A PERILOUS POSITION.
When he was safely within the tower, Buffalo Bill drew up the rope last
used, so that the men below could not readily climb to the window. The
tower room was in total darkness, and he could not even see the Moroccan
prince for whom he had taken such risks.
“We ought to have a light,” he said. “Have you a lamp or a candle?”
Prince Mogador scuffled across the room, and, by the light of a match,
produced the stub of a candle, which he offered to the scout. The latter
set a match to it, and when the candle was burning well he glanced
about.
The room was small, and its only furnishings were this candle, a thin
cot, a stool, and a box on which the candle had been sitting.
The scout looked at the prince, and beheld a hollow-eyed young man,
whose unshaven face was so thin and so sallow that it seemed he must be
the victim of a fever. His clothing hung loosely on his almost fleshless
bones. Seeing this mere wreck and skeleton of a man, the scout marveled
at the strength displayed when the prince rendered assistance at the
window. It had been the false strength lent by sudden and high hope.
The excitement of his situation still buoyed Prince Mogador. His eyes
were unhealthily bright and staring, and he trembled as if he had a fit
of ague. The scout saw him reel and put his hand against the wall.
“You are weak,” said the scout. “Sit down.”
“But we must escape while we can!”
Prince Mogador was looking at the exhausted Yankee, who had been
thoroughly tired by his hard and unaccustomed climbing. And the Yankee
was returning the look with interest.
“What’s he sayin’ in that furrin lingo?” asked Spalding.
“This is Prince Mogador!”
“I want tew know!” Spalding gasped, his mouth dropping open. “That beats
heck, by gum! So it’s him?” He turned to Buffalo Bill. “Waal, what we
goin’ tew do? They’re still shootin’ daown there. We can’t git aout by
the winder.”
“There may be another way out,” said the prince, speaking to the
scout—he did not understand Spalding’s twisted English, but understood
his glance at the window. “If that door could be opened!”
The scout took some keys from his pocket and began to try them on the
lock of the door. He found one that fitted, and threw the bolt.
The rays of the candle streamed out into a narrow corridor, at the end
of which was another locked door.
“We’ll see where this leads,” he said, stepping into the corridor.
“Follow me!”
He found a key which fitted the other door, but, as he was unlocking it,
he was interrupted by a startled cry. Prince Mogador bent forward,
listening.
“It is the woman!” he said. “I didn’t know she was in there—that she was
imprisoned so close by me! Yes, it is the woman.”
“What woman?” asked the scout, as he worked the key round in the lock.
“The señorita with the voice of gold!”
This was astonishing.
“There is an American woman held prisoner here?”
“Yes, señor, two women. One is a beautiful American lady, whose singing
is divine.”
“Hear that, Spalding? But I forgot that you do not understand Spanish.”
The bolt slipped back, and the scout pushed the door open, hearing again
that stifled cry.
When his light flashed into the room he saw at its farther side the
crouching figures of two women, whose attitude was that of terror.
“Don’t be frightened!” said the scout kindly. “We are your friends. Miss
Fernald, are you—yes, it is you! And, if I’m not mistaken, Miss
Nelson—your uncle is here, having come a long distance to search for
you.”
Emily Fernald sprang forward with a glad cry, but the other girl stared
at Cody, her face white as ashes; and then, seeing the men behind him,
she advanced with a hesitating step.
“You are friends?” she cried suddenly. “What do I hear? You are friends,
and my uncle is with you?”
Her voice broke in a scream of incredulous delight when she beheld the
ungainly form of the Yankee glide into the room. The next moment she had
her arms around his neck, and was weeping hysterically.
“Gosh all hemlock!” Spalding sputtered. “But this does beat all, don’t
it? I’m as s’prised tew find ye here as if I’d picked up a gold dollar.
I dreamed it might be so, but, b’gosh, I didn’t reely think it could be!
And that’s a fact.”
He released her clinging hands and held her at arms’ length, looking at
her by the light of the candle.
The Moroccan prince was uttering sundry Spanish ejaculations.
“We must go on!” said the scout, in warning. “If we delay we may be
cooped in. I’ll try my key on that other door.”
It yielded to his manipulations even more easily than the others, and
they found themselves in a wide hall. Following this, they came to
another door at the next corner of the building. The wide hall bent and
ran around this; but now they heard, on some stairs beyond, excited
cries and a trampling of feet, showing that men were coming up there.
“We’ll see what’s behind this door,” said the scout, observing that it
offered the only avenue of escape.
When it was opened they were at the foot of a short flight that led to
one of the tower rooms. Into this they rushed, and the scout locked the
door behind them.
The excited cries and trampling feet drew nearer, and a resounding knock
sounded soon on the door.
“Open!” was the demand.
To the scout’s surprise, the voice which shouted this was the voice of
the man he had known at the Porfiero Hacienda as Leon Ruiz.
Recalling what Prince Mogador had said, he knew now that this man had
assumed the name, to which he had no right, while the real Ruiz lay a
prisoner in this place.
“What would you?” the scout asked.
“Surrender to us, Prince Mogador, and you and the others may go free; we
will not molest you.”
The scout laughed scornfully.
“Never! You are the scoundrel who falsely called himself Leon Ruiz. Hear
this: I was sent here by my government to aid and succor Prince Mogador,
and I shall do what I can for him, if I lose my life.”
“You will lose it!” was shouted back.
They withdrew without shooting into the room, apparently because they
did not wish to risk slaying the prince.
“Well, we’re in for it now,” said Buffalo Bill, almost ruefully.
“They’ve got us caged, unless we can escape from this window. And we
have no ropes.”
He struck a match and walked over to the window, which was barred.
Between the bars he thrust the match and tried to look down, and then
threw the match away. It went out quickly, revealing only blackness
below the barred window.
Soon, in the hall leading to the tower room, they heard a sliding sound
which they did not at that moment understand.
“We’ve barred you in, and you can stay there until you rot!” was soon
shouted. “When you are ready to surrender, let us know. You cannot
escape.”
Again it was the voice of the man who had called himself Leon Ruiz.
It was clear, now, that this man, frightened by the scout’s descent on
the Porfiero Hacienda, had departed from it hurriedly, after learning
his mission, to carry word to this place, and, perhaps, he had been at
this place since. Yet that did not explain the other mysterious things
which so long had puzzled the scout.
“They have slipped some bars into position beyond the door,” said Prince
Mogador. “With a barred window behind us, and the way barred in front,
the outlook is gloomy. But we will still hope.”
The scout had struck another match and was looking around for a candle.
He found none. But before the match burned out he saw Prince Mogador
standing with his hand clasping the hand of Irene Nelson, as if he would
protect her. The sight was illuminating. It showed that the two were not
only acquainted, but were lovers.
The prince caught that inquiring glance as the match went out, and began
to explain in his voluble Spanish.
“The American señorita has promised to become my wife. We met on the
stage that came from Rincon, which was waylaid and destroyed at the time
we were captured and brought here. But our love had already ripened, and
she had promised to become my wife. I love this woman, and I will marry
her if we escape from here.”
“What’s he sayin’ in that furrin lingo?” Spalding asked; but Prince
Mogador was hurrying on.
“You know why they captured me and brought me here, if you came as my
rescuer; but perhaps you do not know all. You have heard that I am heir
apparent to the throne of my father—the throne of the small kingdom of
Ussuli, to the southward of Morocco. The capital is in an oasis of the
great desert.
“My father cannot live long; two years at the utmost, the physicians
say, and he may be dead even now, for he was seriously ill when I heard
of him. But I have a brother who wishes to be king, but who cannot be
king so long as I am alive, unless I abdicate.
“My health was not good, and I went to the summer resort of Faezzi, on
the heights of the Atlas Mountains. From the palace there I was
kidnapped, as I walked abroad one day not dreaming of danger. It was by
my brother’s orders. I was placed on a camel, and a long journey to the
seashore began. There I was smuggled aboard a vessel.
“The voyage was long—it covered months, and then I was landed on a shore
which was barren and which was said to be Mexico. Certain men were still
with me—my captors. But I escaped from them, and by good chance made my
way into California. I was trying to reach some eastern point, or some
railway that would take me east.
“I took the stage at Rincon, thinking I had thrown my enemies off my
trail. It was there, señor, I met this beautiful American lady and her
friend, who had come to meet her, only two days before. Señor, I won her
promise to become my wife.
“Then came the attack on the stage. The driver was killed. These women
and I and another were the only passengers. The stage was smashed to
bits and sunk in the river to destroy all traces of it, the horses were
appropriated by the robbers. I discovered that they were the men, with
others, who had abducted me from the palace in the Atlas Mountains.
“I told them, señor, who these women were, but they refused to believe
me, declaring that they knew Miss Nelson was my wife. With us they took
prisoner Don Leon Ruiz, the Spanish gentleman, who was the only other
passenger in the stage. By chance in my wanderings in California I had
met him. He was a descendant of a noble Spanish family, and he intended
to visit some estate of his ancestors in New Mexico. He had long wished
to do so, and for that purpose had come up from Mexico, where he had
been traveling.
“When he learned who I was, he joined my fortunes, and so was with me
when the stage was attacked and destroyed. And he was brought as a
prisoner with me to this place. He was confined here, in one of the
towers, but a week ago he died, so one of the guards informed me, when I
asked information from him.”
“I can add to that,” said the scout. “The ruffian out there who has been
shouting to us to surrender has taken possession of Don Ruiz’s New
Mexican estate, claiming to be the real Leon Ruiz. And if the noble Don
Ruiz died in his prison here, it may be safely guessed that the false
Ruiz was in part, or wholly, responsible for his death. I presume he
believed that if Ruiz was put out of the way he could hold the New
Mexican property without trouble, or sell it soon and get out of the
country with the money.”
“I have fallen into the hands of a nest of villains!” said Prince
Mogador.
“There is no doubt about that. And how we are to escape is a thing not
clear to me just now.”
“I will die defending her, before they harm this woman!” said Prince
Mogador.
“What’s he sayin’ in that furrin lingo?” Spalding asked again.
Buffalo Bill informed him briefly, thus also informing Irene, who
understood Spanish but imperfectly. Raoul Mogador could speak English,
but preferred to use Spanish, and so addressed the scout in that tongue,
when he knew that Buffalo Bill spoke Spanish fluently.
The men under the false Leon Ruiz, who had barred them in, made no
hurried movement against them, and they had time to canvass their
situation thoroughly, and discuss, as well, some of the mysteries which
had so puzzled the scout. He asked Spalding to produce the note in
Spanish which he had taken from the jacket pocket of the Mexican. They
examined it by the light of a match.
“That is not the signature of Leon Ruiz, though it professes to be; it
is a forgery,” said the prince.
“Written, of course, by the false Leon Ruiz,” said the scout. “He
intended to use the name at all times, and so did not hesitate to sign
it here.”
“Very true. He is a scoundrel. I wish I could see his face. He is, of
course, one of the men who brought me here. Ah, Leon Ruiz, my true
friend, your kind friendship for me has cost you dear!”
Buffalo Bill brought up the subject of the dagger of gold which had
seemingly fallen from the sky and slain Ramon Periguez.
“Periguez! Ah, he was one of the fiends! So he is dead, struck down by a
dagger that dropped from the sky! I cannot explain it; yet Leon Ruiz had
such a dagger, cleverly concealed on his person; he told me once that he
had so good a way of hiding it that no one could find it.”
“Describe that dagger to me!” said the scout.
Prince Mogador complied.
“I have seen it often,” he said. “I wish I had it here, and, also, the
message I placed in the handle. You knew it had that hidden receptacle
in the handle?”
“Yes, Ruiz revealed it to me one day when he was showing me the dagger.
It was Moorish, and the spring was cunningly concealed. He said he
defied any one to find the spring.”
“I have a theory,” said the scout. “He must have written the message,
but, being interrupted, he did not finish it, and then he gave it to
some one he had bribed, instructing him where to take it.”
“It may be true,” said Mogador, “but how did it drop out of the sky?”
“The bearer may have hurled it from the cliff,” said the scout. “I
cannot explain it.”
Irene Nelson listened in wonder to all this, though she followed the
unfamiliar words with difficulty.
“I don’t like this furrin lingo,” expostulated the Yankee, who felt that
he was being cheated when he could not understand every word said. “Why
don’t you talk United States? It’s well-nigh treason tew talk anything
but United States in this country.”
But at intervals the scout explained for his benefit what had been said.
All speculation concerning the manner in which the dagger had killed
Ramon Periguez seemed useless.
While they still talked, a flare of fire greeted their eyes at the
barred window.
Looking from the window, they discovered that a great bonfire had been
kindled at the foot of the cliff, among the trees, that it might light
up the hacienda wall on that side, and so reveal to the watchers any
attempt which the prisoners might make to escape by way of the window.
“That cuts us off in that direction,” said the scout, “but we could not
have got out here, if we had tried, for we had no ropes, and the jump
down in the darkness would be to commit suicide.”
“Alas! We are doomed!” said the prince.
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