A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE
It came over him with disconcerting suddenness that he had lost a great
deal of time, and that every moment spent in the covered wagon was
fraught with imminent danger. It was not in his mind that the hand of
highwaymen might discover his hiding-place. Knowing them as he did, he
was sure they would not come so far from their haunts or from the Sante
Fe train in pursuit of him. But the Indians roamed the Panhandle, as
much at home there as in their reservations--and here they were much
more dangerous. Had no savage eye discerned that wagon during the
brilliant August day? Might it be that even while he slept at the feet
of the dead woman, a feathered head had slipped under the canvas side,
a red face had bent over him?
It was a disquieting fancy. Willock told himself that, had such been
the case, his scalp-lock would not still adorn his own person; for all
that, he was eager to be gone. Instead of eating in the wagon, he
wrapped up some food in a bread-cloth, placed this with a few other
articles in a tarpaulin--among them, powder and shot--and, having
lifted the keg of water to one shoulder, and the rope-bound tarpaulin
to the other, he left the wagon with a loaded gun in his hand.
Twilight had faded to starlight and the mountain range stood blackly
defined against the glittering stars. It was easy to find his way, for
on the level sands there were no impediments, and when the mountain was
reached, a low divide offered him easy passage up the ascent. For the
most part the slopes were gradual and in steeper places, ledges of
granite, somewhat like giant stairs, assisted him to the highest ridge.
From this vantage-point he could see the level plain stretching away on
the farther side; he could count the ridges running parallel to the one
on which he had paused, and note the troughs between, which never
descended to the level ground to deserve the name of valleys. Looking
down upon this tortured mass of granite, he seemed gazing over a
petrified sea that, in the fury of a storm, had been caught at the
highest dashing of its waves, and fixed in threatening motion which
throughout the ages would remain as calm and secure as the level waste
that stretched from the abrupt walls in every direction.
On that first ridge he paused but a moment, lest his figure be outlined
against the night for the keen gaze of some hidden foe. Steadying the
keg with one hand and holding his gun alert, he descended into the
first trough and climbed to the next ridge, meaning to traverse the
mile of broken surface, thus setting a granite wall between him and the
telltale wagon. The second ridge was not so high as the outer wall,
and he paused here, feeling more secure. The ground was fairly level
for perhaps fifty yards before its descent to the next rolling
depression where the shadows lay in unrelieved gloom. On the crest,
about him, the dim light defined broken boulders and great blocks of
granite in grotesque forms, some suggesting fantastic monsters, others,
in sharp-cut or rounded forms seemingly dressed by Cyclopean chisels.
The fugitive was not interested in the dimly defined shapes about him;
his attention had been attracted by a crevice in the smooth rock ledge
at his feet. This ledge, barren of vegetation, and as level as a slab
of rough marble, showed a long black line like a crack in a stone
pavement. At the man's feet the crevice was perhaps two feet wide, but
as it stretched toward the west it narrowed gradually, and disappeared
under a mass of disorganized stones, as a mere slit in the surface.
Presently he set the keg and the tarpaulin-ball on the ground, not to
rest his shoulders, but in order to sink on his knees beside the
crevice. He put his face down over it, listening, peering, but making
no discovery. Then he unwound the lariat from about his waist, tied it
to the rope that had been a halter, and having fastened a stone to one
end, lowered it into the black space. The length of the lariat slipped
through his fingers and the rope was following when suddenly the rock
found lodgment at the bottom. On making this discovery he drew up the
lariat, opened the cloth containing the food, and began to eat rapidly
and with evident excitement. He did not fail to watch on all sides as
he enjoyed his long delayed meal, and while he ate and thus watched, he
thought rapidly. When the first cravings of appetite were partly
satisfied, he left his baker's bread and bacon on a stone, tied up the
rest of the food in its cloth, rolled this in the tarpaulin, and
lowered it by means of the lariat into the crevice. Then, having tied
the end of the rope to the gun-barrel, he placed the gun across the
crevice and swung himself down into the gloom.
The walls of the crevice were so close together that he was able to
steady his knees against them, but as he neared the bottom they widened
perceptibly. His first act on setting foot to the stone flooring was
to open the tarpaulin, draw forth a candle and a box of matches, and
strike a light. The chamber of granite in which he stood was indeed
narrow, but full of interest and romance. The floor was about the same
width in all its length, wide enough for Willock, tall as he was, to
stretch across the passage. It extended perhaps a hundred feet into
the heart of the rock, showing the same smooth walls on either side.
The ceiling, however, was varied, as the outward examination had
promised. Overhead the stars were seen at ease through the two feet of
space at the top; but as he carried his candle forward, this opening
decreased, to be succeeded presently by a roof, at first of jumbled
stones crushed together by outward weight, then of a smooth red surface
extending to the end.
The floor was the same everywhere save at its extremities. At the
point of Willock's descent, it dipped away in a narrow line that would
not have admitted a man's body. At the other end, where he now stood,
it suddenly gave way to empty space. It came to an end so abruptly
that there was no means of discovering how deep was the narrow abyss
beyond. Possibly it descended a sheer three hundred feet, the depth of
the ridge at that place. On the smooth floor which melted to
nothingness with such sinister and startling suddenness, the
candlelight revealed the skeleton of a man lying at the margin of the
unknown depths. Mingled with the bones that had fallen apart with the
passing of centuries, was a drawn sword of blackened hilt and rusted
blade--a sword of old Spanish make--and in the dust of a rotted purse
lay a small heap of gold coins of strange design.
"Well, pard," said Brick Willock grimly, "you come here first and much
obliged to you. You've told me two things: that once in here, no
getting out--unless you bring along your ladder; and what's better
still, nobody has been here since you come, or that wouldn't be my
money! And now having told me all you got to say, my cavalier, I guess
we'd better part." He raked the bones into a heap, and dashed them
into the black gulf. He did not hear them when they struck bottom, and
the sinister silence gave him an odd thrill. He shook his head. "If I
ever roll out of bed here," he said, "me and you will spend the rest of
the time together, pardner."
He did not linger for idle speculation, but drew himself up his
dangling rope, and in a short time was once more outside the place of
refuge. Always on the lookout for possible watchers, he snatched up
his bread and meat, and ate as he hastened over the outer ridge and
down the rugged side toward the wagon. Here he filled a box with
canned provisions and a side of bacon, and on top of this he secured a
sack of flour. It made a heavy burden, but his long sleep had restored
him to his wonted strength, and he could not be sure but this trip to
the wagon would be his last. With some difficulty he hoisted the box
to his herculean shoulder, and grasping a spade and an ax in his
disengaged hand, toiled upward to his asylum.
When the crevice in the mountain-top was reached, he threw the contents
of the box down into the tarpaulin which he had spread out to receive
it, and having broken up the box with the ax, cast the boards down that
they might fall to one side of the provisions. This done, he returned
to the wagon, from above invisible, but which, when he stood on the
plain, loomed dim and shapeless against the night.
There were great stores of comforts and even some luxuries in the
wagon, and it was hard for him to decide what to take next; evidently
Henry Gledware and his wife had expected to live in their wagon after
reaching their destination, for there was a stove under the seat, and a
stovepipe fastened to one side of the wagon.
"If the Indians don't catch me at this business," said Willock, looking
at the stove, "I'll get you too!" He believed it could be lowered
between the stone lips of his cave-mouth, for it was the smallest stove
he had ever seen, surely less than two feet in width. "I'll get you
in," said the plunderer decidedly, "or something will be broke!"
For the present, however, he took objects more appropriate to summer:
the mattress upon which he had passed the afternoon, a bucket in which
he packed boxes of matches, a quantity of candles, soap, and the like.
This bucket he put in the middle of the mattress and flanked it with
towels and pillows, between which were inserted plates, cups and
saucers. "I'll just take 'em all," he muttered, groping for more
dishes, "I might have company!"
The mattress once doubled over its ill-assorted contents, he was
obliged to rope both ends before he could carry it in safety. This
load, heavier than the last, he succeeded in getting to the crevice,
and as he poised it over the brink a few yards from where the tarpaulin
lay, he apostrophized it with--"Break if you want to; pieces is good
enough for your Uncle Brick!"
When he left the wagon with his next burden, he was obliged to bend low
under buckets, tools, cans and larger objects. As he moved slowly to
preserve equilibrium, he began to chuckle. "Reckon if the Injuns saw
me now," he said aloud, "they'd take me for an elephant with the
circus-lady riding my back!" At the crevice, he flung in all that
would pass the narrow opening intact, and smashed up what was too
large, that their fragments might also be hidden.
"Pshaw!" grunted Willock, as he started back toward the wagon, mopping
his brow on his shirt-sleeve, "Robinson Crusoe wasn't in it! Wonder
why he done all that complaining when he had a nice easy sea to wash
him and his plunder ashore?"
He was beginning to feel the weariness of the morning return, and the
load that cleaned out the wagon-bed left him so exhausted that he fell
down on the ground beside the crevice, having thrown in his booty.
Here, with his gull at his side and a pistol in his hand, he fell fast
asleep.
He lay there like a man of stone until some inner consciousness began
beating at the door of his senses, warning him that in no great time
the moon would rise. He started up in a state of dazed bewilderment,
staring at the solemn stars, the vague outlines of giant rocks about
him and the limitless sea of darkness that flowed away from the
mountain-top indicating, but not defining, the surrounding prairie.
"Get up from here!" Willock commanded himself. He obeyed rather
stiffly, but when he was on his feet, ax in hand, he made the trip to
the wagon nimbly enough. As he drew near, he saw gray shadows slipping
away--they were wolves. He shouted at them disdainfully, and without
pause began removing the canvas from over the wagon. When that was
done, his terrific blows resolved the wagon-bed to separated boards,
somewhat splintered but practically intact. By means of the wrench he
removed the wheels and separated the parts of the wagon-frame. Always,
when he had obtained enough for a load, he made that toilsome journey
to his retreat. He took the four wheels at one time, rolling them one
by one, lifting them singly from ledge to ledge.
The last of his work was made easier because the darkness had begun to
lift. Suddenly a glow appeared at the rim of the world, to be
followed, as it seemed, almost immediately by the dazzling edge of an
immense silver shield. The moon rolled over the desert waste and
rested like a solid wheel of fire on the sand. Instantly for miles and
miles there was not a shadow on the earth. The level shafts of light
bathed with grotesque luminous distinction the countless prairie-dogs
which, squatting before the mouths of their retreats, barked at the
quick betrayal. Coyotes, as if taken by surprise, swung swiftly toward
remote mountain fastnesses, their backs to the light.
When Willock made his last and slowest trip to the ridge, his feet
dragging like lead, there was nothing to show that a covered wagon had
stood at the edge of the prairie; the splinters of the final demolition
had already mingled indistinguishably with the wind-driven sand.
Arrived at the second ridge, which was still in darkness, he took pains
that no telltale sign should be left on the smooth expanse of granite
to indicate the near presence of a man. Swinging to the lariat that was
now tied to a short plank, he lowered himself into the midst of the
debris with which that part of his floor was strewn. Poised on top of
the heap of boards that had formed the sides of the wagon, he pushed
upward with a longer plank and dislodged the one from which the rope
dangled. It fell at his feet.
Provided with nails, a hammer and plenty of lumber, it would not be
difficult to construct a ladder for egress. At present, he was too
tired to provide for the future. He left the spoils just as they had
fallen, except for the old wagon-tongue and a board or two with which
he built a barricade against the unknown depths at the farthest margin
of the floor. Then drawing the mattress to one side, and clearing it
of its contents, he fell upon it with a sigh of comfort, and was again
plunged into slumber--slumber prolonged far into the following day.