To the horror of both, at that instant there was a flash at the opening over their heads, a dull report, and the bullet buried itself in the very centre of the camp-fire.
“Begorrah, but that’s what I call cheek, as Ned McGowan used to say when the folks axed him to pay his debts. While we are looking about, and axing ourselves whether there’s anybody else at all around us, one of the spalpeens sinds his bullet down here, coming closer to us than is plaisant. Did ye obsarve him?”
“I saw nothing but the flash. Do you think they could see us?”
“Not where we are now. We’re too far away from the light. They’ve seen the fire, and by that token they’ve concluded that we must be somewhere near it.”
“But there was but one shot. Why not more?”
“We’ll get the rest of thern arter awhile. That’s a sort of faaler, thrown out to see how we take it, as Larry O’Looligan used to say when he knocked a man down. Now, do ye stand aside, and I’ll answer ’em.”
“You’d better not,” protested Fred. “They can tell where we are by the flash of our guns.”
“Whisht, now, can’t we move? Kape back in the dark like.”
The lad moved away several steps, and Mickey, who made sure that his form was not revealed by the light of his own camp-fire, circled around to the other side of the opening, which he was watching with the keenest interest. His purpose was to catch a glimpse of the wretch who had fired the shot. But that seemed about impossible. He could detect something moving now and then, and once or twice there was a twinkle of something red, like the eagle feather in the hair of the warrior, but he could make out nothing definitely.
“He’s there; and all I want to do is to be certain of hitting him,” he muttered, as he held the cocked rifle to his shoulder. “I’m afeard that if I miss he’ll take such good care of himself that I won’t get another chance—-”
“There, Mickey, there’s something,” broke in Fred, who was scrutinizing the opening as closely as he could. “Fire, quick! or you won’t get the chance!”
The words were scarcely uttered, when the Irishman, who had already taken aim, pulled the trigger, instantly lowering his piece to watch the result.
Both he and Fred fancied they heard an exclamation, but they could not be certain. There was no perceptible commotion about the skylight, but the flickering, erratic movement which had puzzled them ceased on the instant. Whether the shot had accomplished anything or not could only be conjectured, but Mickey was of the opinion that the exchange was equally without result in both cases.
CHAPTER XXXII
Footsteps in the Darkness
The direct result of this exchange of shots was to make the two parties more cautious. Mickey and Fred kept further away from the camp-fire, which they suffered to die out gradually. There was really no need fot it, and, since its presence meant danger, it was only prudent to dispense with it altogether.
For fully a half hour not the slightest movement or disturbance at the opening betrayed the presence of any one there, although there could be no doubt that their enemies were within call.
“I can’t see what they can gain by loafing around them parts, as the lassies used to obsarve in the ould country when any of the laddies tried to cut me out wid ’em. They need n’t watch for us to come out that way, for there ain’t much danger of our trying to steal out of that hole—-”
“Holloa! Look there!” exclaimed Fred, in considerable excitement; “some of them are coming down to catch us.”
Mickey had already noticed that something unusual was up, and, just as the lad spoke, the figure of what seemed to be a man blocked up the opening, and then began slowly descending, as if supported by a rope, with which his friends were lowering him into the lower room. His form was swathed with a blanket, and there was a certain majesty in the slowly sinking figure, which would have been very impressive but for the fact that it was hardly started when the thin cord by which it was suspended began to twist and untwist, causing the form to revolve forward and backward in a way that was fatal to dignity.
On the impulse of the moment, the Irishman had raised his gun to fire the moment his eyes rested upon the figure. But he restrained himself, not a little puzzled to guess the meaning of such a proceeding. The man, as they believed him to be, was slowly lowered, until something like a dozen feet below the opening, where those who had him in charge seemed to think was the proper place to hold him on exhibition for a time.
“Are you going to shoot?” asked the boy, who did not understand the delay.
“What’s the use?” he asked, with an expression of disgust.
“Why, it will stop the man coming down on us.”
“Man, do ye say? He ain’t any more a man than me gun is.”
“What, then, can he be?”
“He’s a blanket that they’ve twisted up so as to look as though it is gathered about the shoulders of an Apache. It’s easy to see that there’s nothing in it from the way it swings around, as though it was a little toy; and, be the same token, that little cord which holds him aloft is no thicker than a darning-needle. Why they are thrying such a simple thrick is more than I can tell.”
“I think I know,” said Fred. “They’ve dropped him down to find out whether we’re on the watch or not. If we didn’t pay any attention to it, they would think that neither of us was on the look-out, and they would send some others down to scalp us.”
“Be the powers, me laddy, I b’lave ye are right!” exclaimed Mickey, admiringly. “That’s just the plan of the spalpeens, by which towken, I’ll tip him a shot.”
With this he raised his rifle, and, sighting rather carelessly, fired. The shot, which was aimed at the roll of blanket, missed it altogether and cut the string which held it suspended in mid-air.
The next moment there was a dull thump upon the sand, and the package lay at the feet of the Irishman, who gave it a kick to make sure of its nature. It rebounded several feet, the resistance to the blow showing that there was nothing more than the simple blanket, and then he stooped over and examined it more closely by the sense of touch.
“’Twas very kind of the spalpeens to furnish us with a blanket that saams as good as this, though the weather ain’t so cold that we naad it just now; but sometimes the rain comes and the northers blow, and then a chap is mighty glad to have seech a convanient article about. ’Twas very kind I say.”
The result of the little experiment upon the part of the Apaches, it was apparent, was not satisfactory to them. The boy was right in his surmise of its purpose; but it cannot be supposed that they counted upon losing the blanket under any circumstances. It was a costly and beautiful one, such as are made by the Indians of the southwest, and it was new enough to be clean, so that the two fugitives had secured a prize. At all events, the Apaches must have concluded that the people below were keeping watch and ward so well that no one could descend into the cave without danger of being perforated by a rifle ball.
Shortly after this occurrence it began to grow dark above, but the cause was obvious. The day was drawing to a close. Darkness, only less profound than that within the cave below, was enwrapping the surface above.
As soon as the night had fairly descended, Mickey O’Rooney, handling a small torch with great care, made his way once more to the puzzling outlet of the underground stream. The inspection satisfied him of the accuracy of his theory. Not the slightest tinge of light relieved the impenetrable gloom. Mickey considered this strong proof that it was but a short distance to the free air outside, and his courage rose very nearly to the sticking point of making the experiment then and there.
“But we both naad sleep,” he mused, as he threw down his torch, and made his way back by the dull glare of the expiring camp-fire. “We both lost considerable last night, and a chap can’t kaap reg’lar hours any more than he can when he’s coorting three lassies at the same time, and thrying to kaap aich from suspecting it. I faal as though we shall have something lively to do tomorrow, and so
we’d better gain all the slumber we kin.”
When he reached the camp, he found the lad anxiously awaiting his return. They had signaled to each other several times, but the presence of the danger overhead rendered the boy more uneasy than usual when they were apart.
“Have ye observed nothing?” asked Mickey, in an undertone.
“Nothing at all.”
“It’s too dark I know, to see, but mebbe yees have heerd something to tell ye that the spalpeens are up there still.”
“You may be sure I listened all I know how, but everything has kept as still as the grave. I haven’t heard the fall of a pebble even. What do you think the Indians mean to do?”
“Well it’s hard to tell. It fooks as though they didn’t think we fell in, but had come down on purpose, and had some way of getting out as easy, and they’re on the look out for us.”
“Maybe, Mickey, there’s some other way of coming in, that we haven’t been able to find.”
“I hoped so a while ago, but I’ve guv it up. If them spalpeens knowed of any other way, what do they mean by fooling around that place up there, where they’re likely to get shot if they show themselves, and they’re likely to lose the best blankets they’ve got?”
Fred did not feel competent to answer this question, and so he was forced to believe that Mickey was right in his conclusion that there was no other way of entering the cave than by the skylight above.
“Which the same thing being the case, I propose that we thry and see how the new blanket answers for a bed. Begorrah! but its fine, as me mither used to say when she run her hands over the head of me dad, and felt the lumps made by the shillelah.”
And, having spread the blanket out in the dark-ness, he rubbed his hands over its velvety surface, admiring its wonderful texture. The texture is such that water can be carried in these Apache blankets with as much certainty as in a metal vessel. But Fred protested against both lying down to sleep at the same time. He thought it likely that the Apaches meant to visit the cave during the night; but his friend laughed his fears to scorn, assuring him that there could be no danger at all. In view of the reception tendered the blanket, the Apaches would take it for granted that the parties beneath were too vigilant to permit anyone to steal a march upon them.
Mickey at once attested his sincerity by stretching out upon the inviting couch, and Fred concluded at last to join him. It was not long before the Irishman was sound asleep, but the lad lay awake a long time, looking reflectively up at the spot where he knew the opening to be,—the opening which had been the means of letting himself and comrade down into that dismal retreat of solitude,—and wondering what their enemies were doing.
“They must know that I am here. Lone Wolf will punish them if they don’t keep me, so I am sure they will do all they can to catch me again. I wish I was certain that there was no way of getting in but through that up there, and then I could sleep too, but I feel too scared to do it now.”
This anxiety kept him awake a long time after Mickey became unconscious; but, as hour after hour passed and the stillness remained unbroken, his fears were gradually dissipated and a feeling of drowsiness began stealing over him.
Before consciousness entirely departed, he turned upon his side, that being the posture he generally assumed when asleep. As he made the movement and his ear was placed against the blanket, which in its turn rested upon the ground, he heard something which aroused his suspicions instantly and he raised his head. But when he rested on his hands, with his shoulders thrown up, he could hear nothing at all. The earth was a better conductor of sound than the atmosphere, which accounted for what at first seemed curious.
The boy applied his ear as before, and again he heard the noise, faintly, but distinctly; As the eye was of no use, he pressed his head against the blanket and listened. Several minutes were occupied in this manner, and then he said, in an undertone:
“I know what it is!—it is somebody walking as softly as he can. There is another way of getting into this cavern, and those Apaches have found it out. They’ve got inside and are hunting for us!”
CHAPTER XXXIII
What the Footsteps Meant
Careful listening convinced Fred that there were two red-skins groping around in the darkness. After making himself certain on that point, he reached his hand over, and, grasping the muscular arm of Mickey O’Rooney, shook his companion quite vigorously.
Fred was afraid that, in waking, the Irishman would utter some exclamation, or make such a noise that he would betray their location. When, therefore, several shakings failed to arouse him, the boy easily persuaded himself that it was best to leave him where he was for a time.
“I can tell when they come too close,” he reflected, “and then I will stir him up.”
A few minutes later he found that he could hear the noise without placing his ear against the blanket; so he lay flat on his face, resting the upper part of his body upon his elbows, with his head thrown up. He peered off in the gloom, in the direction whence the footsteps seemed to come, looking with that earnest, piercing gaze, as if he expected to see the forms of the dreaded Apaches become luminous and reveal themselves in the black night around.
No ray of light relieved the Egyptian blackness. The camp-fire had been allowed to die out completely, and no red ember, glowering like a demon’s eye, showed where it had been. The trained eye might have detected the faintest suspicion of light near the opening overhead, but it was faint indeed.
“They keep together,” added Fred to himself, as he distinguished the soft, stealthy tread over the ground. “I should think they would separate, and they would be the more likely to find the place between them; but they want to be together when they run against Mickey, I guess.”
The shadowy footsteps were not regular. Occasionally they paused, and then they hurried on again, and then they settled down into the stealthiest kind of movement. The lad, it is true, had the newly found revolver, with several of its chambers loaded, at his command. There was some doubt, however, whether it could be relied upon, owing to the probable length of time that had elapsed since the charges were placed there.
As a precaution, Mickey O’Rooney had placed new caps upon the tubes, but had chosen to leave the charges themselves undisturbed. This beautiful weapon the lad held grasped in his hand, determined to blaze away at the prowling murderers the instant they should reveal themselves with sufficient distinctness to make his shots certain.
An annoying delay followed. The Apaches seemed to know very nearly where the right spot was, without being able to locate it definitely. The footsteps were heard first in one direction and then they changed off to another. The warriors acted precisely as if they knew the location of their intended victims, but were seeking to find whether they were in the right position to be easily attacked.
Thus matters remained for ten or fifteen minutes longer, during which the lad held himself on the alert, and was no little puzzled to comprehend the meaning for the course of their enemies.
“They daren’t do anything, now that they know where we are. They’re afraid we’re on the watch, and think if they wait a while longer, we will drop off to sleep; but they will find—-”
A sudden light just then broke in upon young Munson. He was looking off in the direction of the sound, when the phosphorescent gleam of a pair of eyes shot out from the darkness upon him.
There was a greenish glare in the unexpected appearance that left no doubt of their identity. Instead of Indians, as he had imagined at first, there was some kind of a wild animal that was prowling about them. None of the Apaches had entered the cave at all—only a single beast.
But where had he come from? By what means had he entered the cave?
These were very significant questions, of the greatest importance to the two who were shut within the subterranean prison. Fred did not feel himself competent to answer, so he reached over and shook Mickey harder than ever, determined that he should arouse.
“Come, wake
up, you sleepy head,” he called out. “There might a dozen bears come down on you and eat you up, before you would open your eyes! Come, Mickey, there is need of your waking!”
“Begorrah—but—there’s more naad of me slaaping,” muttered the Irishman, gradually recalling his senses. “I was in the midst of a beautiful draam, in which there came two lovely females, that looked like Bridget O’Flaherty and Molly McFizzle. Both were smiling in their winsome way on me, and both were advancing to give me a swaat kiss, or a crack over the head, I don’t know which, when, just before they raiched me, you sticks out your paw and gives me a big shake. Arrah, ye spalpeen, why did ye do that?”
“Didn’t you hear me say there was something in the cavern? I thought there were a couple of Apaches at first, but I guess it is a wild animal.”
The Irishman was all attention on the instant, and he started bolt upright.
“Whisht! what’s that ye’re saying? Will ye plaze say it over again?”
The lad hurriedly told him that an animal of some kind was lurking near them. Mickey caught up his rifle, and demanded to know where he was. In such darkness as enveloped them it was necessary that the eyes of the beast should be at a certain angle in order to become visible to the two watchers. Both heard his light footsteps, and knew where the eyes were likely to be discerned.
“There he is!” exclaimed Fred, as he caught sight of the green, phosphorescent glitter of the two orbs, which is peculiar to the eyes of the feline species.
Mickey detected them at the same moment, and drew his rifle to his shoulder. He kept the kneeling position, fearing that the target would vanish if he should wait until he could rise. It is no easy thing for a hunter to take aim when he is utterly unable to detect the slightest portion of his weapon, and it was this fact which caused Mickey to delay his firing. However, before he could make his aim any way satisfactory, a bright thought struck him, and he lowered his gun, carefully letting the hammer down upon the tube.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 279
