“I’m very much afraid you are wrong in your ideas,” spoke up Don, who had been considering deeply. And Jim nodded, for his ideas were running along the same lines of those of his brother.
“What do you mean, Don?” asked Ned, quickly.
“You remember that your father was attacked in San Francisco by this man Sackett, who took away your letter to him? Well, that letter contained your ideas about the treasure and that ancient book which came from this library. Those men are taking that matter seriously, and they have been here tonight to try and find the other half of that Spanish manuscript and learn the exact location of the wreck!”
“Ah, ha!” cried Senorita Mercedes sharply. “The senor is right!”
“I certainly believe that you are!” cried Ned. “I had never thought of it all in that light, but that is surely the answer. Sackett is a freebooter who will turn his hand to anything that promises profit, and he has done as you say, taken that letter seriously. I wish it had never fallen into his hands. However, with all of his knowledge of the country, and I suppose he has quite a knowledge of the land, he doesn’t know where the treasure is, so we are safe on that point.”
“Yes,” put in Terry. “But we’ll have to be on our guard from now on. There is no doubt that that gang will push the search with all vigor.”
“They seem to have faith in the story,” said Ned. “I have unlimited faith in it because I have seen the manuscript, but they are placing their faith in my letter to my father. There is only one weak spot in my claim of thought.”
“What is that?” asked Jim.
“That the treasure may have been found and removed since that book was written. The priest who wrote the book was going to raise a party to go back and recover the treasure, but whether he did or not is not known. He may have done so, in which case our efforts and plans are absolutely useless.”
“Of course,” nodded Don. He turned to the senorita. “Senorita Mercedes, you do not know how that book ever came to be in your house, do you?”
“No,” confessed the girl. “As far as I have knowledge, senor, it has quite always been here. But I can say this, which will perhaps aid you: before my family came here to dwell we lived in Mexico. You see what I mean?”
“I do,” nodded Ned. “You mean that this priest may at one time have lodged at your house and have left his book there?”
“He may have even died there, Senor Ned.”
“That is very true. I lean to the belief that the treasure was never recovered. Well, there are two parties after it now, so we will have to be on our guard.”
Terry, who had walked to the window, spoke up. He had been examining the double windows, which opened like doors, with hinges on each side.
“Do you keep your windows locked at night, senorita?” he asked.
“Of a certainty, senor,” she replied.
“I was just wondering,” said Terry, slowly. “Because these two fellows just reached up and pushed the window open.”
“Impossible, Senor Mackson! You may see that there is a much thick bar across that window.”
“Yes, so I notice. But all of the boys will tell you that they simply reached up and pushed the window open, and that they didn’t have a thing in their hands when they did it!”
“That’s so,” exclaimed Ned, a sudden light breaking over him. “Senorita, where is Alaroze, your overseer? How is it that he has not appeared during all of the excitement? The rest of your men are outside; I can see them gathered in the courtyard.”
“I do not know,” answered the senorita, “I shall call him at once.” She stepped to the door and clapped her small hands sharply.
There was a slight pause and then a man entered the room quickly. He was small and chunky, with a brown face and shifty eyes. He was fully dressed in the nondescript outfit of a ranch foreman.
“Senor Alaroze, where have you been?” the senorita asked him in Spanish, which the boys understood slightly. They had studied the language in high school, all except Terry, and they could follow the conversation.
“A thousand pardons, senorita, but I was awakened by the noise and hastened to dress,” the Mexican said, softly.
“It took you much time, senor,” retorted the senorita, curtly. “Tell me, when you closed up did you lock this library window?”
“Surely, senorita. I take pains to always carry out faithfully the tasks intrusted to me,” he replied, his tone becoming haughty.
“The reason we ask you, Senor Alaroze,” said Ned, still in Spanish, “is because two rascals have just broken into the house and have searched this library. But the strange part is that they did not even have to break in. They simply reached up and pushed the window and it opened under their touch. That does not look as though they found the window barred, does it?”
“I can only say that I dropped the bar across the window before I retired, senor,” replied the overseer, his lips moving uneasily. “Perhaps someone else——”
“Nonsense!” cried Ned, sharply. “The senorita is the only one who sleeps in the house. You and the ranchmen sleep in the bunkhouse. You do not think for a minute that Senorita Mercedes came down and took the bar from the window do you?”
“I regret to say that I do not know what to think, senor,” returned the overseer, quietly enough. The other boys watched him closely, puzzled at his calm and speculating as to what thoughts might be in his mind.
“Well, it is very strange,” remarked Ned, closing the window and dropping the bar in place. When he spoke there was a trace of gloom in his voice, especially when he addressed the overseer. “Be more careful in the future, Senor Alaroze. You alone have the keeping of Senorita Mercedes and her safety.”
“I am worthy of the trust, senor,” retorted the overseer, his eyes narrowing.
Ned looked at his watch. “We’ll have to be getting back, or dad will begin to be worried. I don’t think you will have any more trouble, senorita. If you do, send one of your men to me and I will come as quickly as possible.”
The senorita murmured thanks and accompanied them to the courtyard, where the boys swung onto their mounts. The three ranchmen, seeing that all was well, went back to the bunkhouse, while the overseer, his face hidden in the shadow of the doorway, stood back of the senorita.
She bade them goodbye, thanking them once more. The boys quietly overlooked the fact that she held onto Ned’s hand for a moment longer than seemed actually necessary. They rode away, looking back more than once at the gleaming white ranch in the moonlight, until it was lost to sight.
“I’m very much afraid I don’t trust that overseer,” said Don.
“Well,” said Ned. “So far he has been very good in the management of the ranch. I wonder if he can be in league with that Sackett gang?”
“Hard to tell,” said Terry. “I don’t like the thought of the senorita living alone with that fellow around, and not a woman for miles.”
There was a pause, and then: “I don’t like it, either,” spoke Ned, frankly. “But she claims that she is not afraid. She goes armed all the time and is very determined to be a success at raising cattle and caring for herself. Pride, you know, is something that the Spanish are great for, and I’m afraid she has more than her share. However, sometime——”
He did not finish his thought, but the boys thought that they knew what he had in mind. They arrived at the ranch in silence and relieved the professor’s anxiety.
“According to this thing,” said Terry, with a grin, “if we find that treasure the dragon will eat us!”
It was on the following day and the entire group was bent over the manuscript which had been written by the long dead priest. The book lay spread out on the library table before them, yellow and fragile, with corners which threatened to fall away to dust at their touch. Rotted cord held it together and had broken in so many places that the ancient book held together by a miracle.
They had read together the thrilling story of the flight from the English barks, of the wreck in the lonely creek, and the description of the treasure up to the point where the missing pages spoiled the worthwhileness of the manuscript.
“That galleon must have been pretty big,” Jim had said. “How big is an English bark?”
“A bark is a three-masted, square-rigged vessel. The mizzenmast is fore-and-aft rigged, if I remember my history correctly,” the professor replied. “There are still barks left in service, and you can see that they were of a fair size from the fact that they had three masts.”
The statement regarding the dragon had drawn Terry’s attention. It was a solemn statement to the effect that if anyone who was not a subject of His Sovereign Majesty the King of Spain attempted to lay hands on the treasure the guardian dragon would utterly destroy them.
“I wouldn’t pay much attention to that,” smiled the professor. “In the first place, the Spaniards stole it from the Indians, and it never did belong to His Sovereign Majesty. We won’t worry about the dragon until we have found the treasure.”
They had planned to start out on the following day in an effort to find the river up which the galleon had sailed. The professor declined to accompany them.
“You boys go ahead and do the hunting,” he said. “I’m a little too old to be riding around the country looking for gold. But when you find it I’ll help you dig it out.”
“Well, if we don’t find it, we’ll have a good camping trip, anyway,” said Ned, who knew that his father did not place much stock in his ideas regarding the treasure.
It had been agreed that no long trip was to be arranged just yet. Ned planned to explore the coast for several miles to the south at present, and if that failed to show any signs of a river or the wreck to make preparations for a trip of several days. They were to be gone overnight this time and that was all.
So on the following day they were ready to go. Each boy had a packet of provisions and his blanket strapped on the back of his saddle and a light automatic rifle in his hands. The boys had been taught to shoot with a fair degree of accuracy at Woodcrest School and so felt no fear of appearing backward in that respect in Ned Scott’s eyes. They all shook hands with the professor, who wished them luck, and then they rode away to the southward in the first step of their hunt for the Spanish treasure.
The day was warm and clear, and before they had been many hours on the open plain they felt the heat keenly. The sun beat down directly on the flat, dry soil, and dancing waves of heat soon showed above the ground, as far as the eye could see. Ned would have turned to the distant mountains except that their search lay along the sea coast and they would gain nothing by seeking the coolness of the higher lands.
“What mountains are those?” Don asked, pointing to the sweeping ranges.
“That central range which you see is the Sierra Gigantea,” explained Ned. “In some places it is three and four thousand feet above sea level. The high ranges are north and south, and on this southwestern side the rocks are granitic. There is plenty of sandstone on the other slope, and the range is full of volcanic dykes.”
“Looks mighty cool up there,” said Terry, mopping his forehead.
“It is. We have all kinds of weather in this country, from burning tropical heat and its characteristic vegetation to the icy cold of the peaks.”
In the afternoon they halted under a friendly group of trees and ate a light lunch, stretching out to talk afterward for a brief time. The afternoon was even hotter than the morning, and while they did not feel like sleeping they did enjoy the rest under the trees. They resumed their journey after three o’clock, keeping the calm blue waters of the Pacific in sight all the while.
Several creeks were found, but none of them were wide enough to have ever allowed the passage of a galleon, although they were forced to bear in mind the fact that the passage of centuries might have closed up small rivers or narrowed creeks. Sandstorms rapidly changed the topography of countries, they knew. They followed two large streams for several miles inland and then cut across country again to the sea.
When they stopped for their supper Ned said: “The fact is, we may be looking the wrong way. Perhaps we should have gone north instead of south. The directions in the manuscript were vague, much as though the priest himself did not know just where he was at the time. After all, this whole hunt is a matter of faith, and if we don’t ever find anything we’ll just put it all down as a good time and a summer vacation.”
“Of course,” rejoined Don, heartily. “But I feel as you do, that the treasure was never found again. But aren’t you neglecting one very good clue?”
“What is that?” asked Ned, quickly.
“You recall that peculiar piece of wreckage that was picked up by the steam trawler? Well, the funny thing was that no other piece of the galleon to which it was a part could be found anywhere nearby. Don’t you feel that it was washed out of a nearby creek and settled in the mud in the place where the fishing boat found it?”
“There was no creek anywhere near it,” Ned answered.
“Perhaps not, but it could have come from quite some distance. Are we near the place where the piece of wreckage was found?”
“It was found about fifty miles further up the coast,” Ned said.
“It is my opinion that somewhere near there the galleon ran up a river. Can we go there tomorrow?”
“Well,” said Ned, slowly. “I think if we visit that spot we had better plan to make a much longer stay of it. We ought to spend several days in the vicinity, perhaps a week. Suppose we spend the night here, go home in the morning and outfit for an intensive hunt.”
“That would be a good idea,” Jim thought.
“I think we should,” argued Don. “You plan to run over every inch of the coast north and south, don’t you? Then I think we might as well outfit ourselves for a hard and active campaign.”
The sun was now going down, turning the hills and distant mountains into things of rare beauty as the multitude of lights danced and gleamed along the crests of the mighty range. The boys cut enough wood to last them through the night, and sat around a glowing little fire, telling Ned of past adventures until they all were sleepy enough to go to bed.
“By golly,” said Terry, as he rolled himself up in his blanket. “In the daytime you roast around here and at night you need a blanket. Very unreliable climate, I must say. Jim, will you kindly dust the snow off me when you arise in the morning!”
They were up early in the morning and ate a hearty breakfast, enjoying the glory of another perfect day. Ned calculated that they would strike the ranch again about noontime, and soon they were in the saddle once more, striking north along the sea coast. They had gone along the hard sand at a brisk trot for some ten miles when Jim stopped and pointed to a group of buildings back against a sandy cliff.
“What is that place?” he asked.
“That is a group of tannery buildings,” explained Ned as they jogged on toward it. “Years ago, in the days of the sailing ships, when California and Lower California were first opened up, hides were collected inland and dragged to that cliff, where they were thrown down below, still in a raw state. Then, while the ships went on up the coast, a picked crew of sailors remained here, curing the hides and storing them until the ship returned and picked them up.”
“I remember reading about it in that fine old book, ‘Two Years Before the Mast,’” said Don. “I’m glad of the chance to see one of the tanneries.”
When they arrived at the mouldering tannery they dismounted and went inside, examining with interest this last relic of an ancient business. The buildings were made of rough logs, hauled for many miles to the coast, and some scraps of ancient hides still clung to the storage racks. The vats were still there, stained with many colors, and a heavy smell was still noticeable indoors. Outside they found the framework of the stretching racks.
“That certainly is interesting,” commented Jim. “You must tell your father, Ned. Perhaps he’ll want to come and look at the place.”
“We’ll tell him,” the young engineer nodded, as they resumed their journey.
Ned’s calculations were correct, for it was just noontime when they arrived at his ranch. They rode down the incline toward the house, which looked deserted. Ned whistled but there was no response.
“Maybe dad is still in bed,” he laughed, as he swung from his horse.
But when they went into the house the professor was not to be found. Nor was the cook around. Ned hurried to the barns and looked for Yappi, but in vain. As he hurried back to the house Don called to him.
“It’s all right, Ned,” Don said. “There is a note from him on the table. He has gone out looking for plant specimens.”
Ned hastened into the room, relief on his brown face, and took up the note. It was a simple message, worded as Don had explained, but as Ned read it his brow darkened.
“Look here,” he said, crisply. “Do you know what dad’s first name is?”
“I don’t,” answered Don, and Jim shook his head. Don pointed to the note. “I see he signed it ‘Duress Scott.’ I never heard of that name before.”
“It isn’t a name,” was the startling answer. “Dad signed it that way to let us know that he signed it under duress, under compulsion! The cook and the overseer are both gone, evidently carried off by the same gang who captured dad!”
“I’ll bet everything I’ve got that it is Sackett again!” groaned Jim. “What are we to do?”
“Just as soon as we can tie up a little grub and fill up with plenty of ammunition we’ll start to run those fellows down,” said Ned, grimly. “I think it is high time that somebody put an end to Mr. Sackett and Company, and we’re going to do it!”
“That’s the talk!” cried Terry. “War to the knife! Where is my gun?”
The professor enjoyed his day of solitude. Long years of serious study and instructive reading had made him one of the men who prefer being alone to mixing with a noisy crowd. Not that the professor was the least bit snobbish or unsociable, but he loved the quietness of inner thought and the companionship of a book.
After the boys had disappeared over the hill he returned to the living room and sat in a sunny window looking out over the rolling country which extended for miles back of Ned’s ranch, away to the purple mountains in the distance. A feeling of warm contentment came over the elderly man, for an hour or more he simply dreamed there, enjoying the comfort of Ned’s best armchair.
After that he read for a long time, until the cook announced that dinner was ready. He ate alone, well served by the silent Indian and then went back to smoke his pipe and dream in the window once more. When afternoon came on he imitated the actions of the cook and Yappi, who both went to sleep, the cook in a bunk off the kitchen and Yappi beside the barn, his battered hat over his eyes. The professor sought the dull colored sofa in the living room and slept until the sun began to go down.
He awoke much refreshed and drank copiously, realizing for the first time in his long life just how good water could be. Another lone meal followed and he spent the evening with another book, sitting under the oil lamp until it was nearly time to go to bed. Then, enchanted with the fine moonlight, the professor went out on the front porch to smoke a final pipe before retiring.
The whole landscape was flooded by the brilliant slice of moon which hung far over in the sky, and the professor drank in its beauty. The cook had finally cleared up everything in the kitchen and gone out to the small bunkhouse, to listen for a time to the guitar which Yappi was playing and then finally to coax the old mestizo into playing a game of cards with him, over which they droned half asleep, seriously intent. When Professor Scott had finished his pipe he knocked out the ashes, yawned and with a final look around, went to his room.
This was in the back of the long, low building, facing the plains and mountains. He opened the window and finding that there was enough light from the moon, extinguished the lamp which he had lighted and took off his necktie. His eyes wandered dreamily over the landscape. Then he suddenly stopped unbuttoning his collar, his eyes narrowed, and he became all attention.
On the top of a sand dune a man was standing and looking toward the ranch. It was only for an instant and then the man disappeared, slipping down the other side noiselessly. He had on a cape and a sombrero, and the professor was puzzled. He wondered if Yappi or the cook had left the place, and after a moment of thought he went back to the front porch and looked around. There was no light in the bunkhouse now. But when he started to go out there he saw the cook walking toward the kitchen door and the ranchman coming out of the barn.
His first impulse was to speak to Yappi, but thinking it useless to alarm the man he returned to the house and to his room. It was not either of the men whom he had seen, but some stranger who was carefully looking down on the ranch. It was possible that it was only some chance wayfarer who had topped the rise and was examining the ranch, but the professor knew that Sackett was in the neighborhood and that it would be well to keep his eyes open. For an hour he looked steadily out of the window, but he saw nothing more to alarm him, and at last, after making a tour through the house and locking every door and window, including the window in his bedroom, he went to bed and soon fell asleep.
When morning came he was awakened by the sound of the cook trying the back door, and he hastily opened it for the Indian. The cook answered his cheery morning greeting unemotionally. The Indian had never known Ned to lock the doors, and he wondered why the older man did it, but no sign of his thoughts appeared on his shiny dark face and he set about getting breakfast ready. The professor dressed and then sat down to his morning meal, after a hasty look around to see that all was well.
Yappi had already attended to the horses when the professor went out to take a walk around the ranch, and the mestizo was busy in the barn. After enjoying the clear morning outside the professor went back to the house and once more resumed his reading, sitting in the window through which the sun came brightly. From where he was sitting he could see Yappi at work on a saddle, mending a flap on it, sitting on the low doorstep of the bunkhouse.
The professor had read for perhaps a half hour and was in the act of turning a page when he happened to look up and out at the old mestizo. The man had ceased his stitching and was looking back of the house, the saddle hanging loosely in his hand. And to the professor’s vast astonishment, he suddenly tossed the saddle over his shoulder and with the agility of a cat rolled himself without rising into the doorway of the bunkhouse.
Struck with amazement at the man’s actions the teacher put down his book and got up, striding for the front door. But even before he reached it he heard the back door pushed open and he turned. His worst fears were realized when he found Sackett standing on the threshold, a rifle in his hand, and Abel just back of him. Both men were smiling in triumph, but keeping a wary eye on the house just the same.
“Ah,” said Sackett, grinning broadly. “We didn’t know you was going out the front door, governor! Or maybe you was goin’ to let us in?”
“What do you want here?” asked the professor, stiffly.
Sackett looked all around. “We ain’t sure, yet. We want you, for one thing. Keep your gun on him, Abel. Where’s Manuel?”
“Watching the front door,” growled the former mate.
The two men stepped into the house and the professor saw that he was trapped. He had no idea what the men wanted with him, although his heart sank a little he resolved to face them unflinchingly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the cook glide out of the back door.
“You two men get out of this house!” the professor snapped.
Sackett laughed and walked boldly through the rooms, while Abel kept his rifle pointed in the professor’s direction. After he had looked through every room the leader came back.
“Nobody else in the place, just like Manuel said,” he reported. He faced the old savant. “Where did those boys go to?”
“Off on a camping trip,” answered the professor, calmly.
“Sure they didn’t go looking for that treasure?” inquired the outlaw, thrusting his face close to Mr. Scott’s.
“Do you mean to say that you believe that story?” sniffed the professor, scornfully.
“I believe it, and so do you,” replied the chief.
“A fairy story,” said the professor, contemptuously. “My boy has long since found out that there isn’t anything to it.”
“You and your boy know more about that treasure than you feel like telling,” retorted Sackett. “You’re coming with us and stay with us until you tell us what you do know.”
“I guess I’ll stay with you a long time,” said the professor, humorously. “Because I don’t know anything about it.”
“Stow the talk and come on,” growled the mate. “Want them boys to come back again?”
“Yes, we had better get moving,” agreed the leader of the gang. He walked to the desk and took out a piece of paper and a pen, which he dipped in the ink. “You write a note saying you have gone for a little exploring trip,” he directed the professor.
“I won’t write a line!” said the professor, stubbornly.
“You write quickly or I’ll punch your head!” growled the outlaw, raising his heavy fist.
Convinced that he would gain nothing by arguing with these men the professor took the pen and wrote a short note. He hesitated a moment and then signed it “Duress Scott.”
“Hey!” cried Sackett, suspiciously. “What’s that you’re putting?”
“You want me to sign my name, don’t you?” asked the teacher, blandly.
“That isn’t your name,” argued the man.
“Oh, it isn’t, eh?” said the professor. “Very well, I’ll sign it just plain Dad, and then Ned will know that something is wrong.”
The leader thought a moment. “Never mind,” he growled. “That will do as it is. Now come along, and mind, no funny business, or it will be the worse for you.”
The professor accompanied them out of the house, jealously guarded by the two men, and in the back yard Manuel, a short and stolid Mexican, was waiting for them with a horse from Ned’s own stock. In silence the professor mounted and the cavalcade moved out of the ranch grounds, the professor looking around for the cook and Yappi. Neither of them were in sight.
“Miserable cowards!” muttered the professor, between his set teeth.
They headed for the mountains, the Mexican in front and the professor riding just ahead of Sackett and Abel, who kept watchful eyes on him. They travelled in silence during the morning and stopped at noon to eat and rest, after which they pushed on, in a direction southwest of the mines. Manuel, it seemed, was the lookout and rode ahead to see to it that they did not unexpectedly run across some party from the mines or from other scattered ranches. They had passed to the north of the Senorita Mercedes ranch and there was no help from that quarter. And when at last they entered the trees at the foot of the central range they had not been seen by anyone.
There Manuel waited for the party and they rode on in a compact body, ascending the long slopes, skirting abrupt cliffs and rising high above sea level. The woods were of a semi-tropical nature, with thick trees and bright green leaves, surrounded by dense bushes of undergrowth. It was cool above the level of the plain and they made good time, coming out onto a flat plateau late in the afternoon. Before them was a wall of vegetation, and to the professor’s astonishment they rode straight to it, pushed their way through and came unexpectedly upon the ruins of a small castle.
The building was small and now nothing more than a tumbled heap of ruins. Looking at it closely the professor was inclined to think that it had never been completed at all, but had been abandoned before the roof had been put on. Creepers grew in reckless profusion all over the stones and a bright green snake glided across a door sill with a slight hiss. The men sprang from their horses and the professor got down slowly, waiting the next move.
Guided by his captors he was led across the first floor of the place, evidently the effort of some Spanish nobleman to plant a small empire of his own in a new country, and ushered into a single room toward the back of the castle. This room had a ceiling to it and he could see at once that it was the headquarters of the gang. A stove, made out of bricks held together by clay, stood in one corner and several strings of red peppers, dried with heat and age, hung from strings over the stove. A rough table, two chairs and a bench, and a long box made up the furniture of the place. Besides the door, which was constructed of heavy wood, there was a single window in the place, which was barred, though it had no glass in it. The forest grew close to the back of the place.
“Now look here,” commanded the leader, as soon as they were all in the room. “Are you going to talk, or do we have to starve it out of you?”
“If you mean I am to tell you anything about that treasure, I guess you’ll have to starve me,” returned the professor, with spirit. “I tell you I don’t know a thing about it.”
Sackett turned to Abel. “No use arguing with this man now, I can see that. Maybe when he gets hungry he’ll sing another tune. Put him in the dungeon.”
Without wasting a word on the matter Abel drove the professor before him to a small door which opened in one side of the room. This door, when opened, disclosed a turning flight of narrow stairs, and down this the professor went, guided by the light from a lantern which Manuel had lighted and handed to the mate. After turning around and around they came suddenly to a narrow cell, in front of which swung a heavy wooden half door, the upper part of which was composed of iron bars. Abel opened the door by pulling it toward him and then pushed the professor inside.
“Stay there until you get hungry,” he said, grimly. “When you feel like talking just yell for the captain.”
He closed the door with a sharp slam, snapped a padlock in place, and taking the light with him, remounted the stairs. The professor stood still, watching the light flash and twinkle on the white stone steps until it was gone and he was in the darkness alone.
The light was gone at last and with it the professor’s hope. He was totally alone in the inky darkness, a prisoner in a cell whose size he was not certain of, down under the ruins of a castle in the woods. Far above him he could hear the slam of another door and the faint footsteps of the two men. Then there was complete silence and the teacher turned away from the barred door.
“A truly ancient castle,” grumbled the professor. “The dungeon completed before the rest of the house!”
He wondered, as he moved cautiously around if anyone had ever been a prisoner in this cold and wet-smelling cell. He found his way around without difficulty, running his hands along the wall and extending his feet carefully. There was not a single object in the place, and he felt that they had not expected to have him there, for there was no bed or chair in the place.
“Unless,” thought the savant, as he continued to feel his way around. “They wouldn’t be decent enough to give me a chair or bed, anyway. No use in expecting mercy from villains like these, I suppose.”
The walls were perfectly smooth, composed of sandstone, as was the entire castle. Ned had told his father that the opposite slope of the mountain was almost wholly composed of this particular type of stone, and the original owner and builder had no doubt had it quarried and dragged to the spot, using Indians who had been taken captive by the Spaniards. Such was the professor’s belief and it was reasonable. Even in his anxiety to escape from these men he found himself taking an interest in the place and resolved that if these men were ever cleaned out of it he would explore it thoroughly.
The floor was also of stone, wet and slippery, and for all the professor knew, the dwelling place of spiders and other crawling things. He hated to sit down on it, but there was no other place and he was very tired from his long ride and the excitement of it all, so he felt around the floor with shrinking hand and finally found a spot near the door which seemed to be drier than the rest of the floor. Pretty much exhausted the history professor sank to the floor and rested his back against the cold wall.
He was in some doubt as to what to do. He felt that Ned would catch on to his meaning when he read the word “duress” and the boys would surely make a vigorous effort to find him, but how long that would be or what would happen in the meantime he had no idea. The men upstairs were convinced that he knew something about the treasure, that he possessed some information which he was withholding, and they would do their best to get it out of him. They would try to starve him first, and in that fact he found a ray of hope, for it would take them several days to find out that he did not intend to say anything, and then they would adopt a more severe program. In that time Ned and the boys from Maine would have time to find him, and they would naturally look near the mountains. It was possible that they might think he had been carried off to sea, but surely the cook or Yappi would tell them the true facts of the case, provided they hadn’t been so frightened that they hadn’t even seen in which direction the cavalcade had gone.
But if the men decided to change their plans and try to pump information from him he would have a bigger problem on his hands. These men were by no means gentle, they were men who were willing and able to sweat hard to earn money and especially dishonest money, and they would not be likely to stop at anything cruel or inhuman. They were miles away from any source of help and the woods would effectually hide any story which might shock the outside world if it were known. Sackett and the mate must know that the boys would soon be on the trail, and he was inclined to think that they would resort before very long to methods other than peaceful.
“If that is the case,” thought Professor Scott, jumping to his feet, “I’m just wasting time by sitting here. There seems to be no way of getting out of the place, but it may be that there is some flaw that will ultimately prove my biggest help.”
So once more he began to feel his way along the wall and then stopped as a new thought came to him. A few days before Ned had given him a cigar lighter, a somewhat unreliable engine that lighted once in a great while, but which always gave off a bright flash when the little wheel was turned by the thumb. It was in his vest pocket and he reached for it. He had not had any matches with him and had secretly lamented the fact, but now his main difficulty was in a fair way to be overcome.
He took the little case from his pocket and spun the wheel. A sputtering little flash was the answer, which lighted up the cell for a split second and gave him his bearings. It was evident that the cigar lighter had no intentions whatsoever of lighting for any length of time, but it at least gave forth a flash that threw the heavy stones into a sort of bluish picture for an instant. Working it constantly the old gentleman moved around the dungeon, exploring the walls and floor, until something in one corner arrested his attention.
There was a crevice there, running from the floor to the ceiling and in that crack was a moulded rope. The rope ended near the floor, and hung straight down from a round hole in the ceiling above him. He took hold of the rope, to find it wet and slippery but fairly strong. The men had evidently not seen it and he knew why. Anyone who stood in the room and threw the beams of a lantern around would cast the light in a confused way into the corners and so miss seeing the rope, which was deep in the cranny, and indeed the professor would not have seen it himself if he had not been standing right at the crevice. Probably the men had never gone over the walls inch by inch, and unless one did that the hidden rope would surely escape their eye. But now that he had the rope, what was he to do with it?
He pulled on the rope and his answering came with a suddenness that startled him into stepping back hastily. Far above his head a bell pealed out sharply, shattering the silence of the mountain fastness with disconcerting vigor. Nervously he dropped the lighter and then picked it up, his brow wet with a nervous perspiration.
“Great heavens!” murmured the professor. “I must stop that, or I’ll have them down on me.”
Upstairs there was a moment of silence and then a sudden commotion. A chair fell over and he heard running footsteps. Apparently the upper door was opened, for he could hear the words of the men.
“What is ringing that bell?” he heard Sackett roar.
“You got me, captain,” replied Abel, while rapid chattering in Mexican reached the ears of the professor. “That bell is just up there in the tower and nobody can ring it. There must be ghosts in this place, I tell you!”
“Keep shut about your ghosts!” snarled the leader. “What’s that Mexican saying?”
“He’s howling prayers because he’s scared,” the mate said.
Understanding came over the professor all at once. One tall tower had struck his attention as they had approached the ruined castle and it was evident that this tower had in it a large bell, placed there when the castle was first built. The rope which the professor had pulled led directly to this bell, a circumstance of which the men upstairs knew nothing, and he found that fate had provided him with a weapon to work against them with telling force. Realizing in the long run what this would mean the teacher once more took hold of the rope.
“Somebody is ringing that bell,” said Sackett, his tone ugly and uncertain. “Ain’t there no way to get up in that tower and stop it?”
“No,” answered Abel. “The tower has no steps and it’s no use anyway. I tell you a spirit is ringing that bell! I knew I hadn’t ought to have come in on a game like this.”
“Oh, shut up,” growled Sackett. “It isn’t ringing anymore.”
But at that moment the bell rang out, and this time the professor used it effectively. With long sweeping strokes he tolled it, so that the melancholy sounds sounded out and over the country for miles. It was a solemn and fearful sound, and the men above were thoroughly awed and frightened by it.
“Go see if that professor has escaped from his cell,” ordered Sackett, as the professor paused in his labors. “He may be out and doing this somehow.”
The professor thanked his lucky stars that he had overheard this bit of conversation and gave the bell a final toll. Then he quickly resumed his place near the door, holding onto the bars and peering anxiously out as the mate came down the stairs with the lantern.
The man flashed the light full in the face of the professor, who blinked and threw up his hand to cover his eyes. At the same time he eagerly questioned the mate.
“Why is that bell ringing? What does it mean? Why is there a bell here?” he cried.
The mate looked troubled but attempted to pass it off. “You mind your own business,” he said, in a surly tone. At the same time he pressed close to the door and flashed the light into the dungeon, looking intently at the corners. Without another word he went back up the winding stairs, and before he closed the door the professor heard him say: “The old man is all right. He hasn’t been out of the cell and he couldn’t ring the bell. I tell you——”
That was as much as Professor Scott heard but it was enough to satisfy him. His best plan was now to mystify the men in the hope of terrifying them so that they would leave the place and take him somewhere else. Whether that would in the end be a better move or not he did not know, but it was at least better than waiting and wasting time, and it would serve to bring Ned and the boys to the spot. There was no doubt that the sound could be heard far from the mountain, and he had no doubt that it would be of great value to him.