A MOMENT OF DEADLY PERIL.
You can have no idea what a forbidding task it was――entering that
cavern. The plebes only began to realize it when they got to the
place. Why the very sight of that yawning, black hole made them
shiver! Indian was so overcome that he had to sit down and fan
himself; at the same time he raised his “stroke” to forty-two.
The six gazed up at the entrance, which it will be remembered was an
opening some three feet square up in the side of the cliff.
A picture rose up before them――the picture of the horrified and
terror-stricken yearlings tumbling out through that hole. At the same
time the yells and cries for help seemed to echo yet. The plebes
trembled.
Fortunately the bold Texan was along, which precluded all possibility
of hesitation. It was all very well for tenderfeet to be frightened!
(Texas didn’t know whether that word should be tenderfoots or
tenderfeet; at any rate, it immediately reminded Dewey of the story of
the English footman who introduced into a London drawing-room, “b’gee,
Sir Thomas Foote, and the Misses Feet.”)
That story being over, Texas went on to say that it was expected of
tenderfeet to be afraid, but of a wild cowboy――never! He had come up
there to go into that cave and he was going! He would have gone if he
had seen the devil’s own two horns sticking out at him. Accordingly he
felt his two revolvers to make sure that they were in position to
slide out easily, and then seizing a lantern sprang swiftly up the
ledge to the entrance.
It was not like Texas to hesitate. He plunged in head and shoulders at
once. There he stopped and held out the light to gaze about him. Then
he slid in all the way and the anxious plebes heard him drop lightly
to the ground.
A moment later his cheery voice was heard.
“Come on, you fellows!” he called. “There ain’t nothin’ in hyar.”
Mark had already climbed up to the hole and was crawling in. He
dropped to the ground inside and the others followed rapidly. Poor
Indian was last of all, for Indian put off the agony as long as
possible. Strange to say, Indian’s share of that night’s peril was
destined to be greatest of all; the lion’s share, so to speak, went to
the lamb.
The plebes, having entered, stood huddled together at the end of the
cave, staring about them and at Texas. Texas was a truly startling
sight; he had set the lantern down on the ground and drawn his huge,
glistening revolvers. He had them ready for instant use. He was
peering about him with the stealth and quickness of a mountain
panther. Truly anything short of a ghost that attacked Texas in this
uncanny cavern might have cause to look out for trouble.
The six gazed about them at their den. They saw much to alarm them,
much to remind them of what had occurred.
Chairs were overturned, and scattered about the place. Curtains were
torn from the walls. In fact, there was every sign of a deadly
struggle. Mark pointed in silence to a stain of blood, a deep, red
splotch on the carpet. That was Rogers’ blood, thought the frightened
lads. Also, upon one of the broken chairs was a mark of blood that
seemed to indicate that the chair had been used as a weapon.
Altogether the place had about as uncanny a look as one could imagine.
Texas broke the silence at last; his voice startled every one.
“Well,” said he, “what next?”
And he gripped his revolvers with a determined air.
“We might just as well set out to hunt this cave right through from
beginning to end,” Mark answered, speaking firmly. “That’s what we
came up for, and now let’s do it. Are you ready?”
Mark’s voice was clear and unfaltering, it put some life into his
trembling companions. They answered that they were, and Mark stepped
promptly forward.
“We’ll start here, on the right,” said he, “and we’ll hunt every
single passage to its end. Bring the lanterns there!”
The command was obeyed, and the party hurried down through the cave,
Texas examining the wall as they went. About twenty feet ahead was the
first branching tunnel. Without a word the six turned and entered; the
ex-cowboy with his guns in the lead. They left the cave in darkness
and silence behind them.
The moment they had gone, the moment the light of the lamp was lost to
view, a strange and terrible thing happened. A silent figure swept
across the room!
The figure was one that would have paralyzed even the bold Texan if he
had seen it. A more horrible figure human imagination could not
picture; certainly this pen is not adequate to describe it.
It was a man, and an old man. That much was clear, even in the shadowy
darkness of the cave. He was nearly naked; a rag about his waist was
all he wore. A long, white beard half hid his face and his matted hair
nearly covered the rest. The hair was bloody, and the face was cut and
bruised as well. There was an expression of savage ferocity upon his
face as he stole across the floor. His eyes were gleaming with fury,
and the gleam shone on the blade of a long knife which the creature
grasped in one hand.
Such was the figure. It glided out into the center of the cavern; it
raised its weapon on high with a menacing gesture in the direction of
the unsuspecting lads; and then swiftly and silently crept back and
hid in the deep, dark shadows.
A moment later the nervous explorers came into view; they were soon in
the center of the room again, and the fiery eyes were glaring out at
them.
“Nothing in that place,” said Mark’s voice, cheerily. “Let us try for
the next. Forward!”
And then once more the main part of the cavern was deserted; but the
horrible old man did not reappear. He still lurked in the shadows and
watched and waited for a chance to wield his bloody knife.
The unsuspecting lads grew more and more reassured as they searched
and found nothing. Texas, with his two revolvers, in front, was a
bulwark to give courage even to Indian. They came out of the second
short hollow and hurried on down the room.
There were only two passages of any size branching off from that side.
The rest were simply irregularities in the walls――cracks and niches.
The plebes explored every one of them with the lantern’s light,
however. Finally they found themselves at the far end of the “den.”
Here there was a secret room, which requires to be described in detail
to those who have not read the other stories in this series. That
secret room had proven the death of its builders, the counterfeiters.
There was a heavy wall of masonry, and a heavy iron door with a spring
lock that could be opened from the outside only. The counterfeiters
had evidently gone in there for some purpose and failed to make fast
the door. It had swung to and locked. The skeletons of the victims had
lain in that vault for fifty years before the plebes found them.
The place was felt to be dangerous by the Seven. In fact, they had
made it a sworn rule that never were they all to enter that room at
once. Some one must always stay outside for safety. And they did not
break their rule in this case. Indian remained to guard the door.
The party had felt that it was necessary to search that fatal trap
most carefully. They thought that it would be a hiding place for any
one who inhabited the cave. Accordingly, after some little hesitation
outside, the bold Texas leaped in, lantern and revolver in hand; the
rest followed, and the trembling Joseph stood and held the heavy door.
The moment of peril had come!
Scarcely had the figures disappeared before a lurking shadow crept
stealthily down the cave. The mysterious old man was crouching low,
moving with the swiftness and silence of a tiger upon his prey. His
eyes gleamed; his white teeth shone, and the flashing knife was still
clutched in his hand.
He crept in the shadow of the wall, and there was not a sound to warn
his victims. Poor Indian did not see him, for his back was turned.
Indian was staring, watching his friends and trembling as he did so.
If Indian had only cast one of his frightened glances over his
shoulder he would have seen something to scare him, indeed. For the
wild and savage figure was creeping on.
Nearer and nearer the old man came. Swifter and swifter grew his pace,
for he saw that no one suspected his approach. He reached the end of
the cave and crouched for one moment. He heard a voice:
“Hang it! there ain’t a thing in hyar!”
The old man straightened himself up. He raised his knife on high and
extended it. Stretching out his long, hairy arm, he could almost touch
the back of his victim. One spring would do it all.
One spring!
The old man nerved himself, gathered his muscles for the leap. His
eager hand was trembling. His breath, so hot and fast, stopped for one
moment. His knife flashed in the lamplight.
And at that instant poor Indian turned and saw his deadly peril. His
eyes seemed to glaze with horror. He sprang back from the door with
one shrill scream of fright. And the maniac leaped forward with the
swiftness of a panther.
It was not at Indian he leaped.
It was at the door! He flung all his weight against it. The next
instant the heavy barrier swung to and shut with an iron clang that
echoed down the silent cave.
Trapped!