IN THE TOILS OF HENDERSON
Returning to the main shaft, following a tour of exploration through the
mine, Dick and Sandy were staggered by the discovery that during their
absence some one had removed the rope and had closed the trap. Darkness
enveloped them. The stream of light, which had poured through the wide
opening in the floor of the cabin, had been cut off. The shock of the
discovery for a moment unnerved the two young adventurers. The thing was
incredible—almost past belief! Sandy raised his candle aloft and stared
up through its flickering light. Dick smothered a cry, then stood
mopping his perspiring face, too dumbfounded for words.
After the first shock of surprise, it occurred to Dick that Toma was
playing a joke upon them. Piqued and resentful because of his and
Sandy’s refusal to postpone the exploration of the mine, their guide had
probably decided to teach them a lesson. No doubt, he wanted to frighten
them a little in his effort to revenge his wounded feelings. Such an
explanation seemed reasonable enough. It caused Dick to smile to himself
and presently to chuckle aloud:
“Toma’s done this, Sandy. The old boy’s a little peeved because we
wouldn’t listen to him. If we wait here a few minutes, he’ll relent and
open the trap.”
They waited in silence. Sandy nudged Dick and laughed. In order to pass
the time quickly, they went over and commenced to examine the sacks of
gold, piled against one side of the shaft.
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes—and no sound from Toma! Dick sat down and
began mopping his face again. Sandy blew out his candle, grumbling to
himself.
“A joke has its limits,” he sputtered. “In about two more seconds——”
Footfalls sounded overhead. A low rumble of voices, a clatter of
something on the floor—and the trap came open. Light streamed down,
lighting up the shaft.
“Bear!” exclaimed an unfamiliar voice. “Better keep back. They’re
armed!”
“No, I tell yuh, we got their rifles. Fink,” the tone was overbearing
and threatening, “get a move on an’ throw down that rope.”
The rope came down with a dull thud. Then the voice:
“Get out o’ that. Scramble up that rope. You’re both down there—we know
it.”
A string of blasphemous oaths accompanied the sharp command. Sandy
shrank back close to Dick. They were both shaking with terror.
“Do yuh hear!” screamed Henderson, enraged at the delay. “Your game’s
up, I tell yuh. I’m givin’ yuh just five minutes to come outta that
hole.”
“I can’t,” moaned Sandy. “I can’t, Dick!”
With difficulty, Dick was gaining control of himself.
“We must, Sandy,” he quavered. “There’s no help for it. They have the
upper hand now. Let me help you to your feet.”
Sandy could scarcely stand. He trembled, and raised a white, pathetic
face to the opening.
“We’re coming, Henderson,” Dick called out, his voice ringing
tragically.
Slowly, tremblingly, they went up. Dick’s head, then his shoulders
projected through the opening. Strong, rough arms yanked him forward
with a force so violent that his jaws snapped. He was lying on the floor
now, Sandy beside him. The leering, uncouth faces above were faces
without pity. A circle of eyes, like those of hungry wolves, glared down
at them. Big, powerful—a tower of brute strength and wickedness—Bear
Henderson stormed through the group of men, cursing roundly.
“Truss ’em up! Truss ’em up, you fools. Think we got all day to stand
around in. Flick—bring that rope!”
The boys were bound hand and foot, then dragged across the floor and
kicked into a corner. Through a smother of dust, Dick perceived that the
party of outlaws were preparing to make a descent into the mine. Above
the din and confusion, came the hoarse, bellowed orders of Henderson.
One by one, the moose-hide sacks, containing the gold stored in the
shaft, were lifted up through the trap. A perfect bedlam of cries and
shouts arose. Order was forgotten. Sweating men, their faces distorted
with greed and passion, clawed over the precious metal, snarling like
beasts.
For a time it looked as if Henderson might lose control of the outlaws.
With one exception, every man cursed and fought around the moose-hide
sacks, turning deaf ears to their leader. This rebellion against
authority transformed Henderson from the brute he was to a glaring-eyed
madman. Never before in all his life had Dick seen anything to equal the
awful fury of the man, as he leaped here and there through that pack of
human wolves and beat them into submission.
In less than five minutes, the man, called Flick, was the only one left
of the cowering band who dared to dispute its leader’s authority. Flick
had backed away, nursing a cut over his right eye, blood trickling down
his face. His cheeks were livid. As Henderson rushed towards him, a
knife gleamed and whirred through the air, missing the outlaw by a scant
two inches. A short time later Baptiste La Lond, the only one of the
party who had shown little interest in the sacks of gold, proceeded to
remove the unconscious body of Flick. He accomplished this task by the
simple expedient of dragging it out by the heels, yanking it brutally
along the floor, through the doorway and thence outside.
Immediately the room became more quiet. With a jerk of his head,
Henderson tossed back his mop of yellow hair and wiped his face with the
back of one hairy hand.
“Any more o’ yuh devils lookin’ fer trouble—step out!”
No one moved. Sulky faces, many of them battered almost to a pulp, were
cast down; shoulders drooped in dejection. Not even the breath of a
murmur stirred through their broken ranks.
“Yuh got us licked, Bear, an’ yuh know it,” trembled one of the outlaws.
“We didn’t mean no harm jes’ lookin’ at that gold. There ain’t a nugget
missin’.”
“No, I suppose not,” snarled their chief. “Couldn’t see nothin’, could
I? Empty yer pockets fer I knock yuh all down again!”
Hastily, they complied. In spite of the torture of the rope that bound
him, Dick choked back a laugh as each one brought to light handful after
handful of the tell-tale nuggets and passed them over to their brutal
master.
Returning from his gentle mission, Baptiste La Lond sauntered through
the door and made his way unhesitatingly over to the corner where Dick
and Sandy lay.
“Ah, ze pretty mounted police boy,” he chortled, prodding Dick with his
foot. “Where is ze fine uniform now?”
Dick stared back in defiance, but made no answer.
“Pardon, monsieur!” Mockingly, La Lond bowed low before him. Then he
turned to the outlaws with what he considered to be a humorous gesture.
“Ze leetle boy ees feel sick now—so veree sick. He not feel lak talk
today.”
One or two of the outlaws guffawed loudly.
“Come out o’ that!” growled Henderson. “Leave that boy alone. We got
work to do.”
Baptiste cringed and slunk away from the corner. Turning upon his men,
Henderson raised his voice: “Listen tuh me, yuh yellow skunks—I’m boss
o’ this party. If yuh don’t believe it, jes’ try some more o’ your funny
tricks. None o’ this gold ain’t gonna be divided ’til we get back. The
police won’t find much when they come. Do yuh understand?”
“Yes,” came the cowed answer.
“All right!” The outlaw glared about him threateningly before he
proceeded: “Now, I’ll tell yuh somethin’: We got jes’ five days to get
what we can outta this mine. I’m gonna strip it. These few sacks here
ain’t all we’re gonna get.”
“How do yuh figger yer gonna do it?” inquired the man who had previously
spoken.
“Work!” boomed Henderson. “We’re gonna work this mine four days an’ four
nights like it’s never been worked before. Not countin’ them two boys
over there, there’s ten o’ us. Scar-Face’ll bring up a few Indians an’
I’m gonna make them get busy too. I’m plannin’ to run two shifts fer
each one o’ the shafts. Any o’ yuh got any objections?” he inquired
belligerently.
“Ze more we get, monsieur, ze more we divide,” Baptiste pointed out.
“Sure! That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell yuh. Now, as I said before, the
police is comin’. One o’ my Indian runners was here last night with the
news. We gotta work fast an’ we gotta work sure. If there’s any way o’
wreckin’ the mine before we go, I’m gonna do it.”
“We ought to be able to stop the police, Bear,” one of the men declared.
“What for? There ain’t no sense to it. If yuh devils is willin’ to work,
we can clean up plenty in a few days.”
Greed and avarice was without doubt the only real bond that held the
outlaws together. Even the domineering force and brutality of Henderson
would have been inadequate to cope for any length of time with so
murderous a crew. At thought of the great wealth lying in store for
them, the sulky, glowering looks, that were cast in the direction of
their leader, faded. The tension slackened. In a very few minutes the
room was noisy again—the scene of bustling and excited activity.