THE VALUE OF A HARMONICA.
About the middle of the forenoon Pompey curled up on a pallet in one
corner of the room, and went to sleep. There was nothing in particular
to do, and it seemed rather a sensible way of spending the time. Dean,
however, felt too anxious to follow his example.
It occurred to him that it would be a good time for him to gratify his
curiosity by examining the cavern in which he was immured, and devise,
if possible, some method of escape. First he went up close to Pompey,
and examined him carefully to see whether he was really asleep, or only
shamming. But the negro's deep breathing soon satisfied him that there
was no sham about his slumber. So Dean felt at liberty to begin his
exploration.
He went back to the entrance, which he knew by the staircase he had
descended with Kirby and Dan. He mounted to the top, and found his way
barred by a trap-door which he tried, but unsuccessfully, to raise. It
appeared to be secured by a lock, and, not having the key, there was no
hope of escape. He gazed ruefully at this door, which shut him out from
liberty.
"I wonder if there is any other way out of the cave," he asked himself.
It didn't seem probable, but it was of course possible, and worth while
to investigate. If there were it would be at the other end, no doubt.
He retraced his steps, and found Pompey still fast asleep, and utterly
unconscious of the movements of the prisoner under his charge.
Dean took a lamp and went farther into the cave. There seemed to be a
series of excavations, connected by narrow passages. In one of these
was a large box, constructed like a sailor's chest. It occurred to
him that it might belong to Pompey, and be used by him to contain his
clothing. But a little thought suggested that the negro was not likely
to have a large stock of clothes. Probably the suit he had on was about
all he possessed. What, then, did the chest contain?
At each end was a handle. Dean took hold of one and tried to lift the
chest. But he found it very heavy, much heavier than it would have been
had it contained clothing.
He rose to his feet and eyed it with curiosity. There was nothing
elaborate about the lock, and it struck Dean that a key which he had in
his pocket might possibly unlock it. Upon the impulse of the moment he
kneeled down and inserted it in the lock.
Very much to his surprise, and indeed it did seem an extraordinary
chance, for it was the only key he had, it proved to fit the lock. He
turned it, and raised the lid. The sight dazzled him.
Before him lay piles of gold and silver coins, and a package of bank
bills. This cave was evidently the store house of an organized band of
robbers, and the chest might be considered their treasury.
"I wonder if this is real," thought Dean. "It seems like a scene in the
Arabian Nights."
It did indeed seem strange that this far off nook of Colorado should be
the rendezvous and treasure house of a band so widely scattered that
the captain was a quiet citizen of a small town in the State of New
York, nearly two thousand miles away.
How improbable it would have seemed to the Citizens of Waterford,
among whom Squire Bates moved, living in outward seeming the life of
any other respectable and law abiding citizen! This was the Waterford
mystery, which by a series of remarkable adventures it had fallen to
Dean to solve.
He locked the chest, fearing that Pompey might suddenly awake, and,
following, discover what he was about. He wanted some time to think
over this strange discovery, and consider what to do. To be sure, there
seemed little chance of his doing anything except to remain where he
was, a subterranean prisoner.
Dean felt more than ever a desire to leave the cave, but the prospect
was not encouraging. Why he was kept a prisoner he could guess. He
knew too much of the band, and especially of their leader, and he was
considered dangerous. His imprisonment might be a prolonged one, and
Dean felt that this would be intolerable.
It was in a very sober frame that he returned to the room where Pompey
was still sleeping. An hour later the negro awoke and stretched himself.
"Have I been asleep long, young massa?" he asked.
"Two or three hours, I should think, Pompey."
"Dat's strange! I only just closed my eyes for a minute, and I done
forgot myself."
"You might as well go to sleep. There's nothing else to do."
"I must get some dinner, honey. Don't you feel hungry?"
"I might eat something," said Dean listlessly.
Pompey bustled round, and prepared a lunch, to which Dean, homesick as
he was, did not fail to do justice. It takes a great deal to spoil the
appetite of a growing boy.
After the noon repast Dean sat down. He was beginning to find the
monotony intolerable.
"Have you got any books down here, Pompey?" he asked.
Pompey shook his head.
"No use for books, young massa. I can't read."
"But I can."
"Perhaps Massa Kirby will bring you some if you ask him."
Dean did not care to ask any favor of Kirby. Moreover he knew that that
gentleman was not particularly literary, and doubted if he was in a
position to grant the request.
By way of beguiling the time he took out his harmonica in an absent
mood, and began to play "Old Folks at Home."
Instantly Pompey was on the alert. His eyes brightened, and he fixed
them in rapture upon the young player.
"What's dat, young massa?" he asked.
"That's a harmonica."
"You do play beau'ful, young massa."
"Thank you, Pompey, I am glad you like it."
"Play some more," entreated Pompey.
Dean complied with the negro's request, partly because he was obliging,
partly because it helped to fill up the time. He could scarcely forbear
laughing to see Pompey rocking to and fro with his mouth open, drinking
in the melodious strains.
Nature had given Pompey a rapt appreciation of music, and he began to
croon a vocal accompaniment to the instrument.
"Who learn you to play, young massa?" he asked.
"I taught myself. It isn't hard."
"Dat's because your white. A poor nigger like me couldn't learn," said
Pompey half inquiringly.
"Oh yes, you could. I see you have an ear for music. Would you like to
try?"
"If you would let me."
Dean handed the negro the harmonica, and gave him the necessary
directions. In the course of half an hour he was able to play through
"Old Folks at Home," with substantial accuracy.
"I wish I had a harmonicum," said Pompey wistfully. "It would make old
Pompey happy."
An idea came into Dean's head—a wild, perhaps an impracticable idea,
but he resolved to carry it out, if possible.
"Pompey," he said, "I'll give you the harmonica if you'll let me out of
the cave."
Pompey rolled his eyes in affright.
"Couldn't do it no how, young massa," he said. "Massa Kirby would kill
me."
"He'd think I got away when you were asleep, Pompey. Come, I'll show
you two or three more tunes on the instrument, and you can learn others
yourself."
"I don't dare to, young massa," said Pompey, but there was a suspicion
of indecision in his voice.
"Very well, then, give me back the harmonica. I will never play any
more upon it."
"Oh, young massa!"
"I mean what I say, Pompey"—and Dean put the harmonica in his pocket.
Pompey eyed him with a troubled look. He was evidently weighing the
matter in his mind.
"If I thought Massa Kirby wouldn't kill me," he said reflectively.
Dean upon this redoubled his persuasions. He played another tune on
the harmonica—"Sweet Home"—with variations, and this completed the
conquest of his sable custodian.
"I'll do it, young massa," said Pompey, hoarsely. "Give me the
harmonicum, and I'll take the risk."
Dean did not want to give him time for reflection. He seized his hat,
and handed Pompey the instrument.
The negro guided him, not to the front entrance which he already knew,
but to a back exit which he had overlooked. Here there was a door
skillfully concealed on the outside. Pompey drew out a key, opened it,
and with infinite relief Dean again saw the sunshine and breathed the
air of freedom.
"Good-bye, Pompey!" he said. "I thank you with all my heart."
"If Massa Kirby cotch you, don't you tell him I let you go," said
Pompey, hoarsely.
"No, I won't, Pompey, but I don't mean to let him catch me."
The door closed behind him, and Dean paused to consider what course to
take. He must at all hazards avoid falling in with Kirby and Dan.
"That harmonica is worth its weight in gold!" thought Dean, gratefully.
"It is a regular talisman."