IN THE DEVIL'S CAVE.
"Remain here, Ulrich, until I return," said Barnwell, alighting.
"Yes, sir."
Armed for almost any encounter, young Barnwell started to find the cave
in front of which he had had such a sanguinary struggle a week before.
He had no difficulty in finding it; but he was on his guard this time.
There lay the carcasses of the wolves he had slain, and the very fact of
their not having been devoured was positive evidence that there were no
other wolves in the neighborhood.
Glancing around, and listening for a moment, he became convinced that
the cave was now tenantless, and so he passed on beyond the first point
that he had before discovered, and began looking for the next.
Holding the diagram in one hand, and a revolver in the other, he was not
long in finding it, and thus two points were gained that corresponded
with it.
Again he consulted and compared.
Ten feet marked on the diagram, and then there was an index finger
pointing east.
He paced the distance as accurately as he could, but by this time he had
entered the cave so far that he could scarcely see about the place.
But he had come prepared for just such an emergency as this, and taking
a candle and match from his game-bag, he proceeded to make a light.
He glanced cautiously around the dark and somber cave, and the first
thing his eyes rested on were the forms of two dead wolf cubs, evidently
belonging to one of the mothers he had slain the week before, and
undoubtedly starved to death in consequence.
But this attracted his attention for only a moment.
Standing at the distance of ten feet from the last-discovered point, he
held up a little compass that he wore as a charm to his watch chain, in
order to ascertain in which direction east lay.
The tiny magnet finally stood still and pointed. The east lay to the
right.
Again, by the aid of his candle, he searched for indications.
The walls were damp and seemingly solid.
Had he lost the lead? With the butt of his pistol he began rapping along
the stone wall.
It seemed like original adamant.
Then he paused, and again consulted the diagram.
He seemed to have followed it correctly.
There were no further marks upon it, and he finally began to fear that
he was on the wrong scent after all.
Again he went to the mouth of the cave, and retraced each point
carefully.
There could be no mistake about it, provided he was in the right place;
and if he was not, it was a strange coincidence that two such peculiar
points should exist in more than one cave.
Once more he approached the side of the cave to which the index finger
pointed, and made a still closer examination of it.
But it was as solid as granite could be, as indicated by sounds.
He was about to give up, with the idea that he was in the wrong cave,
and began slowly to walk towards the opening.
Suddenly he remembered that in the Russian language "erweldt" signified
west, a thing he had not thought of before.
With a glad cry he retraced his steps to the point indicated, and then
began to examine the walls, which he found more broken than those on the
other side.
There were faint indications of mosses in one or two places, and on
sounding them he came upon one large rock that did not seem so firm as
the others.
Holding his candle closer, he saw what might have been cement or
something of the kind, and with a throbbing heart he drew a stout
burglar's jimmy from his bag and began prying into a seam.
It was a powerful tool, worked by a powerful man, and soon the rock,
which was fully two feet square, but of irregular shape, began to show
signs of getting loose.
"Ah! this must be it," said he, as he saw bits of cement crumble and
fall.
But it was no child's-play to move that stone, weighing, as it probably
did, five hundred pounds, and held by the cement that had hardened for
more than thirty years.
Little by little, however, he worked one end of it partially free, and
saw that it stood out at least three inches beyond where it was, and in
addition to this, the cement had now lost its hold, and with one
powerful last effort the rock fell with an echoing thud some three feet
to the bottom of the cave.
Within there was a rough chamber, five or six feet in irregular diameter
every way; and if this was the Devil's Cave, as it was called, this one
must surely have been his oven, so very like one was it.
Reaching in to allow his candle to light the place, he saw numerous
bags, made of reindeer hide tanned without removing the hair.
"Thank heaven I have found it! Batavsky was as true as steel, and I will
be true to his memory!" said Barnwell, holding the candle aloft.
It was fully a minute before he could summon sufficient courage to
proceed further, so startled were his nerve over the sudden fruition of
his hopes.
Then, mastering his emotions, he reached in and lifted one of the bags
from its long resting-place.
It weighed fully ten pounds, and when he set it down upon the sill of
the opening, there was a confused rattling and clinking inside of the
hair-covered bag, a sound that only one coined metal in the world will
emit--gold.
There was no need of opening it to make sure that the contents were
genuine. The sound told that; and old Batavsky's truth, proved up to the
point, was a further guarantee for it.
Taking out another one, he started with one in each hand for his wagon,
by which Ulrich was waiting, like the patient, honest soul he was.
Nothing that Barnwell did surprised him. He honestly believed him to be
more than an ordinary man, and capable of doing anything short of
raising the dead; and when he him approaching with those unique bags in
his hand, his curiosity was not aroused sufficiently to make him ask any
questions.
Barnwell understood and had faith in him of the strongest kind.
Setting down the bags by the side of the wagon, he wiped the
perspiration from his brow, and then, taking a peculiar key from his
pocket, he proceeded to throw back the wagon-seat and to unlock the iron
chest beneath it.
Now, Ulrich had never known that such a contrivance existed in the wagon
before, although understanding that it was a very heavy vehicle; but he
evinced no surprise, asked no questions.
Getting up into the wagon, Barnwell told him to hand the bags up to him,
and without a word he did so.
Barnwell stowed them carefully away in the large iron box. Then closing
it and locking it again, he motioned Ulrich to follow him.
The horses were securely fastened, and there was not a sound, even of
birds, in that desolate locality, so all was safe.
Without exchanging a word, they went back to the cave and brought each
two more of the bags, which were placed in the strong-box.
It was but little past noon when they began, and for two hours they
robbed that golden cell of its treasures and transferred it to the
wagon.
The bags were in an excellent state of preservation, for the place was
perfectly dry, and besides, they had evidently been prepared with some
unusual treatment which made them almost indestructible.
Finally the chamber was emptied, and Barnwell could but think of the
toil and risk in transporting so much gold to such a far-off place. It
seemed to him almost as marvelous as that it had remained there all
those years without being recovered. But Batavsky was no ordinary man,
and undoubtedly knew exactly what he was doing.
Ulrich's face was a study.
Had they been transporting bags of stones it could not have been more
stolid.
He worshiped the young American, and for him it was to obey without a
question, and this he readily did.
He often looked upon his position as an exalted one, as compared with
what it would have been had Barnwell not saved him from a debtor's
prison, which is only another name in Russia for a poor debtor's grave.
Well, when all the bags had been removed, it was found that the box was
too full to admit of the last four, and these Barnwell placed at his
feet after the seat had been returned to its place, showing nothing
unusual.
"Now, then, back to the tavern, and not a word of this to anyone," said
Barnwell.
"Sir, I am your slave," said Ulrich.
"Say not that. You are my servant, my companion and friend. We are both
of us members of the same great order. You work in your way, I in mine.
There are no slaves in our order, Ulrich."
"It must be so, sir, for you say it," he replied, turning the horses
homeward.
This was conclusive.
The bags of gold made a heavy load, and bent the springs well down, but
the horses and the wagon were strong, and these would have deceived
almost anybody regarding the amount of weight they carried.
The roads being rough for some distance, they drove slowly and just
before getting out into the open they met a hunter with a good string of
game.
Remembering that he had gone out to shoot, and that they had no game,
Barnwell stopped the peasant and bought his choicest birds, after which
they drove to the tavern.
Barnwell handed the game to a servant, who afterwards held the horses
while he and Ulrich carried the four bags of gold to his room.
Then the wagon was carefully housed, as usual, and the horses taken care
of, after which Barnwell strolled leisurely into the bar-room, where the
landlord and his wife were examining the game.
"Good luck to-day, I see."
"Oh, yes, I've had very good luck to-day; and will you oblige me by
having one of those pheasants cooked for my supper, together with a stew
in your best German style made of one of those hares?"
"Certainly, sir," replied the landlady, at the same time bustling away
with the game.
"I am tired and hungry, so let me have the best you can do."
"With all my heart, sir."
"And, landlord, bring me a bottle of your choicest Johannisberg out here
on the porch, where I can enjoy it in the shade."
The landlord hastened to comply.
"What an appetite it gives, and how generous a good day's sport makes a
man," he mused. "A few such customers as this one is would make us rich,
and enable us to pay off the thousand marks due on our place."
He set the delicious wine before him, and Barnwell drank a hearty
draught.
"Ah! nowhere in the world can such wine be found as in Germany."
"I am glad you think so, sir, for I hope you will stay long with us, and
be so well pleased that you will come again."
"I shall certainly remain with you, if I ever come back again, for I
like both you and your good frau. But to-morrow I must away to Berlin on
business."
"So soon?"
"Yes. My life is made up of business and pleasure. Business must have an
inning now."
"I am sorry, sir," said the old man, sadly.
"Oh, well; others will come."
"Visitors are rare here, sir. Now and then a poor artist stops here, and
sometimes tourists wander this way; but it is a life-time rarity to meet
with a rich cosmopolitan like yourself, who is willing to help us along
a bit."
"But you must be well off in any event."
"No, sir; although we should be if the thousand marks' mortgage was paid
off."
"When it is due?"
"Within a week."
"And how much have you towards it?"
"Five hundred."
"All right; keep the five hundred, and here are a thousand to free you
from embarrassment," said Barnwell, counting out the bills.
The old landlord was so overcome that he fell upon his knees speechless,
seeing which, his wife ran to him, thinking him ill.
"Oh, Gretchen! Look at him; the good American gentleman has saved us and
our home!"
"Oh, sir, what induced you?"
"The idea of making somebody as happy as I am myself. Take it and be
happy. All I ask in return is that you be good to the poor and
unfortunate."
"Oh, sir, bless you!" cried the landlord.
"Amen! And you shall have just the nicest dinner you ever had in your
life," said his wife, brushing the tears from her eyes and hurrying
away.