suttinly meet yo'
again."
"I hope we do meet at another time!" Jack Benson flared back, wrathily.
The cool insolence of the fellow cut him to the marrow, yet where was the
use of disobeying a rascal flanked by two such willing and capable dogs?
"Now, yo' jes' put dese t'ings on, Marse Benson, ef yo' please, sah,"
mocked the mulatto, tossing down some woefully tattered, nondescript
garments, and, after them, a battered, rimless Derby hat and a pair of
brogans out at the toes.
"I'll be hanged if I'll put on such duds!" quivered Jack.
"Jes' as yo' please, ob co'se, Marse Benson," came the answer, from above.
"But, ef yo' don' put dem t'ings on, yo'll sho'ly hab ter gwine back ter
'Napolis in yo' undahclo's. An' yo's gwine back right away, too, so, ef
yo' wants ter gwine back weahin' ernuff clo'es--"
"Oh, well, then--!" ground out the submarine boy, savagely enough.
He attired himself in these tattered ends of raiment. Had he not been so
angry he must have roared at sight of his comical self when the dressing
was completed.