THE FIGHT IN THE SECRET PASSAGE
When Mason regained consciousness, Trent Burton the Marshal was
bending over him supporting his head and holding a flask of brandy to
his lips. The brandy and muffled reports of revolver shots sounding
through the secret passage revived him instantly.
“Get Pete Carlo the Mexican halfbreed!” he gasped, staggering weakly
to his feet. “The halfbreed was holding me up when I was struck down
from behind,” he continued, “and there must be another cut-throat
working with him. Where’s Scotty?”
Trent Burton’s two automatics appeared like magic in his hands.
“Scotty is having it out with the halfbreed,” he answered rapidly. “We
caught sight of the Mexican just as we came up to you, and thinking
you were badly wounded I ordered Scotty to round him up while I
examined your wound. You have been roughly handled this night my lad,
and you had better report to Jean Barry while I go after this other
desperado. He must be somewhere between Scotty and us this very
minute. I had no idea there was more than one of them and they may be
trying to work Scotty in between them.”
They could hear an exchange of shots at intervals, but the firing
seemed to be getting farther away and more faint each time.
“I’m not going back until I find out how Scotty is faring with those
cut-throats,” Mason declared firmly. “My head is feeling much clearer
now, and I know my hand is steady enough to shoot straight, besides I
want a chance at the man that knocked me out. Bud and his men won’t
hear any of this shooting down here and we can’t expect any help from
them. The halfbreed and his pal will try to get Scotty in between them
to finish him off and make their escape.”
“You’re a brave lad,” the Marshal said in admiration.
“Come, follow me. I have a plan to trap the halfbreed’s pal, at least
I think we can draw his fire, and that is our only chance to get him
in this darkness.”
He bent swiftly over, and Mason could hear him searching about the
floor with his hands. Presently he straightened up and thrust a piece
of broken table leg into Mason’s hand.
“What’s this for?” the latter whispered in astonishment.
“Just you hand that piece of wood to me in a hurry when I call for
it,” came the surprising answer. “We will make all possible speed
through this secret passage without using our lights, and for the
love of Mike, don’t make any noise!”
“When we get to where that revolver duel is going on you will see
something happen.”
Mason followed after the strange and fearless detective with great
difficulty. The latter’s speed was terrific, and at times when Mason
lagged behind he would find the detective crouched against the wall
waiting for him. It was a hazardous undertaking as they might at any
moment plunge into some unknown pit or trap. They had traveled some
hundred feet when they came to a turn in the passage and now could
hear the revolver shots plainly.
The Marshal was moving slowly and with great stealth now. Presently
they could see the flash from the muzzle of the men’s guns as they
fired. Each time the flashes came from different positions, showing
the men had changed their location after firing.
The Marshal was crouched low and huddled against the wall. Mason was
sure he had his two deadly automatics trained on one of those flashes.
Suddenly to his horror he saw the flash from a third gun, and it came
from a different position from the first two.
He thought he heard a groan follow this last shot and bent low to
whisper to the silent being at his feet.
“Hand me that piece of wood and when I throw it, train your gun on the
next flash, and shoot to kill,” the Marshal hissed in a thrilling
whisper. “Lie flat on the ground. I’m going to draw that murderer’s
fire.”
Mason felt the Marshal’s arm grow rigid as he hurled the piece of
table leg with great force against the opposite wall about twenty feet
ahead of them.
Immediately the third gun began to flash again and Mason could hear
the bullets as they pattered on the wall above his head. Before he
could return the shots the Marshal’s guns were in action, and a
perfect stream of fire leaped from their muzzles.
The third gun was silent! Suddenly the shrill note of a whistle
pierced the silence of the secret passage. Bud was coming to join in
the fight.
The Marshal sent back an answering call, and Bud, leading four
cowboys, came up to them with a rush.
“Keep going, boys,” the Marshal’s voice rang out sharply. “Rush this
passage; Pete Carlo, the halfbreed, is hiding just ahead of us and
he’s got somebody with him.”
“Watch out for their guns and fire at the first flash. I think they
got Scotty, the poor fellow, but if not he knows we are here now and
he won’t shoot in our direction.”
All this was said as they almost ran through the secret passage, their
lights searching every nook and corner.
They were braving the chance of drawing a shower of bullets from the
hidden foe, but the Marshal was determined to clean out the secret
passage at any cost.
Rounding a sharp turn in the passage they came upon Scotty huddled in
a niche against the wall. He was clutching his revolver tightly
between his knees while his head was sunk forward on his chest. A tiny
stream of blood was trickling down his cheek, showing where he had
been hit. Mason dropped quickly down beside him and felt over his
heart.
To his great relief there was a little heart action.
“Quick! the brandy!” he cried in an overjoyed voice. “He’s alive, I
think the bullet only stunned him.”
The Marshal, producing his flask, bent over and forced a small portion
of the liquor down Scotty’s throat. They had the satisfaction of
seeing him open his eyes and stare about in a dazed way. His gaze
finally rested on Mason and he rose to his feet with alacrity.
“I’m all right,” he said almost savagely, shaking off the Marshal’s
detaining hand. “The bullet only creased my head and knocked me
senseless. It takes more than a dirty greaser to kill this canny
Scotchman. Have you looked for the half breed? I think I got him in
that last exchange of shots, then a third gun cut in from a different
direction, and I went to sleep.”
They were startled at this point by a cry from one of the cowboys who
had pressed on through the secret passage.
“I guess I can answer for your third gunman, Scotty,” the Marshal said
tersely. “Come, let’s see what the men have found.”
Rapidly making their way to where the men were flashing their lights,
they came upon the form of a man stretched on the ground. It was the
halfbreed’s pal, and he was dying. He was still breathing, but with
great difficulty. Trent Burton’s guns had cut short his villainous
career, and forty feet from him lay the halfbreed. Bud made a hasty
examination of the latter’s wound, and to his surprise he discovered
that the bullet had not reached a vital spot.
The halfbreed had been hit in the right side just above the hip and
was unconscious from loss of blood.
Just above him through a small aperture in the roof the stars were
faintly shining.
A thorough search proved this to be the outlet for the secret passage,
and it was evident the halfbreed was about to make his escape when a
bullet from Scotty’s gun had laid him low.
Under Bud’s order the two men were carried out of the secret passage
and taken to the ranch, where they were placed under the doctor’s
care. The man of medicine quickly pronounced the one that had fallen
under Trent Burton’s guns to be past all earthly aid, and set
vigorously to work to revive the halfbreed.
An hour later, his wounds properly dressed, the halfbreed was placed
under guard.
He sat glaring sullenly at his captors, and his eyes gleamed savagely
whenever they rested on Mason or Scotty. It was Scotty’s gun that had
laid him low and gotten him into his present trouble while he was
attempting to escape. He cherished a bitter hatred for Mason since the
time the latter had tumbled him out of his saddle with a well placed
shot when the rescue of Josephine was accomplished.
The bullet wound had nearly cost him his life and caused him to take
to the mountains in hiding, save for an occasional visit to the Ricker
ranch, which was made possible by his almost superhuman knowledge of
the mountains and the existence of the secret passage. The halfbreed’s
shifty eyes finally turned in the direction of the chief of
counterfeiters, who sat staring moodily into space.
A slight cough from the halfbreed succeeded in attracting his chief’s
attention and a series of signals passed between them by means of an
almost inaudible sound made by a light tapping of their bootheels.
Mason had left the room in answer to a call from the Marshal, and on
returning to watch the captives his sharp ears instantly caught the
sound, faint as it was. Remembering the signals he had heard in the
cellar he regarded the sound as of deep significance. He promptly made
the Marshal and Bud aware of his suspicions that the two were
signaling each other, with the result that the halfbreed was taken
into another room and put through a grilling third degree. At the end
of an hour of this sweating process he was taken out, and Jim Haley,
the foreman, was given the same treatment. Others that were close to
the operations of the chief of counterfeiters were taken in turn.
Through the answers wrung from the captives they learned that the
secret passage had originally been the bed of a creek that had long
ago changed its course or had become dried up. As the bed of the creek
ran close to the ranch, Ricker conceived the idea of using it as a
means of exit to and from the ranch. He had it tunneled deeper and
roofed over with extreme care. The work had been accomplished so
cleverly that none but the men who were in on the counterfeiting deal
knew of its existence. Even Jean Barry, the Marshal’s deputy, had been
among the counterfeiters and had not become aware that the secret
passage led out of the cellar. A telegraph instrument, cleverly
concealed and partly muffled, was found in the room where the fight
had taken place, and tracing the wires out they found they led to the
secret passage.
In the secret passage another telegraph instrument was found, showing
that Ricker had been in communication with the halfbreed. All the
wires and instruments were destroyed by the Marshal, and the halfbreed
was again taken away from the other prisoners and given a more severe
grilling.
This time he broke down completely and under promise that he would be
given a shorter prison sentence he told in broken English how he and
his pal had entered the secret passage just as the fight was taking
place at the ranch. Knowing Bud’s men to be there in force he had
signaled to Ricker that he would bide his time and wait for a chance
to rescue his chief.
He had intended to pick up some more men of his own kind, and if
necessary cut his way through Bud’s men by a sudden dash and rescue
his chief.
He had planned all this with his pal, and they were about to leave the
secret passage when they heard Scotty and Mason moving about close to
the hidden door of the wall. The sharp ears of the halfbreed heard one
of them say he was going for a light and listening closely he
discovered that the man who was to wait was Mason. Prudence told the
halfbreed to leave at once and bring help to his chief, but his
burning hate for Mason caused him to linger with the hope of getting
the latter in his power.
As the reader already knows, Mason had succeeded in finding the way to
open the secret door and had played right into the hands of the
halfbreed, while his pal had crept cautiously behind him and dealt the
vicious blow that had robbed him of his senses until revived by the
Marshal. The sudden coming of the Marshal with Scotty had caused the
halfbreed to change his plan to make Mason a prisoner and he had fled,
with Scotty in close pursuit, but the latter had the halfbreed’s pal
to reckon with, a fact that nearly cost him his life.
The work of the Marshal with Bud’s aid in breaking up the power of
Ricker’s evil gang of gunmen was a notable performance. This man,
chief of the counterfeiters and outlaws, had long held the country in
awe of his desperate gang of gunmen, whom he controlled with an iron
hand.
Many a case of robbery and cattle running had been laid to his master
hand, but so cleverly had the work been accomplished that it was
impossible to get direct evidence against him.
Dawn was breaking when the Marshal announced his work at the ranch as
finished and the cowboys with their prisoners were lined up outside.
The plan was for the Marshal to take charge of the prisoners and turn
them over to the proper authorities, thus relieving Bud of all
responsibility. Two of Bud’s men were to remain at the ranch until
they had sealed up the secret passage and to watch out for suspicious
characters.
The negro woman was provided with a horse after Bud had decided to
take her back with him to Bar X ranch. The horses and cattle of the
Ricker ranch were to be taken care of by some of Bud’s men until the
courts had decided how many of Ricker’s cowboys were implicated in
running the counterfeiting plant.
Bud sent a couple of his men after their horses that had been picketed
about half a mile from the ranch, and upon their coming up the party
mounted and headed for Trader’s Post. On their arrival there the party
separated, after the Marshal had received a hearty handshake from all
the cowboys of the Bar X ranch. The Marshal’s duties were to take his
prisoners to the little railway station and catch the nine o’clock
express, then after seeing them safely jailed his duties were ended.
It was with genuine regret that Mason watched him depart. He had come
to admire the Marshal’s good humor, and as he recalled in his mind the
way the detective had fooled him all along with his half-witted smile
and awkward shuffling gait, he smiled at the man’s clever deception.
Trent Burton, the halfwit, and Trent Burton in action, were two
different persons.
It was a long weary ride to the ranch, and when the cowboys arrived
there they were about fagged out. Josephine and Ethel were at the
corral to meet them, and as Mason turned his horse over to one of the
men, Josephine noticed his wounded arm and immediately ordered him to
the ranch, showing great concern over his injury.
“My wound is nothing serious,” he protested in answer to anxious
questions. “My arm will be lame for a few weeks, and then it will be
all right again. The doctor at Ricker’s ranch fixed me up in fine
shape.”
The sight of the two girls had acted like a tonic to his jaded system.
The ranch owner, who had been talking with Bud, now walked hurriedly
over to them.
“Bud tells me you put in a hard night of it, Jack,” he said, eyeing
him anxiously. “I have ordered Pomp, our cook, to prepare a hot
breakfast for you at the house, and we are going to have the negress
you boys brought back with you to cook for the boys at the bunk-house.
I don’t intend to swap Pomp for the woman until I know what she can do
in the way of cooking, and we know Pomp to be excellent.”
“And I will have the doctor come and dress your arm, Sir Jack, just as
soon as you have had your breakfast, but I guess we had better call it
dinner, as it is almost noontime,” Josephine cut in eagerly; “and then
you can tell us all about your adventure and how you got wounded. Oh,
I almost forgot to tell you the good news. Tex is feeling much better
and the doctor says he will surely recover.”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” he answered, keeping his eyes on the
face of the girl.
He thought her eyes looked unusually bright this morning.
They walked slowly to the ranch, Mason between the two girls, who kept
up a running fire of questions about his wound.
“You girls are trying to make too much of a hero of me,” he protested,
smiling at their eagerness to welcome him back.
At the house he speedily convinced his mother that he was in no danger
from his wound, and the girls continued to besiege him with questions
concerning the night raid. He was seated in one of the large easy
chairs in the library and every once in a while Josephine left him for
a mysterious visit to the kitchen.
He could hear the rattle of dishes and a savory smell of cooking
filled the room every time she opened the door.
“We are going to have Bud and Scotty dine with us,” Josephine
announced after one of her visits. “And there will be just those two,
with you, Ethel and myself. Pomp is doing himself proud. I told him he
is to be our steady cook, as the cowboys are going to have the negro
woman to cook for them in the future. I have arranged it with Dad, and
you know he just about lets me have my own way in most things. I have
always wanted Pomp for our steady cook and he will take a lot of hard
work off of mother. All I can get out of Pomp is, ‘Yes, Missus, ’deed
Missus, I will show dem gem-mens I can shore cook,’ and he is grinning
from ear to ear.”
Soon Bud and Scotty arrived, and a little later Pomp announced that
the meal was served, while Josephine conducted them to the dining-room
where plates for five were laid. It was more of a banquet than a
dinner, and during the meal Mason, with the help of Bud and Scotty,
furnished the girls with all the details of the night’s raid. Ethel
and Josephine listened with eyes open wide in astonishment when they
came to the part in the story about the secret passage and the
counterfeiter’s den, but when Mason told them of Trent Burton’s part
in the raid they were amazed.
“And to think that man took us all in like that!” Josephine cried in
wonder. “Sir Jack, did you have any idea that MacNutt was anything
more than he pretended to be?”
She shook her finger playfully at him.
“No,” he answered slowly, as all eyes were turned upon him. “But I did
seem to place a lot of confidence in him, and really I can’t explain
the reason why. At times I felt the man was playing a double game, but
that was as far as I could get with him, and you may be sure I was as
surprised as anyone in the room when he called the turn on Ricker.”
“I admit that I took him for a plain damn fool all the time,” Bud said
shortly.
Scotty nodded his head vigorously.
“Me, the same,” he said looking sheepish.
After the meal the doctor came in and gave Mason’s arm a new dressing,
after which he was ordered to bed for rest. Josephine laid down some
strict rules for him to follow in the matter of giving his arm a
much-needed rest, with the healing promise that if he heeded them she
would read to him in her leisure hours.