The Trap-Door
A sickly new moon threw vague ghostly beams across the willow-lined
swamp, out beyond the little cabin that stood on its border. Through the
dense undergrowth and high among the skeleton treetops ugly shadows
played with each other, while a sepulchral orchestra of wind and bough
shrieked a dirge that flattened in Bonner's ears; but it was not the
weird music of the swamp that sent the shudder of actual terror through
the frame of the big athlete.
A series of muffled, heartbreaking moans, like those of a woman in dire
pain, came to his ears. He felt the cold perspiration start over his
body. His nerves grew tense with trepidation, his eyes wide with horror.
Instinctively, his fingers clutched the revolver at his side and his
gaze went toward the black, square thing which marked the presence of
the haunted house. The orchestra of the night seemed to bring its dirge
to a close; a chill interlude of silence ensued. The moans died away
into choking sobs, and Bonner's ears could hear nothing else. A sudden
thought striking him, he rolled out of his bed and made his way to Bud's
pile of blankets. But the solution was not there. The lad was sound
asleep and no sound issued from his lips. The moans came from another
source, human or otherwise, out there in the crinkling night.
Carefully making his way from the tent, his courage once more restored
but his flesh still quivering, Bonner looked intently for manifestations
in the black home of Johanna Rank. He half expected to see a ghostly
light flit past a window. It was intensely dark in the thicket, but the
shadowy marsh beyond silhouetted the house into a black relief. He was
on all fours behind a thick pile of brush, nervously drawing his pipe
from his pocket, conscious that he needed it to steady his nerves, when
a fresh sound, rising above the faint sobs, reached his ears. Then the
low voice of a man came from some place in the darkness, and these words
rang out distinctly:
"Damn you!"
He drew back involuntarily, for the voice seemed to be at his elbow. The
sobs ceased suddenly, as if choked by a mighty hand.
The listener's inclination was to follow the example of Anderson Crow
and run madly off into the night. But beneath this natural panic was the
soul of chivalry. Something told him that a woman out there in the
solitude needed the arms of a man; and his blood began to grow hot
again. Presently the silence was broken by a sharp cry of despair:
"Have pity! Oh, God--" moaned the voice that sent thrills through his
body--the voice of a woman, tender, refined, crushed. His fingers
gripped the revolver with fresh vigor, but almost instantly the rustling
of dead leaves reached his ears: the man and his victim were making
their way toward the house.
Bonner crouched among the bushes as if paralysed. He began to comprehend
the situation. In a vague sort of way he remembered hearing of
Tinkletown's sensation over at his uncle's house, where he was living
with a couple of servants for a month's shooting. The atmosphere had
been full of the sensational abduction story for several days--the
abduction of a beautiful young woman and the helpless attitude of the
relatives and friends. Like a whirlwind the whole situation spread
itself before him; it left him weak. He had come upon the gang and their
victim in this out-of-the-way corner of the world, far from the city
toward which they were supposed to have fled. He had the solution in his
hands and he was filled with the fire of the ancients.
A light appeared in the low doorway and the squat figure of a man held a
lantern on high. An instant later, another man dragged the helpless girl
across the threshold and into the house. Even as Bonner squared himself
to rush down upon them the light disappeared and darkness fell over the
cabin. There was a sound of footsteps on the floor, a creaking of hinges
and the stealthy closing of a door. Then there was absolute quiet.
Bonner was wise as well as brave. He saw that to rush down upon the
house now might prove his own as well as her undoing. In the darkness,
the bandits would have every advantage. For a moment he glared at the
black shadow ahead, his brain working like lightning.
"That poor girl!" he muttered vaguely. "Damn beasts! But I'll fix 'em,
by heaven! It won't be long, my boys."
His pondering brought quick results. Crawling to Bud's cot, he aroused
him from a deep sleep. Inside of two minutes the lad was streaking off
through the woods toward town, with instructions to bring Anderson Crow
and a large force of men to the spot as quickly as possible.
"I'll stand guard," said Wicker Bonner.
As the minutes went by Bonner's thoughts dwelt more and more intently
upon the poor, imprisoned girl in the cabin. His blood charged his
reason and he could scarce control the impulse to dash in upon the
wretches. Then he brought himself up with a jerk. Where was he to find
them? Had he not searched the house that morning and was there a sign of
life to be found? He was stunned by this memory. For many minutes he
stood with his perplexed eyes upon the house before a solution came to
him.
He now knew that there was a secret apartment in the old house and a
secret means of entrance and exit. With this explanation firmly
impressed upon his mind, Wicker Bonner decided to begin his own campaign
for the liberation of Rosalie Gray. It would be hours before the
sluggish Anderson Crow appeared; and Bonner was not the sort to leave a
woman in jeopardy if it was in his power to help her. Besides, the
country people had filled him with stories of Miss Gray's beauty, and
they found him at an impressionable and heart-free age. The thrill of
romance seized him and he was ready to dare.
He crept up to the doorway and listened. Reason told him that the coast
was clear; the necessity for a sentinel did not exist, so cleverly were
the desperadoes under cover. After a few moments, he crawled into the
room, holding his breath, as he made his way toward the cellar
staircase. He had gone but a few feet when the sound of voices came to
him. Slinking into a corner, he awaited developments. The sounds came
from below, but not from the cellar room, as he had located it. A moment
later, a man crawled into the room, coming through a hole in the floor,
just as he had suspected. A faint light from below revealed the sinister
figure plainly, but Bonner felt himself to be quite thoroughly hidden.
The man in the room spoke to some one below.
"I'll be back in half an hour, Davy. I'll wait fer Sam out there on the
Point. He ought to have some news from headquarters by this time. I
don't see why we have to hang around this place forever. She ought to be
half way to Paris by now."
"They don't want to take chances, Bill, till the excitement blows over."
"Well, you an' your mother just keep your hands off of her while I'm
out, that's all," warned Bill Briggs.
The trap-door was closed, and Bonner heard the other occupant of the
room shuffle out into the night. He was not long in deciding what to do.
Here was the chance to dispose of one of the bandits, and he was not
slow to seize it. There was a meeting in the thicket a few minutes
later, and Bill was "out of the way" for the time being. Wicker Bonner
dropped him with a sledge-hammer blow, and when he returned to the cabin
Bill was lying bound and gagged in the tent, a helpless captive.
His conqueror, immensely satisfied, supplied himself with the surplus
ends of "guy ropes" from the tent and calmly sat down to await the
approach of the one called Sam, he who had doubtless gone to a
rendezvous "for news." He could well afford to bide his time. With two
of the desperadoes disposed of in ambuscade, he could have a fairly even
chance with the man called Davy.
It seemed hours before he heard the stealthy approach of some one moving
through the bushes. He was stiff with cold, and chafing at the
interminable delay, but the approach of real danger quickened his blood
once more. There was another short, sharp, silent struggle near the
doorway, and once more Wicker Bonner stood victorious over an
unsuspecting and now unconscious bandit. Sam, a big, powerful man, was
soon bound and gagged and his bulk dragged off to the tent among the
bushes.
"Now for Davy," muttered Bonner, stretching his great arms in the pure
relish of power. "There will be something doing around your heart, Miss
Babe-in-the-Woods, in a very few minutes."
He chuckled as he crept into the cabin, first having listened intently
for sounds. For some minutes he lay quietly with his ear to the floor.
In that time he solved one of the problems confronting him. The man Davy
was a son of old Mrs. Rank's murderer, and the "old woman" who kept
watch with him was his mother, wife of the historic David. It was she
who had held the lantern, no doubt, while David Wolfe chopped her own
mother to mincemeat. This accounted for the presence of the gang in the
haunted house and for their knowledge of the underground room.
Bonner's inspiration began to wear off. Pure luck had aided him up to
this stage, but the bearding of David in his lair was another
proposition altogether. His only hope was that he might find the man
asleep. He was not taking the old woman into consideration at all. Had
he but known it, she was the most dangerous of all.
His chance, he thought, lay in strategy. It was impossible to open the
trap-door from above, he had found by investigation. There was but one
way to get to Miss Gray, and that was by means of a daring ruse.
Trusting to luck, he tapped gently on the floor at the spot where memory
told him the trap-door was situated. His heart was thumping violently.
There was a movement below him, and then the sound of some one handling
the bolts in the door. Bonner drew back, hoping against hope that a
light would not be shown. In one hand he held his revolver ready for
use; in the other his heavy walking stick. His plans were fully
developed. After a moment the trap was lifted partially and a draft of
warm air came out upon him.