BURIED ALIVE.
It was Monday who broke the silence that followed.
“Dat right, boss,” he said. “In old time me come here wid whaler we go
on stone lots of time.”
“All same stone in our country,” added Tuesday.
Lake stared at them with a dropped jaw. It was plain to see he was
astonished.
“You’ve crossed by this stone?” he asked sharply.
But Monday shook his head.
“No,” he said, “but some time we come here and rock on him.”
For some reason or other Bully Banjo seemed mightily relieved at this.
“Waal,” he said, “it’s a simple thing, arter all. Jes’ a matter of
balance. But I tell yer it took nerve ther first time me an’ Zeb crossed
over, although we knew the rock would work—at least, the sealer wot
told us about ther mine told us that ther thing was safe. And now,
perfesser, ef you’ve no objection, we’ll jes’ send one of yer blacks
across since they’re used ter it, an’ when they land safe on the ledge
it’ll give ther rest of you courage.”
“Monday, do you mind attempting this?” asked the professor. The
kind-hearted scientist would rather have tried the experiment
himself—risky as it seemed—than compel one of his servants to go
unwillingly. But he was under no such compulsion. Monday gave a broad
grin that showed his white teeth in an expression of almost childish
pleasure.
“Me like go, boss,” he said.
“All right, then. Up with yer,” ordered Lake brusquely. “I don’t want
ter fool away too much time hyar, but I jes’ had ter know about thet
gold afore we sail.”
“Then you mean to sail soon?” asked the professor, as Monday clambered
up the rough sides of the rock.
“Ter-morrer, I reckon,” was the rejoinder. “Yer see thet them boys uv
mine are getting pretty ugly. Thet’s one reason why I don’t want to
spend too long a time hyarabouts.”
“Good heaven!” exclaimed the professor at the thought of his boy left
behind in the camp. “You surely don’t fear an outbreak of trouble while
you’re gone.”
“No,” rejoined Lake. “Frankly I don’t, but you kain’t mos’ genally
allers tell. Howsomever, I kalkerlate thet Zeb Hunt kin tackle any
trouble thet comes along.”
“I sincerely hope so,” said the professor, somewhat reassured. He then
turned with the rest to watch with rapt attention what was transpiring
on the rocking stone.
Monday had now almost reached the summit, and under his weight the big
stone was tipping gradually outward till the part of it he had reached
hung above the gulch. It descended as steadily as the arm of a
semaphore, and, although the experience appeared to be a terrifying one,
the black was smiling as though he enjoyed it.
As the point of the stone—which, as has been said, was
cone-shaped—touched the rock ledge Monday nimbly leaped from it and
stood on the narrow shelf of stone. The fellow, like most islanders, was
as agile as a goat. He smiled broadly back at his companions who,
however, were not looking at him, but at the stone, which, relieved of
its weight, now tilted back into position again as if actuated by some
hidden machinery.
“Wonder how that old sealer felt the first time he tried it?” mused the
professor.
“Kind er skeery like, I reckon,” said Simon Lake. “I guess he——”
But Tom interrupted him with a sharp question. It was odd, but the idea
which had just struck the boy had not as yet occurred to the others.
“How do you get back again?”
Lake laughed.
“Waal, yer see thar’s a trail up thet cliff that leads to ther top. Frum
thar thar’s a path thet leads to a cove the ’tother side of the island.
Thar’s mighty shallow water close in shore thar, so we kain’t bring ther
schooner round, but Zeb Hunt an’ me keep a boat thar so that when we get
through in ther cave we’ll cut across the other half of ther island and
row home in ther boat.”
That solved the mystery which for an instant had perplexed them all.
Lake, who seemed to be in high spirits, confided to them that all these
secrets had been contained in the map of the place the old sealer had
given him. Not knowing Lake’s character, our party wondered a good deal
at his flow of spirits for—except when he had his banjo in hand—he was
generally taciturn and sullen. They did not know that danger acted on
him like wine on some men. Affairs at the camp were far more critical
than he had let them know. That morning Lake had received a note
threatening his life if he did not immediately set sail. It was
characteristic of the man that this only made him delay the more.
“The varmints. I’ll teach ’em,” he had muttered, as he tore the missive
into shreds.
But the realization that mutiny was imminent had been the real reason
for his visit that morning to the gold-bearing rocks. He wished to make
sure that they were as valuable as he believed, and if they proved to be
so he was quite cold-blooded enough to sail off and abandon the
mutineers to their fate. Returning to the island at some later date, he
would ransack it of its precious metal at his leisure.
Tuesday followed his fellow-countryman over. He made the passage in
perfect safety, fairly squealing with delight as the big rock tipped
with him. Then came Tom’s turn. He also made the crossing without
accident, as did the professor and Mr. Chillingworth. Simon Lake came
last, carrying his weapons and a sack of tools which he had brought—a
drill and such implements—the better for boring and obtaining samples.
When they all stood on the ledge and watched the big stone rise
majestically for the last time, Tom was conscious of a sinking
sensation. What if something had happened to the trail—if it were
blocked or something. They would inevitably be prisoners till death came
to their relief. However, there was no time to dwell on gloomy thoughts
like these.
While they had been making the passage of the gulch a change had set in
in the weather. It had been bright when they set out, but now dark
clouds had rolled up, obscuring the sun and casting gloom into the
depths of the crevasse upon whose edge they stood. There was an
oppressive feeling, too, in the air.
“Thar’s a storm of some kind comin’ up,” commented Lake, gazing overhead
at the driving clouds.
“Thunder?” asked the professor sniffing the heavy, sultry air.
“Looks like it. Ef it is one, we’ll be glad of shelter. We git some
hummers daown in these parts, I kin tell yer. They don’t come often, but
when they do, by Chowder! they deliver ’em in large packages.”
As he spoke a few heavy drops of rain fell.
“Come on. Better hurry for the cave,” cried Lake, hastening forward with
his sack of tools. They followed him, keeping as close to the cliff-face
as they could. The ledge was narrow, and it was unpleasant to think of
what a misstep would result in.
The cave proved to be a large one and reached back some distance into
the rock. Its floor was littered with bowlders and earth, where Lake and
Zeb Hunt had carried on their prospecting operations.
The professor picked up a bit of the stuff. In the dim light they could
see the dull glint of metal in it. Lake watched the scientist curiously.
“Waal,” he said, “haow is it?”
“I cannot tell positively,” was the rejoinder, “but if it is all like
this, it is worth considerable per ton.”
“Will she run two thousand dollars to the ton?” asked Lake curiously.
The professor shook his head.
“Impossible to say without adequate assaying implements.”
“Make me out a list of wot yer want and when I come back from ther next
run I’ll bring ’em with me,” promised Lake.
To Tom this speech seemed particularly ominous. It meant that there was
no intention on Lake’s part of their escaping.
“Here’s a good boring,” said Lake presently. He drew a lantern from the
tool bag and lit it, holding it up against a place at the back of the
cave which had been pecked at with a pick. To do this he had to squat
down almost doubled up in the cramped space. This brought the tip of one
of his pistol holsters against an outcropping rock and the weapon fell
to the ground unnoticed by Lake, but instantly seen by Tom, who stood
close behind. Without any very definite idea of what he meant to do with
it, the boy slipped it inside his shirt. Perhaps he would have some
opportunity to find use for it, he thought vaguely.
Lake, earnestly examining bits of rock and handing them up to the
professor, did not notice the loss of his weapon.
Suddenly there came an ominous growling sound from outside. It was
thunder. The storm was rapidly nearing them then.
“Gee whillakers!” exclaimed Lake, suddenly springing erect. “Ef I ain’t
forgotten ter go an’ look fer thet signal.”
“What do you mean?” asked the professor.
“Why, frum ther top uv this cliff yer kin see ther camp with
field-glasses. I brought mine along fer thet purpose. Afore I left I
agreed with Zeb thet in the event uv trubble he wuz ter hoist a red
flag. Ef everything wuz all right, he was to run up the blue one. I’m
goin’ up thar now afore ther storm makes it too thick.”
He hastened from the cave and, making his way along the ledge, began to
mount the face of the cliff by a narrow stairway cut at a sharp incline
in the face of the acclivity. Presently he vanished at the summit. It
was then that Tom, with shining eyes, turned to the others.
“Our chance to escape has come!” he exclaimed.
“How do you make that out?” asked Mr. Chillingworth listlessly.
For reply Tom drew out his pistol.
“We can make Lake prisoner on his return,” he said eagerly, “and then
make our way across the island to the cove in which, as he told us, he
had hidden the boat.”
“Good gracious boy!” cried the professor excitedly. “That’s a good idea.
A splendid one, but—what about my boy?”
Tom, who in his excitement had quite forgotten that the son and heir of
the Dingle fortunes was in the care of Zeb Hunt, looked thoughtful.
“Of course, we must get him,” he said. “I’ll tell you,” he cried, his
eyes flashing at the adventurous daring of the plan he was about to
propose, “we’ll make Lake prisoner and take him along with us. With him
in our power, we will be in a position to make terms with the rascals.
We can conceal him somewhere and refuse to give him up till we get our
liberty and the boy.”
Perhaps to any one less desperately situated the plan would have
appealed only as the forlornest kind of a forlorn hope. But to our party
it seemed feasible, and even excellently practicable.
But as they stood discussing it in the cave mouth, there came a sudden
blinding flash of lightning. Involuntarily they all stepped back within
the cavern. The clap of thunder that followed the electrical display
shook the cliff till it vibrated again.
“Wow! this is a real storm, sure enough!” exclaimed Tom. “I never saw
such lightning.”
“And no rain,” said the professor; “that makes it doubly bad. These dry
electrical storms are always more severe than those accompanied by a
heavy downpour.”
As he spoke there came another blinding flash, accompanied by a terrific
peal of thunder. But the figure of Lake could now be seen coming down
the cliff-face on his way back to the cave. The time to put their plan
into execution had arrived. Amid the turmoil of the elements, they
discussed it. It was agreed that Tom, hiding behind a big fragment of
rock at the entrance of the cave mouth, was to level his pistol at the
unsuspecting desperado as he appeared. He was then to be disarmed and
tied, and the rest of their arrangements they left in an undecided
condition till the first part of the daring program was carried out. The
main thing to do, so all hands agreed, was to capture Lake.
Nearer and nearer came the unsuspecting leader of the Chinese runners.
Tom crouched back into his place of concealment as the other came on.
The rest stood close behind him. They hardly dared to breathe as the
footsteps of the man they wished to capture drew closer.
As his form was framed in the cave mouth Tom sprang erect, holding the
pistol level and pointed straight at Lake’s head. He saw the rascal grow
white under his tan and open his mouth as if about to speak. But at the
same instant there came a crash that seemed as if heaven and earth were
being devoured in one vast catastrophe. At the same time a sheet of
dazzling, burning white flame enveloped them. The figures in the cave
mouth were illumined in its livid glare as if cut out of black paper.
Crash followed crash. Another and another. A sensation like that of the
pricking of myriad pin points ran through them. The blue lightning
darted, hissing viciously about them, bathing them in living
electricity.
Bewildered and stunned, Tom saw Lake’s figure reel and fall backward,
clutching at the rock as he fell. The boy sprang forward to catch him
and save him from falling into the abyss below, when a crash that
dwarfed the others fairly stopped him in his tracks.
There came a mighty splitting, rending sound and Tom, looking upward in
the direction from whence it came, saw the form of the great rocking
stone swaying drunkenly on the bed in which it had rested securely
through the ages.
Suddenly the great rock mass toppled out, its black form impending
between the lad and the sky. The noise of its falling reverberated above
the shriek of the storm and the thunder’s loudest roar.
Instinctively Tom tottered backward as it fell. Stunned, half deafened,
and numb from the lightning, he reeled like a sick man. But even above
it all, he could hear Lake’s wild death-shriek ringing out as he plunged
backward.
The next instant there was a shock that seemed to shake the cliff to its
mighty foundations. The dim light of the storm-shrouded day was blocked
out, and at the same moment Tom lost consciousness.
But to the others there came no such merciful blotting out of the
strange horror of the situation. In the very act of overpowering their
enemy, they had, in turn, been overwhelmed by a crushing disaster.
The rocking stone, driven and unseated by a terrific thunderbolt, had
lost its delicate balance and toppled from its base into the abyss.
In its fall it had wedged across the narrow gorge, blocking completely
with the weight of tons of stone the entrance to the cave.
The castaways of Bully Banjo’s island were buried alive beyond hope of
escape.