The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “Come on,” added the Irishman, leading in the direction of the camp-fire. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring my watch wid me, but the trouble was, I was afeard that it might tire out my horse, for it was of goodly size. The last time it got out of order, it took a blacksmith in the owld country nearly a week to mend it. It was rather large, but it would have been handy. Whenever we wanted to cook anything, we could have used the case for a stew-pan, or we could have b’iled eggs in the same, and when we started our hotel at New Boston, it would have done for a gong. It was rather tiresome to wind up nights, as the key didn’t give you much leverage, and if your hold happened to slip, you was likely to fall down and hurt yersilf. But here we are, as Jimmy O’Donovan said when he j’ined his father and mother in jail.”

  CHAPTER XXX

  Discussions and Plans

  When they reached the camp-fire, it had burned so low that they threw on considerable more wood before sitting down to their lunch. As it flamed up and the cheerful light forced the oppressive gloom back from around them, both felt a corresponding rise in spirits.

  “It was lucky that I brought along that maat,” remarked Mickey, as he produced the venison, already cooked and prepared for the palate. “It’s a custom that Mr. Soot Simpson showed me, and I like it very much. You note that the maat would be a great deal better if we had some salt and pepper, or if we could keep it a few days till it got tender; but, as it is, I think we’ll worry it down.”

  “It seems to me that I never tasted anything better,” responded Fred, “but that, I suppose, is because I become so hungry before tasting it.”

  “Yees are right. If ye want to know how good a cup of water can taste, go two days without drinking; or if ye want to enjoy a good night’s rest, sit up for two nights, and so, if ye want to enjoy a nice maal of victuals, ye must fast for a day or two. Now, I don’t naad any fasting, for I always enjoyed ating from the first pratie they giv me to suck when I was a few waaks old.”

  “Well, Mickey, you’ve been pretty well around the cave, and I want to know what you think of our chance of getting out?”

  The face of the Irishman became serious, and he looked thoughtfully into the fire a moment before answering. Disposed as he was to view everything from the sunshiny side, Mickey was not such a simpleton as to consider their incarceration in the cave a matter that could be passed off with a quirp and jest. He had explored the interior pretty thoroughly, and gained a correct idea of their situation, but as yet he saw no practical way of getting out. The plan of diving down the stream, and trusting to Providence to come up on the outside was to be the last resort.

  Mickey did not propose to undertake it until convinced that no other scheme was open to him. In going about the cave, he struck the walls in the hope of finding some weak place, but they all gave forth that dead sound which would have been heard had they been backed up by fifty feet of solid granite. Among the many schemes that he had turned over in his mind, none gave as little promise as this, and he dismissed it as utterly impracticable.

  He could conjure no way of reaching that opening above their heads. He could not look up at that irregular, jagged opening without thinking how easy it would be to rescue them, if they could make their presence known to some one outside. There was Sut Simpson, who must have learned that he had gone upon the wrong trail, and who had, therefore, turned back to the assistance of his former comrade.

  The latter knew him to be a veteran of the prairie, one who could read signs that to others were like a sealed book, and whose long years of adventure with the tribes of the Southwest had taught him all their tricks; but whether he would be likely to follow the two, and to understand their predicament, was a question which Mickey could not answer with much encouragement to himself. Still there was a possibility of its being done, and now and then the Irishman caught himself looking up at the “skylight,” with a longing, half-expectant gaze.

  There were several other schemes which he was turning over in his mind, none of which, however, had taken definite shape, and, not wishing to discourage his young friend, he answered his question as best he could.

  “Well, my laddy, we’re going to have a hard time to get out, but I think we’ll do it.”

  “But can you tell me how?”

  Mickey scratched his head in his perplexed way, hardly feeling competent to come down to particulars.

  “I can’t, exactly; I’ve a good many plans I’m turning over in my head, and some of them are very fine and grand, and its hard to pick out the right one.”

  Fred felt that he would like to hear what some of them were, but he did not urge his friend, for he suspected that the fellow was trying to keep their courage up.

  They had finished their meal, and were sitting upon the sandy soil, discussing the situation and throwing an occasional longing look at the opening above. They had taken care to avoid getting directly beneath it; for they had no wish to have man or animal tumble down upon their heads. Now and then some of the gravel loosened and rattled down, and the clear light that made its way through the overhanging bushes showed that the sun was still shining, and, no doubt, several hours still remained to them in which to do any work that might present itself. But, unfortunately, nothing remained to do.

  Whatever were the different schemes which Mickey was turning over in his mind, none of them was ripe enough to experiment with. As the Irishman thought of this and that, he decided to make no special effort until the morrow. He and Fred could remain where they were without inconvenience for a day or two longer, but it was necessary, too, that they should have their full strength of body and mind when the time should come to work.

  “Sometimes when I git into a sore puzzle,” said Mickey, “and so many beautiful and irritating plans come up before me that I cannot find it in my heart which way to decide, I goes to slape and drames me way through it, right straight into the right way.”

  “Did you ever find your path out of trouble?” inquired Fred.

  “Very frequently—that is, not to say so frequently—but on one or two important occasions. I mind the time when I was coorting Bridget O’Flaherty and Mollie McFizzle, in the ould counthry. Both of ’em was fine gals, and the trouble was for me to decide which was the best as a helpmate to meself.

  “Bridget had red hair and beautiful freckles and a turn-up nose, and she was so fond of going round without shoes that her feet spread out like boards; Molly was just as handsome, but her beauty was of another style. She had very little hair upon her pad, and a little love-pat she had wid an old beau of hers caused a broken nose, which made her countenance quite picturesque. She was also cross-eyed, and when she cocked one eye down at me, while she kept a watch on the door wid the other, there was a loveliness about her which is not often saan in the famale form.”

  “And you could n’t decide which of these would make you the best wife?”

  “Nary a once. The attraction of both was nearly equal.”

  “But how about their housekeeping? I’ve often heard father tell what a splendid housekeeper mother was, and how he would rather have his wife a good housekeeper than beautiful.”

  “But the trouble was, I had both. I’ve described you the charms and grace of each, and when I add that both were elegant housekeepers, ye’ll admit that my dilemma was greater than ever. They both handled the broom to perfection; they could knock a chap clane across the cabin and out of the window before ye could know what was coming. Me mither used to say it was the housekeeping qualities that should decide, and she told me to call upon ’em sometime when they was n’t expecting me, and obsarve the manner in which they handled things. Wal, Bridget was the first one that I sneaked in upon. I heard a thumping noise as I drew near, as though something was tumbling about the floor, and when I peeped through the door, I saw that Bridget and her mother was having a delightful love-pat. They was banging and whaling each other round the room, and, as the old lady had her muscle well up, it was hard to tell which was coming out ahead. Of course, my symp
athies were with the lovely Bridget, and I was desirous that she should win—but I didn’t consider it my duty to interfere. I supposed the old lady had been trying to impose too much work on Bridget, and, therefore, she had rebelled, and was lambasting her for the same. My interest in the little affair was so great, that I pushed the door ajar, and stood with me mouth and eyes wide open. It wasn’t long before I began to get worried, for, from the way things looked, the owld lady was getting the upper hand. I was thinking I would have to sail in and lend a helping hand, when Bridget fotched the old lady a whack that made her throw up the sponge. Wid that I felt so proud that I sung out a word of encouragement, and rushed forward to embrace my angel, but, before I could do so, she give me a swipe that sent me backward through the door, busting it off, and I was out of the ring.

  “The interview was very satisfactory,” continued Mickey, “and I wint over to take a sly paap at Molly. As I drawed near the little hut on the edge of the wood, I did n’t hear any such noise as I noticed over at Bridget’s house. All was as still as it is here this minute. Me first thought was that they all had gone away, but when I got nearer, I noted my mistake. Molly’s mother was busy sewing, and sitting near her was her charming daughter Molly, leaning back in her chair, with her head thrown still further back, her mouth wide open, and she a-snoring. I’ve no doubt that she had become exhausted from overwork, and was taking a little nap. The mother looked up as I stepped softly in, and I axed her, in an undertone, how long her pet child had been asleep. She said between two or three hours, and that she would wake her up, if Molly hadn’t told her before closing her eyes that if she dared to disturb her before her nap was finished, she’d break the old lady’s head. Knowing the delicate relations that existed betwaan us, she suggested that I should arouse her, she being afraid that she would sleep so long that she would starve to death before she awoke. I wanted to come at the matter gintly, so I took a straw and tickled Molly’s nose. She snorted a little, and rubbed it with her fist, but didn’t open her eyes. I’d undertook the job, however, and I was bound to do it, or die. So I wiggled at her nostrils, and she made a yell and a jump, and was wide awake. I don’t mind me all that took place just then. Things was kind of confused, and, when Molly lit on me, I thought the cabin had tumbled in. My senses came back arter a while, and when I got my head bandaged up, I wint home to dream over it.”

  “And what was your dream?” asked Fred.

  “In my slumbers, I saw both my loves going for each other like a couple of Kilkenny cats, until there was nothing of aither lift. I took that as a sign that naither of ’em was interested for me, and so I give them up, sneaking off and sailing for Ameriky before they learned my intintions.”

  CHAPTER XXXI

  An Exchange of Shots

  Mickey proposed to act upon his own suggestion, which was to go to sleep as soon as the day ended and discuss the many different plans during his slumbers. He had a strong hope that the right one could be hit upon by this method. Somehow or other, his thoughts were fixed upon the stream, where it disappeared under the rocks, and, leaving Fred by the camp-fire, he relit his torch and went off to make another survey.

  The lad watched the star-like point of light flickering in the gloom as his friend moved along, holding the torch over his head. It seemed to the watcher that when it paused they were separated by nearly a half mile. The light had an odd way of vanishing and remaining invisible for several minutes that made him think that some accident had befallen the bearer, or that the light had gone out altogether; but after a time it would reappear, dancing about in a way to show that the bearer was not idle in his researches.

  Mickey O’Rooney was indeed active. After making his way to the point he was seeking, he shied off to the right, and approached the chasm, down which Fred had lost his rifle. As he stood on the edge of the rent in the fathomless darkness, he loosened a boulder with his foot, and as it toppled over, listened for the result. The way was so narrow that it bounded like a ball from side to side, and the Irishman heard it as it went lower and lower, until at last the strained ear could detect nothing more. There was no sound that came to him to show that it had reached the bottom.

  “I s’pose it’s going yet,” reflected Mickey, after listening several minutes, “and no doubt it will kaap on till it comes out somewhere in Chiny, which I’ve been told is on t’other side of the world. Now, why could n’t we do the same?” he asked himself, with a sharp turn of the voice. “If that stone is on its way to Chiny, why can’t we folly on after it? If we can’t reach the crust of the world at this point, what’s to hinder our going round by Chiny?—that’s what I’d like to know. I wonder how long it would take us? I s’pose we’d get up pretty good steam, and go faster and faster, so that we wouldn’t be many days on the road.

  “But there’s one great objection,” he added, scratching his head and knitting his brow with thought. “There’s nothing to stop us from bouncing from side to side like that stone. If the way is rough, we’d be pretty sartin to get our breeches pretty well ripped off us, and by the time we raiched Chiny, we wouldn’t be in a condition to be presented in coort; and then, too, I haven’t enough money about me to pay my way home again.”

  The visionary scheme was one of those which grew less in favor the more he reflected upon it, and, after turning it over for some minutes longer, he was naturally compelled to abandon the idea.

  “I must try the stream agin,” he said, as he rose to his feet and groped his way back. “That seems to be the best door, after all, though it ain’t the kind I hanker after.”

  He thrust one end of the torch in the ground some distance away, and walked to the bank close to the great rock beneath which the stream dove and disappeared. Stooping down, he observed the same dull, white appearance that had caught his eye in the first place. Beyond question this was caused by the sunlight striking the water from the outside.

  “I could almost swear that a feller wouldn’t have to go more than twenty feet before he’d strike daylight,” mused Mickey, as he folded his arms and looked thoughtfully at the misty relief of the surrounding darkness; “and it would n’t take much more to persuade me to make the dive and try it.”

  As Mickey stood there, contemplating as best he could the darkly flowing stream, and debating the matter with himself, he was on the very eve of making the attempt fully half a dozen times. It seemed to him that he could not fail, and yet there was something in the project which held him back.

  The stream at that point flowed quite rapidly, and the strongest swimmer, after venturing a few feet under water, would be utterly unable to return. Once started, there would be no turning back, so he concluded not to make the decisive trial just yet.

  “The day is pretty nearly ended, and I will drame over it. I told me laddy that that was my favorite way of getting out of such a scrape, and I’ll thry it. If there’s no plan that presints itself by tomorrow, then I’ll thry it then or the day after.”

  Going to where his torch was still burning in the sand, he drew it out and moved back toward his old camp-fire.

  “Well, me laddy, how have you made out during me absince? Have you—-”

  He paused and looked about him.

  “Begorrah, but no laddy is here. Can it be that he has strayed off, and started to Chiny so as to head me off? I say! Fred, me laddy, have ye—-”

  “Sh! sh!”

  And as the hurried aspirate was uttered, the boy came running silently out of the darkness, with his hand raised in a warning way.

  “What is it?” asked Mickey, in amazement; “have ye found another dead man?”

  “No; he’s a live one!”

  “What do yez mane? Explain yerself.”

  The lad pointed to the opening over their heads, and motioned to his friend not to draw too near the camp-fire. There was danger in doing so.

  “There’s somebody up there,” he added, “and they’re looking for us.”

  “Are ye sure of that?” asked the Irishman, not a l
ittle excited at the news. “It may be that Soot Simpson has found us. Begorrah, if there is n’t any mistake about it, as me uncle remarked, when he heard that the ship with his wife on was lost at saa, then I’ll execute the Donnybrook jig in the highest style of the art. What was it that aroused your suspicion that some jintleman was onmannerly enough to be paaping down on us?”

  “I was sitting here watching you, or rather your torch, and all the time the gravel kept rattling down faster and faster, till I knowed there was something more than usual going on up there, and I sneaked away from the fire, where I could get a better look. I went right under the place, and was about to see something worth seeing, when some dirt dropped plump into my eye, and I couldn’t see anything for a while. After I had rubbed the grit out I took another look, and I know I saw something moving up there.”

  “What did it look like?” asked Mickey, who was moving cautiously around, with his gaze fixed upon the same opening.

  “I couldn’t tell, though I tried hard to get a glimpse. It seemed to me that some one had a stick in his hand, and was beating around the edges of the opening, as though he wanted to knock the loose dirt off. I could see the stick flirted about, and fancied I could see the hand that was holding it, though I could n’t be certain of that.”

  “No; that’s a leetle too much, as me mither obsarved, when me brother Tim said that he and meself had got along a whole half day without fighting, and then she whaled us both for lying. Ye couldn’t tell a man’s hand at that distance, but I see nothing of him, and I should like ye to tell me where he’s gone.”

  “That is what puzzles me. Maybe he is afraid that we will see him.”

  Mickey was hardly disposed to accept such an explanation. It seemed to him more likely that it was some wild animal mousing around the orifice, and displacing the dirt with his paws, although he couldn’t understand why an animal should be attracted by such a spot.

  “It may be one of the spalpeens that got us into all this trouble,” he added, still circling slowly about, with his eyes fixed upon the opening. “Those Apaches are sharp-eyed, and perhaps one of their warriors has struck our trail, and tracked us to that spot. If it’s the same, then I does n’t see what he is to gain by fooling round up there. If he’d be kind ’nough to let a lasso down that we could climb up by, there’d be some sinse in the same, but—-”