Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  Finally a dull sound from the other side of the wall reached their ears. It seemed that some one was pounding upon the adobe. Both girls sprang to their feet in excitement, their heads bent to listen. The pounding was not repeated but a voice was heard — a far-away voice — as of one calling.

  Mildred answered the cry, at the top of her lungs, and immediately Inez followed with a shrill scream that roused a thousand echoes in the hidden passage. And now Toodlums joined the chorus, startled from her sleep and terrified by the riot of sound.

  They tried to listen, but the baby’s cries prevented anything else from being heard, so they devoted themselves to quieting little Jane. It took some time to do this, for the sobbing infant was thoroughly frightened, but finally Inez succeeded in comforting her and the bottle of precious milk was sacrificed to put baby to sleep again.

  By this time the sounds on the other side of the wall had ceased; but the girls were now full of eager hope, believing they had succeeded in letting their friends know they were imprisoned in the wall.

  Within the hour more dull pounding began and this continued so regularly that Mildred told Inez the rescuers were surely trying to break through the adobe. They listened alertly to each blow and for a time forgot both thirst and fatigue in the excitement of the moment. Daybreak was near, for already a gray light was creeping in through the gratings overhead.

  Suddenly a crash like a thunder-clap resounded from the end of the passage. From the gloomy recess behind the couch a man’s form appeared, struck the bed, was rebounded by the springs into the air, turned a complete somersault and landed on the floor of the passage in a sitting position, facing the two startled nurses.

  He did not seem to be hurt, but was evidently bewildered. He glared in amazement at the girls and they glared in amazement at him. Then, slowly, he turned his eyes to view his surroundings and blinked stupidly at the candles, the antique carved furniture, the baby bundled upon a cushioned seat and finally rested his eyes again upon the faces of the nurses.

  “Why, it is Señor Bul-Run!” cried Inez, clapping her hands with joy. “He have come to save us.”

  “Pardon me,” said the man, in a rather quavering falsetto, “I’m not sure whether I’ve come to save you or to share your peril. Where am I, please?”

  “It is the hollow of the wall, sir,” replied Mildred, who had never seen the big fellow before. “It is the secret apartment constructed by Señor Cristoval, who built this house.”

  “Well,” said he, slowly getting upon his feet and with another curious glance around, “I can’t say that I consider it a desirable place of residence. Certainly it’s no place for our precious Toodlums,” and he bent over the sleeping babe and tenderly kissed its forehead. Then, straightening up, he said in as determined a tone as his high voice would permit: “We must find a way to get out of here!”

  “Can’t you get out the same way you got in?” asked Mildred.

  He looked at her in perplexed astonishment.

  “How did I get in?” he inquired.

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I’ve no idea. I was sitting in the window of the blue room, resting, when there was a bang, whirligig, fireworks — and here I am, your uninvited guest.”

  “The blue room!” cried Mildred.

  “Yes. Did you happen to notice my arrival? I don’t mean its lack of dignity, but the direction I came from?”

  “You came from somewhere behind that bed. I saw you strike the mattress and — and bound up again.”

  “To be sure. I remember bounding up again. I — I didn’t care to stop, you see. I was anxious to — to — see if baby Jane was all right.”

  Mildred could not repress a smile, while Inez giggled openly.

  “However,” continued the big man, good-humoredly, “the direction affords us a clew. Pardon my absence for a moment while I investigate.”

  He took one of the candles, cautiously made his way over the couch and stood upon the oak chest at the end of the narrow chamber. Here he was able to examine the heavy planking set in the adobe, through which he had doubtless made his appearance but which now appeared as solid and immovable as the wall itself.

  Runyon’s first act was to pass the light of the candle carefully over every joint and edge, with the idea of discovering a spring or hinge. But no such thing seemed to exist. Then he took out his big jackknife and began prying. When a blade snapped he opened another, only to break it in his vain twisting and jabbing. Finally he threw the now useless knife from him and began pounding with his fists upon the planking, at the same time shouting with the best voice he could muster. Perhaps the pounding might have been heard had not his friends at that moment been seeking for his mangled form in the garden, among the rose vines.

  After listening in vain for a reply, Runyon came back to the girls, saying:

  “This is certainly a singular occurrence. I came in as easily as I ever did anything in my life, I assure you; but the way out is not so easy. However, we won’t have to endure this confinement long, for the boys are breaking down the wall in two places.”

  Then, in reply to their anxious questioning, he related the incidents of the night: how the discovery was made that Toodlums and her two nurses were missing; of the search throughout the country in automobiles; how the major had heard the “ghost” of baby Jane, which had given them their first intimation of the truth, and of the desperate and vain attempts made to get into the secret chamber.

  Mildred, in return, explained the accident that had led to their imprisonment and of their failure to find any means of escape.

  “There must be a way out, of course,” she added, “for Señor Cristoval would never invent such clever and complicated ways of getting into this hollow wall without inventing other means of getting out.”

  “True enough,” agreed Runyon; “but I can’t see why he thought it necessary to make the means of getting out a secret. These rooms were probably built as hiding-places, and there are at least two separate entrances. But whoever hid here should be master of the situation and have no difficulty in escaping when the danger was over.”

  “Unless,” said Mildred, thoughtfully, “the rooms were also intended as a prison.”

  “Well, perhaps that is it,” said the man. “Old Cristoval may have thought the occasion would arise when he would like to keep one or more prisoners here, so he concealed the exits as carefully as the entrances. Let us admit, young ladies, that it’s a first-class prison. But,” his tone changing to one of kindly concern, “how have you stood this ordeal? You must be worn out with anxiety, and desperately hungry, too.”

  As he gazed into Mildred’s face it occurred to him, for the first time, that Jane’s new nurse was an interesting girl. She was not exactly beautiful, but — attractive. Indeed, at that moment Mildred was at her best, despite the night’s vigil. The hard, defiant look had left her eyes for the first time in years, driven out by a train of exciting events that had led her to forget herself and her rebellion against fate, at least for the time being.

  “We are not very hungry,” she said, smiling at the big, boyish rancher, “but we are thirsty. I’d give anything for a good drink of water. And baby is now devouring the last few drops of her prepared food. When it is gone there is nothing here that she can eat.”

  “Well,” said he, spurred to action by this report, “I’m going to explore this place carefully, for if we can manage to find a way out it will save Weldon and his men from ruining that wall, and also save time, for the blamed adobe is so hard and thick that it will still require hours for them to make a hole big enough to get us out.”

  CHAPTER XVII — THE PRODIGAL SON

  With the added light that now came from the gratings in the ceiling every object in the upper room was plainly visible. Runyon began his inspection in a methodical manner, starting at one corner and eyeing the inner wall on every inch of its surface. He tested each block at its corners and edges. The girls watched him listlessly, for they expected no re
sult, having covered the same methods themselves.

  At length Runyon was obliged to abandon the wall in despair.

  “The opening is there, of course,” he said, “but that confounded Cristoval was too clever for us. If I had the rascal here now, I’d strangle him!”

  As he stood in the center of the narrow space, looking around him, his eye fell upon the upholstered seats ranged along one side and he regarded them suspiciously. They were box-like affairs, with the surface of the covers padded and cushioned.

  He reached down and lifted one of the lids. As he glanced within he uttered an exclamation of astonishment. The box was almost filled with bottles, lying regularly on their sides.

  “Wine!” he cried. “Now, Miss — I don’t remember to have heard your name — I shall be able to relieve your thirst.”

  “My name is Travers — Mildred Travers, sir; but I can’t drink wine.”

  “Not to quench your thirst — just a few swallows?” he asked, taking a bottle and trying to remove the cork.

  “Not a drop, even to save my life,” she replied positively.

  “But I will, Señor Runyon — I will!” cried Inez eagerly.

  “Runyon!” exclaimed Mildred, stepping back in amazement and looking at the man rather wildly.

  “Excuse me; haven’t I introduced myself?” he asked, looking up. “Yes; my name’s Runyon.”

  Something in her expression arrested his gaze and he regarded the girl curiously.

  “Bulwer Runyon?” she said in a low voice.

  He sat down on the box, holding the bottle between his knees.

  “They christened me that. Very foolishly, I think. But what do you know of Bulwer Runyon?”

  “Your mother — is — Martha Runyon?”

  “To be sure — bless her heart! Ah, you know my mother, then, and that’s how you have heard of me. But nothing good, from the dear old lady’s lips, I’ll be bound.”

  “She really loves you,” replied Mildred quickly; “only — you have disappointed her.”

  “Indeed I have. I’ve always disappointed her, ever since I can remember.”

  “You were very extravagant,” said Mildred in a reproachful tone.

  “Yes; that was my fault. Father spoiled me; then he died and left all his fortune to mother. Quite right. But mother is pretty close with her money.”

  “Did she not pay all your debts?”

  “Yes; but that was foolish. She reproached me for owing people, which was one of my pet recreations. So she paid the bills, bought me a ranch out here, shipped me into exile and washed her hands of me, declaring that the ranch was my sole inheritance and I must never expect another cent of her fortune. She proposes, I believe, to invest her surplus in charity. Nice idea, wasn’t it?”

  “It was very generous in her,” declared Mildred.

  “Was it? Well, that’s a matter of opinion. But I regard her gift of this ranch as the first step to perpetual pauperdom. She tossed the land at me, shuffled me off, and then expected me to make a living.”

  “Can’t you do that?” asked Mildred wonderingly.

  “Make a living on a California ranch!” he said, as if astonished.

  “Others do,” she asserted.

  “There is no other just like your humble servant,” he assured her, again struggling with the cork. “I can’t grow enough lemons — it’s a lemon ranch she handed me — to pay expenses. The first year I decorated my estate with a mortgage; had to have an automobile, you know. The second year I put another plaster on to pay the interest of the first mortgage and a few scattering debts. Third year, the third patch; fourth year, the usual thing. Fifth year — that’s this one — the money sharks balked. They said the ranch is loaded to its full capacity. So, I’ll have to sell some lemons.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” cried Mildred.

  “So am I, thank you. Stupid thing, selling lemons. But the wolf’s at the door and all I can do is shoot lemons at the brute. Lemons! Wasn’t it tart of the dear mother to load me with such an acidulous estate? Perhaps she imagined it would make me assiduous — eh?”

  “Your mother hoped you would turn over a new leaf and — and redeem your past,” said the girl.

  “Well, it’s too late to do that now. I can’t redeem the past without redeeming the ranch, and that’s impossible,” he declared with a grin. “But tell me, please, how you happen to be so deep in my mother’s confidence.”

  Mildred hesitated, but reflected that she really owed him an explanation.

  “She protected me when I was in trouble,” she said softly.

  “Ah; that’s like the dear old girl. Do you know, I’ve an idea that when I’m down and out she’ll relent and come to my assistance with a fatted calf? It would be just like her. I’ve known of others she befriended. Her hobby is to help poor girls. There was that Leighton girl, for instance, whose smuggling, murderous father was imprisoned for life. The poor little thing hadn’t a friend in the world till mother took her in hand and put her in a training school for nurses. The mother wrote me how interested she was in that case. Her protege did her credit, it seems, for the child turned out a very good nurse, who — who — ”

  He suddenly paused, flushed red and stared at the girl uncertainly.

  “You say your name is — Travers?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, casting down her eyes.

  “Not — Leighton?”

  “Cannot you pull the cork, Señor Runyon? I am so thirsty!” cried Inez quickly, to save her friend from disclosing her secret. But big Runyon was bright enough, in spite of his peculiarities. He read Mildred’s confusion and suspected the truth, but was too considerate to press the question.

  “The cork is obstinate,” said he; “so we won’t argue with the thing,” and he struck the neck of the bottle against a corner of the seat and broke it so neatly that not a drop of the contents was spilled. Then he took a cup from the shelf and poured out some of the wine.

  “It’s a native vintage,” said he, “but it ought to be mellow and mild after all the years it has lain here.”

  Inez drank. The California Mexicans are accustomed to the native wines and consume them as freely as water. But Mildred, although again pressed to quench her thirst, steadfastly refused.

  Runyon took a little of the wine, for he also was thirsty, and then he made an examination of the other seats. Some contained more wine; others were quite empty; but no water was discovered anywhere.

  “Now I shall go below,” said Runyon, “and see if I can unearth anything of importance there. Do you hear those dull sounds on the other side of the wall? They tell us that our friends are busy drilling the holes. It’s wonderful how tough that adobe is.”

  Little Jane had awakened again and Inez took baby Jane in her arms and, with Mildred, followed Runyon down the stairs into the lower chamber. Here they watched his careful inspection of the room but did not hope for any favorable result.

  “Here is food,” he announced, as, having given up the idea of finding egress, he came upon the cans of tomatoes and corn.

  “Yes; but we have no can-opener,” replied Mildred; “and, unless the contents were cooked, they would not be eatable.”

  “I’m not thinking of the eatables,” said Runyon, taking out a small pen-knife, for he had already ruined the larger one he always carried. “Tomatoes usually have a lot of liquid in the cans, a sort of watery juice which I am sure would help to relieve your thirst.”

  He began prying at the tin with a knife blade, but it was a heavy quality of plate, such as is rarely used nowadays, and resisted his attempt. Soon the blade of the frail tool snapped at the handle, and he tried the other blade. That, too, soon broke and Runyon regarded the can with a sort of wonder.

  “It beats me,” he said, shaking his head. “But I don’t like to give up, and that tomato-juice would be of service if we could only get at it.”

  Looking around for another implement his eye spied the revolver hanging upon its peg.

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bsp; “Ah! if that weapon is loaded I’ll use a bullet as a can-opener,” he exclaimed, and reaching up he removed the revolver from its place.

  “Good; six cartridges, 32 caliber,” said he. “Now, young ladies, if you can stand the noise, and the powder hasn’t spoiled, I believe I can make a hole in that can which will allow the juice to run out.”

  “I don’t care,” said Inez, “but I will take Mees Jane upstairs, first.”

  “The sound will echo like a regular battle,” said Mildred; “but as I am really thirsty and your suggestion of relief tempts me, I am willing to have you shoot the pistol.”

  Runyon placed the can upon the edge of the low hinged table, where it stood about waist high. When Inez had gone above with little Jane, the man took a position whereby he faced obliquely the outer wall and aiming at the tomatoes said:

  “Better stop up your ears, Miss — Mildred.”

  She obeyed and he fired.

  Even their anticipations could not prepare them for the wild riot of sound that followed the explosion. The bullet found its mark, for the can toppled and fell from the shelf and lay spilling its contents upon the floor. The bullet went farther and struck a crevice of the outer wall. A cloud of smoke for a moment obscured their view and Mildred, regarding the tomato-can, cried out:

  “Oh, pick it up! Pick it up, quick! It is spilling.”

  Runyon made no reply. He was staring straight ahead, in a dazed, bewildered way, and now Mildred’s eyes followed his.

  The smoke was rolling out of a large aperture in the outer wall. Three huge blocks of adobe, neatly joined together, had swung outward, moved by a secret spring which the bullet had released.

  Through the grim prison wall they were looking out at the sunshine that flooded the rose garden.

  Mildred sank to her knees, sobbing with joy. Big Runyon walked to the staircase.

  “Hi, there, Inez!” he called. “Come down here and take Toodlums to her mother. I’ll bet a button she’ll be jolly glad to see that kid again!”