CAUGHT IN A TRAP.
But Ramon was not dead,—far from it, in fact. As Jack bent above him
he reached back, and with a swift, cat-like motion, whipped out a knife
and, balancing it on his palm for the fraction of a second, sent it
whistling past the lad’s ear.
Before he could rise the boy was upon him, and for a space of several
minutes they struggled on the uneven ground, the exhausted horse
looking disinterestedly on. Had it not been for its recent punishment
it is likely that the brute might have interfered, for some of the oft
told tales along the border concerned the black’s love for its master.
But as it was, it made no move, not even when Jack, holding Ramon
pinned to the ground with one hand, with the other jerked loose the
lasso from the saddle, by its hanging end, and rapidly proceeded to
bind the Mexican fast.
“Adios, Ramon!” cried the boy, as, his task completed, he turned away.
Had the black horse not been so completely worn out it is likely that
Jack might have commandeered him. But as it was, he deemed it wisest
not to bother with him.
And so he slipped away, leaving the exhausted horse and helpless master
side by side.
After traveling some distance Jack began to realize that his woodcraft
was seriously at fault somewhere. He had intended to make a detour
which would bring him around the outlaw’s camp and enable him to reach
their own bivouac unobserved.
Instead of this, as he now began to dread, he had apparently headed
altogether in the wrong direction, for the country into which he
emerged after traversing the fern-brake and scrub-coppice, was of a
kind distinctly foreign to anything they had as yet encountered in
Mexico.
Almost bare of vegetation, it was riven and split as if by volcanic
action. The earth was of a reddish color, as if it had been seared by
elemental fires, and the beetling cliffs rose threateningly on either
side.
“What a gloomy place,” thought Jack, “it reminds me of that valley in
which Sinbad the Sailor found the snakes and the diamonds. Wonder if
there are any diamonds here? Tell you what, though, I’d give a whole
handful of the gems right now for a good square meal.”
The thought of the appetizing breakfast which had been preparing when
he left camp made Jack hungrier than ever, a fact which he had not
had time heretofore to realize in the rapid march of events which had
occurred since his departure.
The Border Boy looked about him carefully. He realized that if not
actually lost, he was in grave danger of being so. The thought
quickened his faculties and he set about gauging his position in real
earnest. Having, by the aid of the sun, calculated the direction in
which the Border Boys’ camp ought to lie, Jack struck out for it. His
way led him across a corner of The Baked Land, as he had mentally
christened the dreary valley.
He was hastening forward when, suddenly, as he stepped into what seemed
a patch of ferns and high grass, the solid ground seemed to vanish from
under his feet.
Straight down shot the Border Boy, clutching desperately, as he fell,
at projecting rocks and bits of growth; but none of these remained firm
in his grasp.
For twenty feet or more the boy fell, and then suddenly his drop was
arrested by a heap of dried vegetation at the bottom of the pit or
crevasse into which his hurrying feet had led him.
So well had the deceitful growth on the edges of this gulf hidden it,
that it was small wonder that Jack, in his haste, had not perceived
it. It was dark with a gloomy, damp sort of dusk in the bottom of the
crevasse, only a dim, greenish light filtering in from the top.
The reaction from his hopes of a few minutes before almost unnerved the
lad for the nonce, but presently he marshalled his faculties and set
himself to the task of ascertaining exactly what had happened to him,
and what means of escape presented itself.
At a single glance he could see that there was no hope of getting out
of the subterranean trap by means of climbing up the walls. Although
they were rough and might have afforded a foothold, they overhung the
floor of the pit at such an angle that even a fly would have found it
difficult to maintain a foothold on them.
Yet rescue himself he must, or face death in that gloomy place. Without
any definite idea in his mind, Jack struck off along the bottom of the
abyss, which was overgrown with a short, coarse sort of grass of a
pallid green color.
As he moved along his progress was suddenly arrested. His foot had
encountered something that wriggled and squirmed horribly under his
sole. It was a sickening sensation, this, of feeling that squirmy mass
under his foot.
Jack stepped hastily back. As he did so something brown and mottled
slid off through the grass, hissing angrily. As it went there came a
dry sort of sound, like the rattling of peas in a bladder. At the same
time a nauseating musky odor filled the air.
“This place may be alive with rattlers!” thought Jack, glancing
nervously about him.
As he spoke he thought that from a dark corner at the further end
of the rocky pit he could hear a sort of scuffling and rustling,
unpleasantly suggestive of intertwined masses of scaly bodies writhing
and contorting in snaky knots. At any rate, he decided to explore the
rift no further in that direction. Instead, he turned back and sitting
down on a projecting bit of rock,—after first carefully reviewing the
surroundings,—Jack set himself to some hard thinking.
If only he had possessed a rifle or a revolver,—or even a knife,—his
situation would have been different. By firing the weapons he might
have attracted attention to his dilemma, and with the knife it might
have been feasible to cut steps in the walls at some other part of the
crevasse.
Then, too, there is something in the mere feel of the good wood and
steel of a rifle that gives a fellow confidence and courage. It seems
like a friend or at least a protector. But poor Jack had none of this
comfort He was trapped in the bowels of the earth with only his bare
hands to aid him out of his difficulties.
As it was unthinkable to dream of exploring the pit further in the
direction in which he felt sure lay the den of snakes, Jack finally
decided on striking off the other way. That he went carefully, you
may be sure. He did not want again to experience that wriggly, crawly
feeling under his foot.
The crevasse seemed to be of considerable length. In fact, he estimated
that he had walked some half mile or more before he reached what
seemed to be its confines. It ended abruptly in a steep wall of rock,
and with its termination Jack’s hopes of escape vanished also. Fairly
unnerved, the boy sank down on a heap of dried fern and buried his face
in his hands.
Was he to be buried alive in this horrible place?
Then he fell to shouting. He yelled and hulloed till his throat was
dry and sore, and his lips cracked. He knew that he ran considerable
risk of attracting the attention of the outlaws, but in his present
predicament he didn’t much care what happened so long as he got out of
the terrible place. But all his shouting came to naught, and after an
interval of waiting Jack realized that it had all been in vain.
What was he to do next? Nothing but to wait for rescue or—— But Jack
would not allow himself to complete the sentence.
“While there is life there is hope,” he murmured to himself, and
involuntarily recalled the night when he had stood upon the tower of
the old mission, a hundred feet above the ground, and deemed that his
end had come. Yet he had escaped from that dilemma, and more impossible
things had happened than that he should get out of his present scrape
alive.
All at once, while he sat thus meditating, the boy spied, not far above
his head and only a short distance away, a dangling vine some two
inches in circumference, and seemingly tough and fibrous.
“It ought to bear my weight,” thought Jack, “and if only it will, I’ll
get out of this hideous place yet.”
He began making brave efforts to reach the trailing tendon. Time and
again, with hands that were cut and bleeding from the rough surface
of the rock, he was compelled to desist in his efforts, but at last,
mustering his waning strength, he made a mighty leap. His fingers
closed on the vine and he drew himself upward. But as the boy’s full
weight came upon the green trailer it snapped abruptly, and Jack was
thrown violently to the ground.
He fell with such force that he was stunned and helpless. Clasping the
broken bit of treacherous vine in his hands, the Border Boy lay on the
floor of the crevasse, senseless.