HOW THE PLOT WAS LAID
Allan had said in his message that he had recognized Dan Nolan; yet,
in the stress of his emotion at the time, the strangeness of Nolan's
appearance under the circumstances had not occurred to him. Yet it was
strange; yes, more than strange. Here was Nolan in company with the men
whom he had basely betrayed by turning State's evidence, and apparently
received by them again on terms of comradeship. How had they come to
forgive him the one offence which criminals never forgive? What was it
had turned aside their anger and persuaded them to admit again to their
company a man who had been proved a traitor?
The chain of circumstances which led to this result was so peculiar that
it is worth pausing a moment to describe.
Nolan had gone south, as Jack Welsh had predicted, after the failure
of his attempt to wreck the special and to revenge himself on Allan;
but drawn, as Jack had foreseen, by an irresistible attraction, he had
gradually worked his way back to the north again, and, not daring to
return to Wadsworth, had finally drifted to Coalville. There, after
loitering around the saloons, until they refused admission to so
penniless and disreputable a customer, he had secured work as hostler in
the company's stables; where, if the wages were not large, neither was
the work exhausting. Here Nolan had remained for some months, believing
himself secure from discovery. He slept in a loft at the rear of the
stable, and here, one night, he was awakened by a savage grip at his
throat. He endeavoured to yell, but as he opened his mouth, something was
stuffed into it that muffled the cry, and nearly choked him. Half-dead
with fright, he felt himself lifted from the hay, passed down the ladder
and borne out into the open air. Then he fainted.
When he opened his eyes, he fancied for a moment that he was dreaming,
so weird and uncanny was the picture which confronted him. Black columns
towered about him into the darkness overhead, like the pillars of a
cathedral, and now and then he caught a glimpse of the ebon ceiling,
shining with moisture, which dripped down the pillars to the floor. Just
in front of him flickered a little fire, over which a pot was simmering.
About the fire were grouped four figures; and as he looked from one to
the other of them, Nolan's senses reeled and his heart quaked, for, by
the dancing light of the fire, he recognized the four men whom he had
betrayed.
How had they come here? Their terms in prison, he knew, would not end for
many years; buried as he was in this hole among the hills, associating
only with the dullest and most depraved of human beings, he had heard
nothing of their escape. How had they found him? Above all, what did
they intend to do with him? He shuddered as he asked himself that last
question.
His captors were talking earnestly among themselves, paying no heed
to him, but at the end of a moment, one of them arose to examine the
contents of the pot, and glancing at Nolan, perceived that his eyes were
open.
"Why, hello, Dannie," he cried, with a sort of unholy glee which
frightened Dan more than any threats could have done, "how are ye?"
Dan could find no voice to answer, but the others got up and, moving
nearer, sat down before him. Their eyes were shining as a cat's do when
it sees the mouse under its paw. And like the cat, they prepared to put
their prey to the torture.
"Well, this _is_ an unexpected pleasure," said one.
"So glad to have you as our guest," said another.
"Yes; we've got the spare room ready," said a third, whereat they all
laughed uproariously.
"The spare room--good!"
"A lofty chamber, Dannie; you'll feel like a king."
"And sleep like a top!"
"Even if the bed is rather hard."
And then they all laughed again.
"Yes--and as long as you like! You're our guest, Dannie. And we're going
to keep you awhile!"
Dan was bathed from head to foot in a cold sweat. He could not guess
their meaning, but he knew it boded no good for him.
"We've been wanting to see you so bad," one of the men went on, "ever
since you treated us so well at the trial. Pity you couldn't have held
your tongue then, Dannie; you'd have had to stay in jail a little longer,
but at least you'd have been alive."
At last Dan found his tongue.
"You ain't a-goin' t' kill me!" he cried. "You wouldn't treat an old pal
like that!"
"No, no, Dannie!" came the answer, soothingly, "we're just going to put
you in our spare room. Then I'm afraid we'll have to bid you adieu. You
see this State don't agree with our health very well. We wouldn't have
stayed this long except for the pleasure of seeing you. Ain't you glad?"
"How'd you know where I was?" Nolan asked.
The man laughed.
"Why, we've known where you were ever since you were let out on parole.
We heard how you'd tried to wreck another train, and then lighted out for
the south; we heard about your roustabouting on the wharves at Mobile,
and stealing a case of tobacco from a warehouse and trying to sell it
and coming so near getting pinched that you had to get out of that place
in a hurry, and start back north again. Why, we've got friends who, at a
word from us, would have done for you a dozen times over--they knew what
you'd done; but we were reserving that pleasure for ourselves, Daniel.
And when we heard that you had stopped here, we decided to pay you a
little visit on our way out of the State, and had this place fixed up for
us, and here we are. But you don't look a bit glad to see us!"
Dan, following the speaker with painful attention, caught a glimpse of an
underworld whose existence he had never suspected--a confederacy of crime
to which he, as a mere novice and outsider, had never been admitted.
The one unforgivable crime to this association was to turn traitor, to
"peach"--that is, to inform against one's accomplices in order to escape
oneself. That was exactly what Nolan had done, and he was now to pay for
it.
The four men, as by a single impulse, rose to their feet, and one of them
picked up a coil of rope which lay at the foot of the nearest pillar.
"Get up," said one of them roughly, to Nolan.
But Nolan was paralyzed by fear, and incapable of movement, for he
believed that they were going to hang him.
"Get up," his captor repeated, and seizing him by the shoulder, jerked
him to his feet.
Nolan clutched for support at the pillar against which he had been
leaning. He saw now that it was of coal, and he suddenly understood where
he was. He had been brought to one of the abandoned workings of the mine;
he knew there were many such, and that no one ever ventured into them
through fear of the deadly fire-damp which almost always gathers in such
neglected levels. And he knew there was no hope of rescue.
"Why, look at the coward!" cried his captor, disgustedly. "He's as weak
as a rag. It's enough to make a man sick!"
Dan turned a piteous face toward him.
"You--you ain't goin' to hang me?" he faltered.
The men burst into a roar of laughter.
"No," one of them answered, "we're goin' to save you from gettin' hanged,
as you certainly would be if we let you go. Really, you ought to thank
us."
Partially reassured, Dan managed to take a few steps forward. After all,
they had said they were not going to kill him!
Then he stopped, with a quick gasp of dismay. At his feet yawned a pit,
whose depth he could not guess. The torch which one of his captors bore
disclosed the black wall below him, dripping with moisture, plunging into
absolute and terrifying darkness.
Then Nolan understood. This was the "spare room."
His teeth were chattering and a sort of hoarse wailing came from
his throat, as they slipped the rope under his arms. He was only
half-conscious; too weak with terror to resist. He felt himself lifted
and swung off over the abyss; his body scraped downward along the rough
wall, hundreds of feet, as it seemed to him; the moisture soaked through
his clothes and chilled him. At last his feet touched solid ground, but
his legs doubled helplessly under him and he collapsed against the wall.
He felt the rope drawn from about him; then a kind of stupor fell upon
him and for a time he knew no more.
At last he opened his eyes again and looked about him. He thought, at
first, that he was sleeping in his loft, and that it was still night.
Then he felt the rock at his back, and suddenly remembered all that had
happened to him. His throat was dry and parched; his muscles ached, and
every particle of strength had left his body. It seemed to him that hours
and even days had passed while he lay there unconscious. Really, it had
been only a few moments.
He stretched his hands out on either side and felt the rough and dripping
wall; then he got uncertainly to his feet, and step by step, advanced
along the wall, stumbling, and stopping from time to time all a-tremble
with fear and weakness. He kept on and on for perhaps half an hour; the
cavern seemed of mammoth proportions, and a new terror seized him.
Perhaps his captors had not really intended to leave him there to die;
perhaps they only wished to frighten him; but if he wandered away into
the mine there would be no hope for him.
He turned, and started back again with feverish haste. Suppose they
should look for him, and finding him gone, give him up for lost? A dry
sobbing choked him, but still he hastened on. And yet, how was he to tell
when he had reached the spot to which he had been lowered? Might he not
go past it? How was he to know?
He stared upward into the black void above him, but it showed no vestige
of light. He raised his voice in a shrill cry, but there was no response
except the echo flung back at him by the vault above. And again that
convulsive trembling seized him, and he sank limply down against the
wall. But whatever manhood he had rallied to his support; that love of
life which is the one controlling force of cowardly natures asserted
itself and gave him some semblance of self-control. He clasped his
head in his hands and tried to think. To find his way back--and then
it suddenly occurred to him that he had in his pocket some matches. He
fumbled for them eagerly. Perhaps, with their help--
He struck one against the under side of his coat-sleeve, which was
comparatively dry. It flared unsteadily, and then burned clearly. For
a moment, Nolan was blinded by the flame; then he stared about him,
scarcely able to believe his eyes. For on every side the black walls
shut him in. He was at the bottom of a pit, not more than thirty feet in
diameter, and he had been walking round and round it, too agitated and
stupefied by fear to notice that he was travelling in a circle.
The match sputtered and went out, and Nolan sat for a long time with the
stump of it in his fingers. He was evidently at the bottom of a shaft
sunk in search of another vein, or, perhaps, of a natural cavity in the
rock. Of the height of the walls he could form no estimate, but they
were so smooth and straight that ten feet were as impossible to him as a
hundred. Decidedly there was no chance of escape unless his captors chose
to assist him.
As he sat there musing, a light fell into the pit, and he looked up to
see one of his captors gazing down at him by the light of a torch which
he held above his head.
"I just came to say good-bye," he called down.
"Good-bye?" echoed Nolan, hoarsely.
"Yes,--it will soon be dark, and we're going to pull out for the west.
Ohio's too hot for us just now."
"And--and you're goin' t' leave me here?" cried Nolan.
"We certainly are. How do you like it?"
"But that'll be murder!" Nolan protested. "You might swing fer it!"
"Oh, no, we mightn't. You'll never be found. You're done with this
world, Daniel. Fix your thoughts upon the next."
Nolan uttered a hollow moan. Then a sudden inspiration brought him to his
feet.
"See here," he said, "let me out o' here an' I'll put y' on to somethin'
good."
His captor laughed mockingly.
"I'm afraid it's not good enough, Daniel-in-the-lion's-den," he said.
"You're asking too big a price."
"It's sixty thousand dollars," said Dan, still more eagerly. "You kin git
it day arter t'-morrer, as easy as fallin' off a log."
The smile on the other's face vanished and he stood for a moment looking
thoughtfully down into the pit.
"Is there anything in this, or is it just moonshine?" he asked, at last.
"It's straight!" Nolan protested. "It's dead straight! Pull me out o'
here an' I'll tell you."
"Wait a minute," said the other, and disappeared.
Nolan waited with an anxiety that deepened with every passing second; but
at last the light appeared again at the edge of the pit, and this time
four faces looked down at him instead of one. The rope was lowered, he
slipped it under his arms, and three minutes later stood again facing his
captors.
[Illustration: "'IT B'LONGS T' TH' MINE COMPANY,' SAID NOLAN."]
Without speaking, they led him back to the place where their fire was
still burning and motioned him to sit down.
"Now," said one of them, "let's have the story."
"And if it's straight, you'll let me go?"
"If it's straight, we'll let you go. If it's not, back you go into the
pit, and this time you won't have a rope to help you down."
"Oh, I ain't afeerd," said Nolan. "It's straight. But I think I ort t'
have some of it."
"How much did you say there is?"
"Between fifty an' sixty thousand dollars."
"It's not in a bank?"
"No; it's in a box."
"And we can get it within a day or two."
"You kin git it day arter to-morrer."
"If everything turns out well, you shall have a thousand dollars."
"Oh, come," protested Nolan, but the other stopped him with an impatient
gesture.
"That or nothing," he said, curtly, and Nolan surrendered, for he saw the
man was in earnest.
"All right," he said, glumly, and instinctively they all drew a little
nearer the fire. "Th' day arter t'-morrer," he began, "they'll come in on
th' evenin' train a box containin' sixty thousan' in cold cash."
"Whose is it?" asked one of the men.
"It b'longs t' th' mine company," said Nolan; "it's th' men's wages."
And again the group drew a little closer together.