CHAPTER XVIII.
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!