CHAPTER XXI.
MR. CHILLINGWORTH FIRES--AND MISSES.
As is often the case where a disaster so complete has overtaken men,their very powers of speech seem to be taken from them. We read of menentombed in mines sitting silently awaiting the end, and of the silencein which disabled submarines have sunk to the bed of the sea.
It was so in this case. After a brief examination had shown them, whatin fact they already knew, that tons of stone blocked their escape fromthe cave, they had relapsed into apparent apathy.
No one even appeared to notice Tom, who presently came to himself andstood dizzily upright. The lamp still burned in the rear of the cavern,shedding a dim, yellow light. But outside its rays the place was pitchyblack. The weight of the rock that had fallen blocking the cave mouthhad also shut out all sound of the fury of the storm--so that the placewas as silent as a graveyard.
In answer to Tom's questions the professor told him in a dull, listlessvoice, what had occurred. Tom was a plucky lad and had faced a good manydangers without flinching, but as he realized their position his heartsank, and he felt a queer, sickish feeling, that, if it were not realpanic, approximated it pretty closely.
"Then there is no hope?"
Tom heard the professor to the end and then spoke in the same dull,toneless voice.
The other shook his head.
"A convulsion of nature seated that stone there," he said; "another onedisplaced it. It is hoping too much that a third will occur and freeus."
"Then we must sit here till we die?"
Mr. Chillingworth's voice struck in. It was as lifeless as the tones ofthe others.
As for Monday and Tuesday they took no part in the conversation, but satmoodily in the rear of the cave accepting their fate in a stoicalmanner.
"I am afraid that the only thing for us to do is to die like men andAmericans," said the professor bravely.
"Oh, no! no! I cannot die like this. I must get out! Oh, heaven, I won'tdie like this!"
As he shouted thus incoherently the rancher dashed himself against therock that sealed the cave mouth. Tom started up to drag him from theentrance and prevent his uselessly bruising and cutting himself. But theprofessor laid a hand on the boy's arm.
"Leave him alone," he said; "poor fellow. Life was good to him. He willbe quieter when that paroxysm is over."
And so it proved. The rancher's desperate fit left him weak andexhausted. He sank down on a bit of rock, his head buried in his hand.But his heaving shoulders told what he was enduring.
Tom felt that he, too, would have liked to leap to his feet and hurl hisbody at the imprisoning rock, but he restrained himself by an effort.
"If I am to die, I'll at least try to die as a man should," thought theboy to himself.
For some time more they sat in gloomy silence. The only sound that brokethe hush was that of Chillingworth's sobs. Presently the professorarose, and not with any real sense of finding anything, commenced, withthe aid of the lantern, a thorough examination of the cave. But if hehad ever expected to find any outlet, he was disappointed. The place waswithout any other aperture than the one the fallen mass of stone hadsealed.
"Do you think that any one will ever find our--our--bodies in thisdreadful place?" said Tom, as the professor, abandoning his search witha sigh, rejoined the boy.
"I am afraid not," said the scientist gloomily. "Why, what did you havein mind, my boy?"
"Why, I have a bit of chalk here," said Tom. "I thought we might scrawlup our names and the date and what happened on the walls of the cave. Itwould be a record in case--in case--" his voice shook, but he controlledit bravely--"they ever found us," he concluded.
"At any rate, it will be something to do," agreed the professor, fallingin with the idea heartily. "But why not leave a more completemessage--an account of our strange captivity, and so on? I have a pencilsomewhere, and a tablet for making scientific notes."
"Good!" rejoined Tom. "You write the lengthy account while I chalk up ashorter record on the rocks."
He turned toward the wall, looking about for a smooth place to lettertheir last message upon, while the professor began fumbling in hispockets for his pencil. The implement did not seem to be handy. At anyrate, the man of science explored all his outside pockets withoutresult. Then he began on his inside ones.
Suddenly, while he was feeling about inside his coat, he gave a cry thatechoed oddly through the silences of the sealed cave. So sharp and sopeculiar was the tone that Chillingworth looked up from between hishands.
"Have you found the pencil?" asked Tom, in a steady voice, turning fromhis work with the chalk and coming toward the professor.
The next instant he felt a sharp chilling of his senses. The professor'smind had undoubtedly given way under the strain of the terriblesituation.
He was creeping toward Tom, holding something with the utmost carebetween his long fingers. He was regarding this object, which, Tomthought from its shape, must be a pencil, with smiles of what seemedinsane delight and foolish, meaningless gibberings.
"What's the matter, professor?" asked Tom, stepping briskly toward himand adopting a tone like one would use toward a child. "Come, brace up,sir. Don't give way!"
For the professor was now giggling hysterically. The Kanakas, sullenlycrouched by the lamp in a far corner, regarded him curiously. Mondaytapped his forehead significantly.
"Tom, my boy," breathed the professor, laying a bony hand on the boy'sshoulder--"Tom, I'm not crazy! Listen to me." Then evidently making astrong effort to control himself, he sank his voice into a hard, leveltone: "We have a chance of escape!"
Tom gave an amazed gasp. Words--he had none to fit this staggeringstatement.
"Do you see this little tube?" the professor went on.
He held up the long, thin, cylindrical object which Tom had mistaken fora pencil. He now saw that it was a glass tube about ten inches long andfilled with a yellow, pasty-looking substance.
"In that tube are four ounces of my explosive," whispered the professor,his eyes burning.
"The same stuff that blew Mrs. Bijur's roof up?" gasped Tom, but withouta hint of laughter in his voice or on his face. He began to see what wasin the wind now.
"Yes," was the rejoinder; "at least what exploded there was not morethan a hundredth part of this tube, and it was not of anything likesimilar strength, being diluted. I had this explosive with me on theyawl, thinking that I might use it in geological work--diluted, ofcourse. When the collision came I recollect seizing up this tube of myinvention and thrusting it into my coat. In this rush of recent events Ihad forgotten it till this moment, when, in my search for a pencil, Iencountered it."
"What do you mean to do with it?" asked Tom, in the same breathlesstones. Without knowing it, he was clutching the professor in theintensity of his excitement and eager hope.
"I mean to attempt to blow up the rock that blocks the entrance of thiscave," was the calm reply. "We have tools--a drill, and we can use thatlong stick I cut as a walking staff, for a tampon to drive the chargehome."
"But how are we to fire it?" asked Tom. "We have no fuse and no means ofgetting one."
"Confound it!" exclaimed the professor, his hopes dashed to the lowestebb once more. "What a fellow I am to forget details. What are we to do?Here we have the means of escape within our grasp almost, only to seethem snatched away by such an unlucky chance as this. In any event, anordinary fuse would do us no good. My explosive only ignites bydetonation--in other words, by being dealt a hard blow. If only we had afulminate of mercury cap----"
"Might as well wish that the stone hadn't fallen," said Tom briskly. "Itell you what, Professor, let us start those Kanakas drilling a hole inthe rock where it seems thinnest. While they are doing it we, perhaps,can think of some plan to explode the charge."
It is a striking example of the effect of action on men that theKanakas, once they were set to work, became far less gloomy. They tappedthe rock eagerly to asce
rtain, while the professor listened to see,where it sounded the least solid. He finally selected a place andordered the two South Sea natives to commence their bore there. They atonce set to work at the task, while Mr. Chillingworth, who had beenroused from his lethargy by even this remote chance of gaining freedom,talked over eagerly with the others the possibility of hitting upon away to explode the charge and shatter the stone without using adetonator. The rancher had had considerable experience with dynamite andgiant powder on his ranch, where he had blown up scores of big treeroots, so that his contributions to the discussion were intelligentones.
At last he sprang to his feet with a sharp cry: "I've got it. I know howwe can explode that stuff."
The others looked eagerly.
"How?" asked the professor bluntly.
"By hitting it with a bullet."
"What?"
"I mean what I say. We have a pistol and two of us at least are goodshots. We will place that explosive in the hole in the rock when it isdrilled and then fire it by striking it with a bullet from the revolver,Tom secured when Lake dropped it."
"That is a good idea," said the professor dryly, "but when the explosioncomes what is to become of us?"
Chillingworth's enthusiasm vanished like the effervescence of a wetrocket.
"I didn't think of that," he said. "There is a chance that we might beblown to pieces by the same explosion that rends the rock."
"Perfectly correct," agreed the professor, with a curious ring in hisvoice, "but not necessary. The force of my explosive, when confined, isinvariably downward and inward. That is to say, in this case if we borea hole at a steep angle into the rock, we may be able to shatter part ofit without hurting ourselves."
The Kanakas were at once set to work boring another hole slanting in theproposed direction. When this was accomplished, the professor gingerlyplaced the tube of high explosive within the aperture and announcedthat, so far as he was concerned, all was ready.
"Hold on a minute," exclaimed Tom, as a sudden idea struck him.
Drawing out his chalk, he marked a ring round the mouth of the bore.
"There," he exclaimed, "that makes a good target and the hole containingthe explosive is the bull's-eye."
"Hitting which in this case may mean annihilation, swift and terrible,"said the professor dryly.
"We must make up our minds to take that chance," said Mr. Chillingworthfirmly, and Tom was rejoiced to see that the rancher's nerve had comeback.
"Will you take the first shot?" he asked, handing the pistol to therancher.
The Kanakas gazed on curiously. They had been told of the daring attemptthat was to be made, and had no objection. A shrug of the shoulders wastheir way of saying:
"As well death one way as another."
Mr. Chillingworth accepted the pistol and weighed it curiously toascertain its balance.
"A nice little weapon," he said, in a calm voice.
"I think we had all better shake hands," said the professor, "before weretire to the rear of the cave."
Seriously the trio imprisoned in the living tomb shook hands and thenstarted back to the extreme end of the cavern. Just before they didthis, the lantern had been placed where its light would fall on thetarget. This left the rear part of the cave in blackness. Perhaps theyeach were glad of this. Tom knew he had no wish to look at the others'faces, although he hoped that no trace of fear showed on his own.
Packing themselves as compactly as possible against the rear wall of theplace, they fell into silence as Chillingworth made ready to fire. Onlyby a constant wetting of his lips with the tip of his tongue did therancher betray his excitement. Tom could feel his pulses pounding andhis heart beating till it seemed it would burst his ribs. The sweatrolled off his face. He wondered how the professor felt. WouldChillingworth never stop his everlasting balancing of the pistol andaiming of it at the target? What would Jack----?
"Now!"
The rancher's exclamation was followed by a sharp report, all the moredeafening for the tiny space in which they were confined. Tom threwhimself on his face, and so did the others, waiting a second and a moreterrible shock.
But it didn't come. For once in his life Chillingworth, who was rated afirst-class shot, had missed his target.
The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest Page 21
