Dazed, helpless, yet continuing to struggle futilely, Stella realised
little except giving a glance at the hated faces of her captors. She
heard Cateras's voice ordering the men forward, vibrant with Spanish
oaths, and trembling yet with the fury which possessed him--but all
else was a dim haze, out of which few remembrances ever came. They
were in a large room, opening into another behind, a heavy door
between. She was dragged forward, and thrust through this with no
knowledge of what it was like. She could not think; she was only
conscious of a deadly, paralysing horror. Cateras slammed the
intervening door, and strode past.
What occurred was not clear to her mind; but suddenly what appeared to
be an open fireplace seemed to swing aside, leaving revealed a great
black opening in the rock. To the lieutenant's snarl of command, one
of the men released his grip of her arm, and lit a lantern which he
took from a near-by shelf. The dim flicker of light penetrated a few
feet into the dark hole, only serving to render the opening more grim
and sinister. The girl shrank back, but the fellow still holding her
tightened his grip. Cateras seemed to have regained his good humour,
although the red welt across his face stood forth ugly in the flare.
His thin lips smiled, and he bowed hat in hand, hatefully polite.
"Go ahead with the light, Silva; not too fast, my man; the room beyond
the _señor's_. Now, Merodez, release the girl."
"Ah, so you can stand alone, _señorita_; that is well. Step in here,
ahead of me, and follow the lantern--there is nothing to fear."
She hesitated, and the smile on the Mexican's lips changed into a cruel
grin.
"Shall I make you again?"
"No, _señor_."
"Then you will do as I bid."
"Yes, _señor_; I cannot resist."
The passage was clean and dry, and seemed to lead directly back into
the cliff. The faint light revealed the side walls and low roof, and
the girl, again partially mistress of herself, recognised the nature of
the rock to be limestone. Occasionally the floor exhibited evidences
that human hands had been employed in levelling it, and there were
marks along the side-walls to show where the passage had been widened;
but the opening itself was originally a cave, through which water had
run in long past ages--a cave wide enough to allow six men to walk
abreast, but with an average height of about seven feet. For twenty
feet it ran almost straight in; then they came to a sharp turn to the
right, and entered a much narrower passage. The air was so pure and
fresh, even after this turn was made, as to lead her to believe there
must somewhere be another opening. The vague thought brought with it a
throb of hope.
Her view was limited to the slight radius illumined by the lantern, and
even within that small area, her own shadow, and those of the three
men, helped render everything indistinct. The side walls appeared to
be of solid rock; she perceived no evidence of entrances into any side
chamber, only that her eyes twice caught glimpses of what seemed like
narrow slits at about the level of her head. She could not be certain
as to their purpose, or ascertain exactly what they were, only they
bore resemblance to an opening cleft in the rock, either for
ventilation, or to permit of observation from without of some interior
cell. Near each of these was a strangely shaped bracket of wood
fastened in some manner to the side wall, apparently intended for the
support of a light, as the ceiling above exhibited marks of smoke.
They had turned the sharp corner, and advanced a few feet beyond when
the man with the lantern stopped suddenly, and held it up to permit the
light to stream full on the exposed wall to the right. Another of
these odd slits in the rock was visible here, and the girl was able to
perceive more clearly its nature--beyond question it was an artificial
opening, leading into a space on the farther side of the wall. Cateras
pushed past her, his body interfering with her view, and bent down,
fumbling along the rock surface.
"Hold the light closer," he demanded. "Aye, that's it. 'Tis some
trick to find the thing---- Ah! now I have it."
It seemed like a bit of wood, so resembling the colour of the rock as
to be practically imperceptible to the eye in that dim light--a bit of
wood which slid back to reveal a heavy iron bolt, shot firmly into the
stone. This the Mexican forced back, and an opening yawned in the side
wall, the rays of the lantern revealing the interior of a black cave.
Cateras stepped within.
"Bring the woman," he commanded shortly, "and you, Merodez, see first
to the light."
Silva thrust her forward, his grip no light one, while the other struck
a match and applied it to the wick of a lamp occupying a bracket beside
the doorway. As this caught the full interior was revealed beneath the
sickly glow, a cell-like place, although of a fair size, unfurnished
except for a rude bench, and one three-legged stool, the floor of
stone, and the sides and roof apparently of the same solid structure.
It was gloomy, bare, horrible in its dreariness--a veritable grave.
The girl covered her face with her hands, appalled at the sight,
unnerved at the thought of being left alone in such a place. Cateras
saw the movement, and laughed, gazing about carelessly.
"Some boudoir, _señorita_," he said meaningly. "Well, we will see what
can be done for you later. Perhaps a few hours in such a hole may work
a miracle. When I come again you will be glad to see even me. That's
all, lads; there's plenty of oil, and you can bring along some blankets
with the evening meal."
He stopped, standing alone in the narrow opening, the light of the
lantern without bringing his face into bold relief. The girl had sunk
helplessly onto the bench, her head bowed within her hands. The
Mexican eyed her frowningly.
"Quite tamed already," he said sarcastically. "Bah! I have done it to
worse than you. Look up at me."
She lifted her eyes slowly, her lips pressed tightly together. She was
conscious of depression, of fear, yet as her glance encountered his, a
sudden spirit of defiance caused her to stand erect.
"There are some women with whom you are not acquainted, Señor Cateras,"
she said quietly, desperation rendering her voice firm. "And possibly
I may prove one of them. I am your prisoner it seems, yet I advise you
not to go too far, or I may prove to be a dangerous one. In the first
place it might be well for you to remember that, helpless as I seem at
present, I have friends--whatever befalls me will be known."
"How known?" his white teeth gleamed. "Do you think what goes on here
is published to the world? If I should tell you the history of this
secret valley it would take some of the defiance out of you, I imagine."
"Then you reckon wrong, I am not afraid of you, and I believe in my
friends. All I ask now is that I be left alone."
"Which will bring you to your senses. I have seen that tried out here,
and know how it works. All right, I'll leave you to think it over;
then I'll come back for an answer. Until then, _señorita, adios_."
The fellow lifted his hat, and stepped back into the passage, his
manner insolent. She remained motionless, contempt in her eyes, but in
truth hopeless and crushed. Silva closed the door silently, although
her ears caught the click of the bolt when it was shot home.
No sound of their retreating footsteps reached her through the thick
wall. The stillness of her prison seemed to strike her like a blow.
For a moment she stood staring at the bare wall, her lips parted, her
limbs trembling from the reaction of excitement; then she stepped
forward, and felt along the smooth surface of rock.
The door fitted so closely she could not even determine its exact
outlines. Baffled, her glance wandered about the cell, seeking vainly
for any sign of weakness, and then, giving way utterly to her despair,
the girl flung herself on the bench, covering her eyes to shut out
those hideous surroundings. What should she do? What could she do?
What possibility of hope lay in her own endeavours? From what source
could she expect any outside help?
After those first moments of complete despair, there came greater
calmness, in which her mind began to grapple with the situation. Life
had never been an easy problem, and discouragement was no part of her
creed. She sat up once more, her lips pressed tightly together, her
eyes dry of tears.
In spite of Cateras's cowardly threats these outlaws would never dare
to take her life. There was no occasion for them to resort to so
desperate a deed. Besides this Mexican was only an under officer of
the band, and would never venture to oppose the will of his chief. Her
fate rested not on his word, but upon the decision of Pasqual Mendez,
and, if that bandit was associated with Bill Lacy, as undoubtedly he
was, then as the prisoner of the American, she was certainly safe until
the latter expressed his own wish regarding her.
And why should Lacy desire to take her life? Most assuredly he did
not, or the act would have been already accomplished. The very fact of
her having been transported such a distance was sufficient evidence of
his purpose. The conspirators merely suspected her mission in Haskell;
they were afraid she knew more of their plans than she really did. The
telegram, stolen by Miss La Rue, had convinced the leaders that she
might prove dangerous if left at large, and they had determined to hold
her helpless until their scheme had been worked out and they were
safely beyond pursuit. That was undoubtedly the one object of her
capture. Lacy had no knowledge that Mendez's band was at the
rendezvous; he supposed them to be on a cattle raid to the south, with
only a man or two of his own left as guard over Cavendish.
Cavendish! Her mind grasped clearly now the fact that the man was not
dead. It had not been his body found in the Waldron Apartments, but
that of some other man substituted for purposes of crime. Cavendish
himself had been lured westward, waylaid in some manner and made
prisoner, as she and Westcott had suspected.
Through the co-operation of Lacy he had been brought to this desert
den, where he could be held indefinitely, with no chance of
discovery--killed if necessary. She had heard of such places as this,
read of them, yet never before had she realised the possibility of
their real existence. It all seemed more like a delirium of fever than
an actual fact. She rubbed her eyes, gazing about on the rock walls,
scarcely sure she was actually awake. Why, one might ride across that
desert, and pass by within a hundred yards of its rim, and never even
be aware of the existence of this sunken valley. Perhaps not a dozen
men outside this gang of outlaws had ever gazed down into its green
depths, and possibly no others knew of that narrow, winding trail
leading down to its level. Yet these men must have made use of it for
years, as a place to hide stolen cattle, and into which to retreat
whenever pursuit became dangerous.
Those huts without were not newly built, and this underground cavern
had been extended and changed by no small labour. What deeds of
violence must have happened here; what scenes of unbridled debauchery
this desert rendezvous must have witnessed. She shuddered at the
thought, comprehending that these cells had never been chiselled
without a purpose, and that she was utterly helpless in the hands of a
band of thieves and cutthroats, to whom murder meant little enough, if
it only served their ends. Mendez, no doubt, was brute and monster,
yet it was Juan Cateras whom she really feared--he was cruel, slimy,
seeking to hide his hatefulness behind that hideous smile; and he had
already chosen her for his victim. Who would save her--Mendez? Lacy?
God, she did not know: and somehow neither of these was the name which
arose to her lips, almost in the form of prayer; the name she whispered
with a faint throb of hope in its utterance--Jim Westcott.
The big miner was all she had to rely upon; he had been in her mind all
through the long ride; he arose before her again now, and she welcomed
the memory with a conscious throb of expectation. Those people back
there could not conceal for long her absence from him; if he lived he
would surely seek her again.
Her womanly instinct had read the message in the man's eyes; she was of
interest to him, he cared; it was no mere ordinary friendliness which
would bring him back; no! not even their mutual connection with the
case of Frederick Cavendish. Her eyes brightened, and a flush of
colour crept into her cheeks. She believed in him, in his courage--he
had appealed to her as a man.
Suddenly she seemed to realise the yearning of her own heart, her utter
faith in him. He would come, he must come; even now he might have
discovered her sudden disappearance, and suspected the cause. He would
never believe any lies they might tell--that she had departed without a
word, without a message--he would find out the truth somehow; he was
not the kind to lie down, to avoid danger when it confronted duty--and,
besides, he cared. She knew this, comprehended without question; there
had been no word spoken, yet she knew.
Once she had accepted this knowledge with a smile, but now it thrilled
her with hope, and set her heart throbbing strangely. Not that she
dreamed love in return, or permitted it to even enter her mind; yet the
very thought that this man would, if necessary, wade into the very
waters of death for her sake, was somehow sweet and consoling. She was
no longer alone; no longer hopeless and unnerved--deep down in her
consciousness she trusted him.
"If"--how often that recurred; how it brought back memory of Lacy, of
Enright, of Beaton, of the La Rue woman. What else could they have
remained behind for, except to hide and close the trail? It was
Westcott they would guard against; he was the only one they now had any
cause to fear. They suspected his connection with her, his knowledge
of their purpose; they knew of his presence the night before at the
shaft-house of Lacy's mine; they would "get" him, if they could, and by
no such simple methods as they got her. If she could only have warned
him; if he was only placed on guard before they were ready to
act--"if"----
Suddenly the girl's slender body grew taut, and her thin white,
delicate hands clutched the granite wall back of her, and into her grey
eyes crept the light of terror, a terror that was new and strange to
her, a nameless clutching fear that her varied experiences in the city
had never brought her, an insidious, terrible fright for her bodily
safety. Her delicate ears, strained under their spun-brown covering of
hair--there was no doubt of it; she heard footsteps in the passageway.
Juan Cateras with his leering, lustful smile was coming back.