DISASTER
When the Scout party, led by Phillipe, slipped out of camp shortly after
dawn the next morning, they saw Rhodes at the cottage window.
He sat in a big chair, wrapped in blankets. Obviously, he had posted
himself there to watch, and was well aware of their intention.
“We’re not fooling him one bit,” remarked Ken. “I’ll bet a cent he’ll
have one of his men keep track of us. He’d stop us if he could.”
Once well away from the mining camp, the Scouts doubled back to the
river. The stream, fed by recent rains higher in the mountains, raced as
fast as a mill stream.
Phillipe guided the party to a log bridge crossing. There Ken, Jack and
Mr. Livingston parted with the other Scouts.
“Return to camp and wait for us,” the Scout leader instructed Willie and
Warwick. “We’ll make a fast trip to see what we can discover.”
“Rhodes probably won’t be able to get out of the cottage,” Jack added.
“But if he does, keep an eye on him. Especially watch to see if he
flashes any more of those mysterious signals.”
“Sure,” Willie promised. “How long will you be gone?”
“If all goes well, we should be back in camp by nightfall. But don’t
worry if we’re delayed. The going will be rough, and the trip may take
longer than we expect.”
Crossing the narrow, log bridge, Phillipe and the three explorers lost
themselves in the dense vegetation. For hours, they hacked their way
through tough creepers, and at times were compelled to chop down small
saplings.
By noon, as the party rested and ate a cold lunch, it was difficult for
the Scouts to maintain their customary good cheer. Although accustomed
to hard, outdoor work, the boys suffered from strained muscles and
aching backs.
“We’re making about a mile every two hours,” Ken calculated gloomily.
“Maybe less. Phillipe, are you sure you’re taking us the right way?”
“This the way,” the miner replied. “Trail very bad.”
After resting, the Scouts forced themselves to continue, though they had
long ago lost zest for the adventure.
Phillipe seemed to know exactly where he was headed, yet as the day wore
on, the Explorers began to lose faith that he ever could lead them to
the lost Spanish mine. Then, the little miner seemed to become less
certain. They saw him studying the ridges with puzzled eyes, and
occasionally shaking his head as if confused.
“Phillipe doesn’t know where he’s going,” Ken said to Jack as the party
made another halt. “The vegetation has closed in since he saw that mine.
This trip was a mistake.”
Phillipe would not admit confusion. But after another hour of hard labor
had brought them to a relatively clear area overlooking the river, he
had to admit defeat.
“Very sorry, Senor,” he apologized to Mr. Livingston.
Phillipe’s regret was so genuine that the Scouts could not believe that
he had betrayed them deliberately. His intentions, undoubtedly, had been
good. Given several days to search, they might find the lost mine. But
in the present circumstance, the quest must be abandoned.
“Wish we’d followed directions on that map,” Willie remarked
regretfully.
“The result would have been the same,” Mr. Livingston declared. “I’m
sure the markings were altered. We’ll rest awhile and start back.”
Anxiously, the Scouts noted how fast the sun was lowering. The return
trip, of course, would be much easier. Even so, it would be nightfall
before they reached the Last Chance mine.
After resting for awhile, Jack arose to hack at the rocks with a pick.
Among the fragments were a few tiny green specks. But there was no fire
in them.
“We must be close to the old vein,” he remarked. “Too bad we can’t camp
and try again tomorrow.”
He gazed questioningly at Mr. Livingston. The Scout leader hesitated,
then shook his head.
“I wish we could find that old mine, Jack. But time is running out on
us. We must get back to camp and devote all our energy to finding Mr.
Corning, if he still is alive.”
“How we going to do it?” Ken asked in despair. “Rhodes may have the
answer, but he won’t help us. As you pointed out, Hap, it’s hopeless to
undertake a search in this wild country unless one has a definite clue.”
“The clues, I’m afraid, never will be forthcoming. Our only one—those
flashing signals—aren’t much to go on.”
“Then what’s the program?” Jack questioned.
“When I get back to camp, we’ll start for the village to notify the
authorities. They may organize a search, though I haven’t much hope.”
“Rhodes is the key to the whole situation,” Ken insisted. “If only we
could force him to talk—”
“That’s a forlorn hope too, I’m afraid,” the Scout leader answered. “If
we’d found this old mine, we might have used our knowledge as a
leverage. Having failed, I don’t see what we can do.”
After hacking awhile at the outcropping of rock, Jack walked down to the
river’s edge. Foam was back-washing against the boulders and the current
was very swift.
He stood there a moment, fascinated by the speed of the wild torrent.
Intending to rejoin his friends, he chose a way different from the one
he had come. Soon he regretted it, finding himself in a mat of dense
vegetation.
As he hacked a path, he felt his footing give beneath him. Unexpectedly,
the floor of creepers dissolved.
Down he plunged, uttering a terrified shriek as he fell!
Jack struck solid earth some distance below. Stunned by the suddenness
of the fall as well as the impact, he lay for a moment, unable to move.
Then gingerly, he sat up. No bones had been broken. He felt for his
flashlight and was relieved to discover it intact.
The beam of light disclosed that he had fallen into a cave-like hole
perhaps ten feet below the surface of the ridge above.
Slowly, Jack pulled himself to an upright position, discovering that he
could stand without stooping. It was then that he made an exciting
discovery.
The ceiling overhead had a distinct curve!
“This looks like part of an old tunnel!” he thought in elation.
Before Jack could investigate further, he heard a shout from above.
Mr. Livingston peered down through the narrow opening, calling
anxiously:
“Jack, are you hurt?”
“Hardly a scratch,” the Scout replied with a chuckle. “This is a deep
hole though, and I can’t get out by myself.”
“Stay where you are,” Mr. Livingston directed. “We’ll get a rope and
haul you up.”
“Don’t be in too big a hurry, Hap. I want to look around a bit while I’m
here. It appears to me that I’ve fallen into a tunnel.”
“A tunnel, Jack? What makes you think so?” The tone of Mr. Livingston’s
voice plainly disclosed that the information had startled him.
“This is no cave. The walls have been hewn, and the ceiling is arched.”
“It may be the lost mine!”
“I suspect so,” Jack agreed cheerfully. “While you’re getting that rope,
I’ll see what I can learn.”
Venturing forward, the youth flashed his light over one of the side
walls. Distinctly, he could make out ancient pick marks.
That the tunnel was an old one he no longer had the slightest doubt. Mr.
Livingston had told him that the Spaniards, being amateurs at mining,
had used the tunnel method in their quest for emeralds.
Focusing his beam ahead of him, he walked until his way was blocked by
earth and debris. Unable to proceed farther, he returned to find his
friends anxiously lowering a knotted rope through the opening.
“It’s the lost mine!” Jack reported jubilantly. “I’m sure of it!”
“Bring up a handful of emeralds,” Ken shouted with a laugh.
“Toss down a pick and I’ll try!”
“There’s no time for exploration,” Mr. Livingston objected. “We’re
mighty lucky to have found the mine!”
“It may not be the one Corning mapped,” Ken commented. “It looks like an
old Spanish tunnel though.”
“This mine same one Senor Corning find,” Phillipe asserted. “Senor
Rhodes later on cover vein with earth and rock to hide it and keep gems
safe.”
“That debris certainly looked as if it might have been piled on
deliberately,” Jack informed the group above. “Lower a pick and I’ll
find out.”
Persuaded against his better judgment, Mr. Livingston lowered the
requested tool. Phillipe also went down by means of the rope.
He and Jack removed some of the loose debris, exposing a streak of rock,
narrow but with a well-defined green color.
“We strike vein,” Phillipe said, resting for a moment from his labors.
“If emeralds form, they big ones I think.”
On they labored, taking turns with pick and crowbar. Above, Mr.
Livingston and Ken warned them that the day fast was waning.
“We’ve found the mine and that’s the important thing.” the Scout leader
called down impatiently. “We’ll mark it well, and hope we can return.
Now we must leave or we’ll never reach camp tonight.”
Deep in the earth, Jack and Phillipe scarcely heard. In a fever of
excitement, they sensed that they were on the verge of a great
discovery.
Phillipe struck again with his bar, using infinite skill. The sharp
point split the rock neatly, exposing a section of dark green beryl.
Embedded in it were several large, well-formed emeralds.
Phillipe sucked in his breath. “Senor,” he murmured, “Great wealth is
here! A fortune!”
Jack scooped out the emeralds, examining them in the beam of the
flashlight. All were perfect gems, dark green, with a deep smoldering
fire.
“Senor, you hold great riches in your hand,” Phillipe whispered.
“Appleby Corning’s ransom perhaps.” Hypnotized by the warm glow of the
gems, Jack turned them over and over in his palm.
He was brought from his reverie by an echoing shout from above.
“Jack!” It was Mr. Livingston who called. “Get up here! It’s late.”
“Coming,” Jack replied.
Swiftly he and Phillipe recovered the vein with earth and by means of
the rope climbed out of the tunnel.
“Gosh, do you realize how late it is?” Ken greeted them.
“Does it matter?” Jack asked, still in a land of enchantment. “We found
the mine, didn’t we? And look at this!” He flashed the handful of
emeralds.
In awe, the others examined the treasure.
“They’re first quality gems, or I’m no judge,” Mr. Livingston asserted.
“No wonder Rhodes wants to reestablish himself here.”
“You think he knows the value of the vein?” Jack asked.
“He must. I believe it was because of this vein that he went to so much
trouble to set himself up in Corning’s place. He’s kept the knowledge
from the miners and probably from company officials, hoping to profit
personally!”
“We’ll spike his little game,” Jack chuckled.
“We may,” Mr. Livingston nodded. “The important thing now is to get back
to camp.”
“Fast,” Ken added, with an uneasy glance at the lowering sun. “We can’t
possibly make it by dark now.”
Before starting back, the Scouts carefully disguised the hole through
which Jack had fallen, marking the locality. The work completed, they
shouldered their packs and started off at a fast pace.
Though the return trip was much easier, darkness soon overtook them.
Doggedly they followed the stream which rushed over the rocks in a
foaming, angry torrent.
Unwilling to waste even a moment, the party did not pause to prepare
supper. Aching in every muscle, the Scouts nevertheless kept moving.
“Shouldn’t we be coming to the log bridge?” Ken complained after a
while.
“Seems like it,” Jack said, halting to shift his pack. “Around this next
bend, I think.”
Realization that the long trek was nearing its end gave the four renewed
strength. On they went through the darkness. The night air was cold and
very still, and the only sound that of the rushing torrent.
Phillipe, who was a little ahead of the other three, abruptly halted. He
uttered a grunt of surprise and dismay.
“What’s wrong?” Mr. Livingston demanded.
Receiving no answer, he and the Scouts pressed quickly on.
They came upon Phillipe standing on the rocks, staring at the racing
stream. For a moment, they could not comprehend the reason for his dead
silence.
“Say, isn’t this the place where we crossed this morning?” Jack finally
asked, noting several vaguely familiar landmarks.
Phillipe inclined his head. “Same place.”
“But it can’t be!” burst out Ken. “There’s no bridge!”
“Bridge gone. Swept away.”
No one spoke as the full import of Phillipe’s words soaked in.
“Gone,” Jack finally echoed in a faint voice. “That means—”
“We stay here,” Phillipe said, sinking wearily down on a flat rock.
“There is no other bridge—no way to cross.”