With the added light that now came from the gratings in the ceiling
every object in the upper room was plainly visible. Runyon began his
inspection in a methodical manner, starting at one corner and eyeing the
inner wall on every inch of its surface. He tested each block at its
corners and edges. The girls watched him listlessly, for they expected
no result, having covered the same methods themselves.
At length Runyon was obliged to abandon the wall in despair.
“The opening is there, of course,” he said, “but that confounded
Cristoval was too clever for us. If I had the rascal here now, I’d
strangle him!”
As he stood in the center of the narrow space, looking around him, his
eye fell upon the upholstered seats ranged along one side and he
regarded them suspiciously. They were box-like affairs, with the surface
of the covers padded and cushioned.
He reached down and lifted one of the lids. As he glanced within he
uttered an exclamation of astonishment. The box was almost filled with
bottles, lying regularly on their sides.
“Wine!” he cried. “Now, Miss—I don’t remember to have heard your name—I
shall be able to relieve your thirst.”
“My name is Travers—Mildred Travers, sir; but I can’t drink wine.”
“Not to quench your thirst—just a few swallows?” he asked, taking a
bottle and trying to remove the cork.
“Not a drop, even to save my life,” she replied positively.
“But I will, Señor Runyon—I will!” cried Inez eagerly.
“Runyon!” exclaimed Mildred, stepping back in amazement and looking at
the man rather wildly.
“Excuse me; haven’t I introduced myself?” he asked, looking up. “Yes; my
name’s Runyon.”
Something in her expression arrested his gaze and he regarded the girl
curiously.
“Bulwer Runyon?” she said in a low voice.
He sat down on the box, holding the bottle between his knees.
“They christened me that. Very foolishly, I think. But what do you know
of Bulwer Runyon?”
“Your mother—is—Martha Runyon?”
“To be sure—bless her heart! Ah, you know my mother, then, and that’s
how you have heard of me. But nothing good, from the dear old lady’s
lips, I’ll be bound.”
“She really loves you,” replied Mildred quickly; “only—you have
disappointed her.”
“Indeed I have. I’ve always disappointed her, ever since I can
remember.”
“You were very extravagant,” said Mildred in a reproachful tone.
“Yes; that was my fault. Father spoiled me; then he died and left all
his fortune to mother. Quite right. But mother is pretty close with her
money.”
“Did she not pay all your debts?”
“Yes; but that was foolish. She reproached me for owing people, which
was one of my pet recreations. So she paid the bills, bought me a ranch
out here, shipped me into exile and washed her hands of me, declaring
that the ranch was my sole inheritance and I must never expect another
cent of her fortune. She proposes, I believe, to invest her surplus in
charity. Nice idea, wasn’t it?”
“It was very generous in her,” declared Mildred.
“Was it? Well, that’s a matter of opinion. But I regard her gift of this
ranch as the first step to perpetual pauperdom. She tossed the land at
me, shuffled me off, and then expected me to make a living.”
“Can’t you do that?” asked Mildred wonderingly.
“Make a living on a California ranch!” he said, as if astonished.
“Others do,” she asserted.
“There is no other just like your humble servant,” he assured her, again
struggling with the cork. “I can’t grow enough lemons—it’s a lemon ranch
she handed me—to pay expenses. The first year I decorated my estate with
a mortgage; had to have an automobile, you know. The second year I put
another plaster on to pay the interest of the first mortgage and a few
scattering debts. Third year, the third patch; fourth year, the usual
thing. Fifth year—that’s this one—the money sharks balked. They said the
ranch is loaded to its full capacity. So, I’ll have to sell some
lemons.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” cried Mildred.
“So am I, thank you. Stupid thing, selling lemons. But the wolf’s at the
door and all I can do is shoot lemons at the brute. Lemons! Wasn’t it
tart of the dear mother to load me with such an acidulous estate?
Perhaps she imagined it would make me assiduous—eh?”
“Your mother hoped you would turn over a new leaf and—and redeem your
past,” said the girl.
“Well, it’s too late to do that now. I can’t redeem the past without
redeeming the ranch, and that’s impossible,” he declared with a grin.
“But tell me, please, how you happen to be so deep in my mother’s
confidence.”
Mildred hesitated, but reflected that she really owed him an
explanation.
“She protected me when I was in trouble,” she said softly.
“Ah; that’s like the dear old girl. Do you know, I’ve an idea that when
I’m down and out she’ll relent and come to my assistance with a fatted
calf? It would be just like her. I’ve known of others she befriended.
Her hobby is to help poor girls. There was that Leighton girl, for
instance, whose smuggling, murderous father was imprisoned for life. The
poor little thing hadn’t a friend in the world till mother took her in
hand and put her in a training school for nurses. The mother wrote me
how interested she was in that case. Her protege did her credit, it
seems, for the child turned out a very good nurse, who—who—”
He suddenly paused, flushed red and stared at the girl uncertainly.
“You say your name is—Travers?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, casting down her eyes.
“Not—Leighton?”
“Cannot you pull the cork, Señor Runyon? I am so thirsty!” cried Inez
quickly, to save her friend from disclosing her secret. But big Runyon
was bright enough, in spite of his peculiarities. He read Mildred’s
confusion and suspected the truth, but was too considerate to press the
question.
“The cork is obstinate,” said he; “so we won’t argue with the thing,”
and he struck the neck of the bottle against a corner of the seat and
broke it so neatly that not a drop of the contents was spilled. Then he
took a cup from the shelf and poured out some of the wine.
“It’s a native vintage,” said he, “but it ought to be mellow and mild
after all the years it has lain here.”
Inez drank. The California Mexicans are accustomed to the native wines
and consume them as freely as water. But Mildred, although again pressed
to quench her thirst, steadfastly refused.
Runyon took a little of the wine, for he also was thirsty, and then he
made an examination of the other seats. Some contained more wine; others
were quite empty; but no water was discovered anywhere.
“Now I shall go below,” said Runyon, “and see if I can unearth anything
of importance there. Do you hear those dull sounds on the other side of
the wall? They tell us that our friends are busy drilling the holes.
It’s wonderful how tough that adobe is.”
Little Jane had awakened again and Inez took baby Jane in her arms and,
with Mildred, followed Runyon down the stairs into the lower chamber.
Here they watched his careful inspection of the room but did not hope
for any favorable result.
“Here is food,” he announced, as, having given up the idea of finding
egress, he came upon the cans of tomatoes and corn.
“Yes; but we have no can-opener,” replied Mildred; “and, unless the
contents were cooked, they would not be eatable.”
“I’m not thinking of the eatables,” said Runyon, taking out a small
pen-knife, for he had already ruined the larger one he always carried.
“Tomatoes usually have a lot of liquid in the cans, a sort of watery
juice which I am sure would help to relieve your thirst.”
He began prying at the tin with a knife blade, but it was a heavy
quality of plate, such as is rarely used nowadays, and resisted his
attempt. Soon the blade of the frail tool snapped at the handle, and he
tried the other blade. That, too, soon broke and Runyon regarded the can
with a sort of wonder.
“It beats me,” he said, shaking his head. “But I don’t like to give up,
and that tomato-juice would be of service if we could only get at it.”
Looking around for another implement his eye spied the revolver hanging
upon its peg.
“Ah! if that weapon is loaded I’ll use a bullet as a can-opener,” he
exclaimed, and reaching up he removed the revolver from its place.
“Good; six cartridges, 32 caliber,” said he. “Now, young ladies, if you
can stand the noise, and the powder hasn’t spoiled, I believe I can make
a hole in that can which will allow the juice to run out.”
“I don’t care,” said Inez, “but I will take Mees Jane upstairs, first.”
“The sound will echo like a regular battle,” said Mildred; “but as I am
really thirsty and your suggestion of relief tempts me, I am willing to
have you shoot the pistol.”
Runyon placed the can upon the edge of the low hinged table, where it
stood about waist high. When Inez had gone above with little Jane, the
man took a position whereby he faced obliquely the outer wall and aiming
at the tomatoes said:
“Better stop up your ears, Miss—Mildred.”
She obeyed and he fired.
Even their anticipations could not prepare them for the wild riot of
sound that followed the explosion. The bullet found its mark, for the
can toppled and fell from the shelf and lay spilling its contents upon
the floor. The bullet went farther and struck a crevice of the outer
wall. A cloud of smoke for a moment obscured their view and Mildred,
regarding the tomato-can, cried out:
“Oh, pick it up! Pick it up, quick! It is spilling.”
Runyon made no reply. He was staring straight ahead, in a dazed,
bewildered way, and now Mildred’s eyes followed his.
The smoke was rolling out of a large aperture in the outer wall. Three
huge blocks of adobe, neatly joined together, had swung outward, moved
by a secret spring which the bullet had released.
Through the grim prison wall they were looking out at the sunshine that
flooded the rose garden.
Mildred sank to her knees, sobbing with joy. Big Runyon walked to the
staircase.
“Hi, there, Inez!” he called. “Come down here and take Toodlums to her
mother. I’ll bet a button she’ll be jolly glad to see that kid again!”