THREE MINUTES OF LIFE.
Before the first sharp sting of the wound that had halted the
Dreadnought Boy had subsided, Ned found himself once more a prisoner.
He had torn the gag from his mouth as he ran; but he made no effort to
shout, knowing that it would do no good in that desolate region. He
calmly submitted to being rebound, this time his legs also being tied
tightly.
"We'll take no further chances with you, my young rooster," commented
Kennell, as he made a double half-hitch on Ned's leg thongs; "but you
were a greeny to think you could get away as long as Ralph Kennell
could hold a gun."
Although the wound in his leg gave him acute pain, Ned was pretty sure
it was only a flesh one, and had not shattered the bone; for which he
felt thankful. Ned was made of that kind of stuff that never gives up
hope, and, even in the desperate position in which he now was, he yet
decided to make the best of it and watch for any chance that might
present itself to extricate himself.
"Come on, come on," growled the elder Pulsifer, as Ned was once more
hustled roughly into the tonneau of the machine. "We can't waste all
night on that cub. Silas and Carl told us that you were a good fast
worker. We're not paying you to take all night over it."
"All right, guv'nor; keep your shirt on," rejoined Kennell; "let her
rip. We've got him hog-tied now, all right."
Not long after, the auto shot into a dark, shadowed cañon, which seemed
to bisect the range of rugged hills, and came to a halt on the other
side. The stop was made before a small house, built in the native
style, in front of which stood a row of royal palms.
"Home, sweet home," grinned Kennell, with grim humor; "come on,
younker, pile out, there."
Ned almost yelled with pain as he straightened up on his injured leg,
and Kennell, noticing him wince, gave a loud, brutal laugh.
"Hamstrung, by the great bow-gun!" he exclaimed. "I guess you'll give
us no more trouble."
To Ned's relief, for he had almost begun to share Kennell's belief that
Varian had been over-drugged, the inventor had opened his eyes a few
moments before they reached the hut, and murmured feebly. His words
lacked sense, however, under the influence of the drug as he still was.
"Bring them both into the front room," ordered the elder Pulsifer, as
he climbed down from the driver's seat.
The "front room," it transpired, was a sparsely furnished apartment,
containing a table and two or three chairs, and nothing else. The
floors were bare and of polished wood after the manner of the country.
Ned guessed that the place was occupied only temporarily by the
Pulsifers as a quiet spot in which they could meet their agents, secure
from outside observation. The fact that they had brought an auto to
this part of Cuba, where horses are mostly used, lent color to this
supposition.
Dave Pulsifer's first act was to light a lamp, which he placed on the
table; his second, to ignite a cigar, and his next to offer a chair to
the white and shaky inventor.
"Sit down, Varian," he said. "We don't wish to injure you, or hurt you
unless we have to; but, as you wouldn't talk business over quietly, we
have had to adopt these means of bringing you to terms."
Glad enough of a chance to rest, Mr. Varian slipped wearily into the
offered chair. Ned was shoved along by Kennell till he stood behind the
inventor with Kennell close at his elbow. Since his frustrated escape,
the wretches who held him captive were taking no chances of another
runaway.
Schultz, Silas, and Hank Harkins stood behind the younger Pulsifer, who
had now joined his brother at the opposite side of the table to that
at which Mr. Varian's chair had been placed. Before the younger of the
worthy pair of brothers lay a revolver convenient to his hand. As he
regarded Mr. Varian intently, his jeweled fingers played with its butt
suggestively.
The inventor made no reply to the elder Pulsifer's remarks, and the
foreign agent--as he now stood revealed--continued in a sharp tone.
This time he came right to the point.
"Varian, we need not beat about the bush now. We want those plans and
the formula."
"I have not got them," replied the inventor, in a low, shaky voice.
"You lie!"
It was a sure indication of Mr. Varian's pitiable condition that he
made no move or spoke no word at the insult.
"You searched my pockets before you forced that stuff over my face," he
breathed. "You know that I have not got them."
"Again I say you lie. You were consulting with Captain Dunham, of the
Dreadnought _Manhattan_, earlier this evening. You were seen to show
him the papers, and explain some of the points of the test which is to
be made of your gun shortly. Come, we don't want to be unnecessarily
rough with you. Are you going to give the papers up?"
"No!"
The answer snapped out like the crack of a whip.
Ned noted with satisfaction that the inventor's former fire and
decision seemed to be returning.
"Then we must search you. Men----"
The elder Pulsifer pointed to the inventor, while the younger covered
him with the revolver. One of the latter's bediamonded fingers was
crooked on the trigger as if he longed to pull it.
Instantly Carl Schultz, Silas and Hank, who had all three started
forward at the command, seized and held Mr. Varian tightly, while
the younger Pulsifer, still with his revolver in hand, tapped the
inventor's coat to find the hiding-place of the papers.
"Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly, with a cry of triumph. A crisp, crackling
sound had rewarded his search.
An instant later, from a secret pocket in the inventor's coat, he had
drawn forth a flat bundle of papers. The two Pulsifers, their eyes
shining greedily, scanned them closely beneath the lamp, and then
uttered what was a perfect howl of baffled rage.
The blueprints of the breech-block, without which the gun would be
useless and the formula so much waste-paper, were not there.
"Look here, Varian," snarled the elder Pulsifer, "we've been pretty
lenient with you, so far. We intend to be so no longer. Where are those
blueprints?"
"Where you will never get them," bravely replied the inventor.
"You are overconfident, my friend," sneered the elder Pulsifer. "We
not only will get them, but by your own lips you will tell us where to
go to acquire them."
If the faces of the Pulsifers had borne an evil look before, they
became as avid as those of vultures now.
The inventor, who was fast overcoming the effects of the drug, folded
his arms defiantly, his captors having released him when the search was
given up by the younger Pulsifer.
"Bind him!"
The command was snapped out by the elder of the brothers.
Instantly the three hired rascals who had held him before pounced on
the inventor, and roped him tightly in the chair.
Resistance was useless, and the inventor submitted to the ordeal with
an unflinching countenance.
"Now, then, Varian, have you changed your mind?"
"Not yet; and I never shall if you wish to know, Dave Pulsifer."
"Very well. We have tried fair means, now we'll adopt other tactics."
The Pulsifers whispered together a few minutes, and then the younger
brother left the room.
He returned with a fair-sized keg, which seemed to be heavy. This he
placed in a corner of the room.
"What on earth are they going to do?" Ned wondered to himself.
He was not to be left long in doubt.
The younger Pulsifer's next move was to open a cupboard in one corner
of the room and produce a short length of candle.
He eyed this critically and then produced a silver match-box.
A tense silence hung over the room, as the flabby-faced Pulsifer moved
about making these preparations. Both Mr. Varian and Ned eyed him with
close attention. They felt that somehow or other, incomprehensible as
these preparations were, that they boded no good to themselves.
The younger Pulsifer lit the candle and then turned to the two captives
with a smile.
"This candle will burn, roughly speaking, for five minutes," he said.
"I am going to place it in this barrel of powder. The stuff is not as
powerful as Chaosite, but it will serve the purpose," he added, with a
side glance at the inventor.
As he spoke, the wretch ripped off the wooden heading of the barrel,
which had already been loosened, and placed the candle upright on its
contents.
This done, he once more turned to the inventor.
"_Now_, will you tell us where those blueprints are, and give us an
order for them?" he snarled.
"Not in the longest day you ever lived," replied the inventor firmly.
"Good for you," shouted Ned; "if we are to go to the bottom we'll go
down with colors flying, Mr. Varian."
"That's right, my boy; spoken like a true jackie of Uncle Sam," said
the inventor approvingly.
"Very fine, heroic and melodramatic," sneered Dave Pulsifer, "but
think a moment, Henry Varian. That candle is getting shorter. In a few
seconds we shall withdraw, not wishing to be present at the final act
of the tragedy. Think of your wife and children----"
This time the inventor groaned, but an instant later recovered himself.
"I would rather leave them the memory of a loyal citizen and American,
than give them the companionship of a coward and a traitor," he replied.
"More heroics; really, Varian, if you were going to live, you might
tackle a melodrama with good success. Come on, boys. Two minutes of
time are up. In three minutes more this place and those in it will be
blown to pieces. Good-night and--good-by, Varian, and you too, you
spying, sneaking, informing cub. If you relent, Varian, shout loud, and
we shall hear you."
With this bitter fling at the Dreadnought Boy, the Pulsifers and their
evil companions withdrew, Hank Harkins pausing at the door to remark:
"I guess I'm on top now, Ned Strong."
Ned disdained to reply, but, instead, as the door closed behind the
men who had planned such a refinement of cruelty, he fixed his eyes on
the candle in the barrel. Pulsifer had taken the lamp when he and the
others withdrew. The light of the waxen illuminant, that was rapidly
growing shorter and nearer to the powder, was the only radiance in the
room.
"In three minutes," Pulsifer had said.
Ned's eyes regarded the flickering candle with a look of despair.
It grew lower and flickered. One more such wavering of its steady flame
and the end must come.