FLIGHT
Leaving their mules at the trail entrance, the Scouts plodded up the
narrow, rocky path in the wake of Rhodes and Carlos. Fearful of losing
the pair in the darkness, they kept as close as they dared.
The going was hard. But after more than a half hour’s struggle over tree
roots and creepers, the path widened a bit. A short distance farther on,
the trees suddenly opened up into a small clearing.
Peering cautiously down, the Scouts made out a cluster of seven thatched
huts scattered over a small area. A camp fire burned brightly in the
center of the little village.
“This is the bandit hide-out, all right,” Mr. Livingston asserted. “But
why has Carlos brought Rhodes here? If robbery were the motive, he could
have accomplished it with less trouble.”
“Want me to sneak down there to see what I can learn?” Jack offered.
“It’s risky.”
“I’ll be careful,” Jack promised. “Wait here for me. If I need help,
I’ll whistle. Otherwise, you’ll know I’m okay.”
“Learn what you can and report back,” Mr. Livingston advised. “Don’t
take any unnecessary chances.”
Jack slipped away in the darkness, avoiding the open clearing. Keeping
low, he circled until he came out directly behind a thatched hut.
Peering cautiously in, he saw that it was deserted.
A man with long, shaggy black hair came out of one of the buildings, a
bush knife swinging from his leather belt. Jack drew back and waited
until he had moved out of view. Then, making certain that no one else
was about, he crept stealthily on toward the doorway of a larger hut.
Only a dim light burned inside. It gave forth enough illumination
however, for Jack to discern the figures of Rhodes and the bandit.
They were seated opposite each other at a crudely made wooden table. The
bandit seemed in an ugly mood, for he spoke in a loud voice, his talk an
incoherent mixture of Spanish and English.
At first, crouching against the flimsy wall, Jack could not gain the
conversation’s drift. But he saw Rhodes lay several bills on the table
in front of Carlos.
“This will pay you well for your work, Carlos,” the engineer said.
“Believe me, I wasn’t trying to give you the slip. You’d have had your
pay for getting rid of Corning.”
With gesture of contempt, Carlos brushed the money aside.
“It is not enough, Senor.”
Unwillingly, Rhodes laid two more bills on the pile.
Carlos sneered at him. “Senor, you are very rich. I am very poor.”
Rhodes shoved back his chair, getting to his feet. “Don’t think you can
blackmail me, Carlos!” he said sharply. “I’ve paid you too much now.
What you do with Corning is nothing to me—nothing! I’m leaving this
country.”
“Oh, no, Senor,” Carlos corrected softly. “Not until you pay. Money is
no good. I will take the emeralds.”
“There are none. The mine has played out.”
“You take Carlos to be a stupid fool? Senor, my men have watched. You
have mined many gems and you carry them with you. Give them to me now.”
“You’re crazy, Carlos!”
“Senor would like to have me tell what I know? That it was you who
planned the little raid? That it was the Senor who ordered Corning
kidnapped and put to death? Carlos much too smart to obey orders.
Corning more valuable to Carlos alive.”
“You’re a dirty blackmailer!” Rhodes accused. “But you won’t get by with
it, because it means nothing to me whether Corning is dead or alive. I’m
leaving the country.”
“Senor stay with Carlos until he hand over the emeralds.”
With his uninjured hand, Rhodes drew for a revolver secreted at his
waist. Carlos was much quicker. His shot winged the engineer in the
fingers.
“Try that again, Senor, and I shoot to kill,” Carlos warned. He spoke in
Spanish and Jack did not catch the words that followed.
But he saw the bandit confiscate the weapon, which he recognized as his
own. It was the automatic Jack had taken from Carlos, and that later had
disappeared from the Scout tent.
Rhodes sagged back into a chair, nursing his wounded hand.
“The gems,” Carlos reminded him.
When Rhodes made no move to hand them over, the bandit tore a small
pouch from the leather belt beneath the engineer’s shirt.
“You are welcome to half the emeralds,” Rhodes muttered.
“All, Senor.”
“Why have you brought me here? You are a worse rascal than I knew! Now
that you have stripped me clean, release me!”
“No, Senor,” the bandit said in his silken voice.
“What’s your game, Carlos? You have the gems. What more do you want?”
“Your wife, she loves you, eh? She will pay well to see you again. No?”
“Scoundrel!”
“Senor Rhodes will now go to see his old friend, Senor Corning,” the
bandit chuckled. “You two have much to talk over. Go, Senor! Walk ahead
of me.”
Jack pulled back behind the hut only a moment before the strutting
little bandit marched Rhodes out into the open. The engineer was forced
to enter another hut at the far end of the village, one guarded by two
natives armed with knives and guns.
Making no attempt to approach the prison hut, Jack rejoined his
companions and made a terse report.
“Rhodes got what he deserved,” he informed the group. “Apparently,
Carlos has tossed him in with Corning. The hut is well guarded.”
“How many in camp?” Mr. Livingston asked.
“I saw four men. There must be others. We’re outnumbered.”
“Then our only hope of getting Corning out of that hole is to start a
diversion,” Mr. Livingston said.
“We might fire one of the huts,” Jack suggested.
“Any of them empty?” the Scout leader asked.
“One of ’em appeared to be.”
“It’s a wild scheme,” Mr. Livingston said dubiously. “But it might work.
If it shouldn’t, we’d likely wind up prisoners of Carlos.”
“Let’s try it,” Jack urged. “If we can free Corning, we’ll have another
helper. Two, if we count Rhodes.”
After discussing the plan in detail, a decision was made that Ken should
remain behind. He was instructed that if the rescue scheme miscarried,
he was to escape at once and try to seek help at the closest village or
Bogota.
Details arranged, Jack and Mr. Livingston slipped quietly down to the
hut village.
Unable to get close to the cottage where Rhodes and Corning were
imprisoned, the pair spotted a hut some distance away. It was empty, and
apparently had not been used in many weeks.
“I wish we had some gasoline,” Jack muttered. “That would send her up in
a flash.”
Mr. Livingston instructed Jack to set a series of fires in the straw
along the back wall.
Swiftly, they both worked. Once they were assured that the empty
building was well afire, they crept through the darkness toward the rear
of the guarded prison hut.
For awhile, nothing happened. Then as the roof straw began to blaze, the
attention of one of the guards suddenly was attracted. With a wild yell,
he alerted his companion.
Leaving the other alone to guard the hut, he rushed toward the flaming
building.
“This is our only chance!” Mr. Livingston whispered. “Now!”
He and Jack crept through the darkness. The guard did not hear nor see
them, for his eyes were upon the blazing hut some distance away.
Before he was aware of danger, the two were upon him. They tackled hard,
and with only a grunt of surprise, he went down.
Mr. Livingston wrested the gun from his hand, while Jack seized the
knife. A handkerchief was stuffed into his mouth.
Leaving Mr. Livingston to hold the guard at bay with his own weapon,
Jack rushed into the hut. Rhodes was there, his hands now tied behind
his back.
Another man, whom the Scout took to be Corning, also had his hands
bound. He lay upon a heap of straw, face unshaven.
“You’re Corning?” Jack demanded.
“Yes,” was the quick answer. “Untie me, quick!”
Jack slashed the cords which held the engineer’s hands. He was tempted
to ignore Rhodes, but a realization of the fate that awaited the man if
he were left behind, softened him. A quick thrust of the knife, and he
too was free.
“Quick! Make for the trail!” he directed. “Ken is waiting there.”
Rhodes started off at a run. Corning would not abandon his rescuers. He
helped Mr. Livingston tie up the guard. Then with Jack and the Scout
leader, he made a fast break for the path.
As they struggled up the incline, a shout arose from the direction of
the blazing hut.
“They’ve seen us!” Corning cried. “Go on! I’ll try to hold ’em while you
get away.”
Jack seized his arm, pulling him along. “No one stays behind,” he
insisted. “We’ll make it!”
Several shots were fired. Ignoring them, and crouching low, the two ran
for the trees. In the darkness, the bandits could not see their targets.
All shots went wide of the mark.
Breathless from exertion, Corning and Jack reached the trail where Ken
nervously waited. Rhodes already was plunging down the path in fast
retreat.
“Where’s Hap?” Jack demanded anxiously. “He was with us until a minute
ago.”
Just then the Scout leader came crushing through the bushes.
“There’s a swarm of ’em!” he reported tersely. “They’re hot after us!”
The four quickly caught up with Rhodes who was in a near panic. Slipping
and sliding, they made no attempt to move quietly as they crashed along
the narrow, treacherous trail.
After awhile, Jack wheeled up for a moment to listen. “They’re drawing
in close!” he gasped. “Maybe we ought to make a stand—”
“No!” shouted Rhodes. “Keep on! If we can make the trail junction, we
can stop those devils!”
“How? With our fists? We have no ammunition.”
Rhodes’ laughter had a wild ring. “Ammunition!” he chortled. “If we can
get to the junction, I’ll supply you with enough to blow Carlos to
kingdom come! Steal from me, will he? I’ll show that blackguard he’s
dealing with McClellan Rhodes!”