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CHAPTER XX
WITH THE MEXICAN RANGERS
Coyote Pete felt that he was passing through the most critical moments of his adventurous life. At the very least, he estimated the drop to the bottom of the gully must be several hundred feet.
Obviously it was impossible for him to extricate himself from the hurtling log, yet to remain in it was to doom himself to almost certain destruction. Yet, as the log shot down like an object dropped from a balloon, he realized that when it struck the earth he would be battered into annihilation.
But even in a situation which would have caused most men to swoon with terror, Coyote could think, and think coolly, too.
Suddenly, though, there came a sudden interruption to the downward progress of the great log with its human freight enclosed.
Crash!
Every nerve in Coyote Pete’s frame seemed to be ripped asunder. Every tooth in his head was jarred. He lay still, feeling pounded and stunned, like a boy who has just had a hard fight with some school tyrant.
“The log has landed, evidently,” he exclaimed, “but how? Where? Why aren’t I dead?”
Suddenly he became aware that the wood encasing him like a coffin had become easier in its pressure on him. He moved, and with a tearing, rending sound the log burst asunder.
Like a butterfly from its cocoon, – if Coyote will forgive me for comparing his rugged form to a butterfly, – the cow-puncher, bruised, wounded and sore in every limb, peered forth. Where was he?
All at once he felt the portion of the log which remained beneath him gently swaying like a boat on rippling waves. In a short time, by cautious feeling about him, he found that the log had, by some providential miracle, landed on a sort of island of trees growing, apparently, right straight out from the cliff face. As he realized his position the cold sweat burst out in great drops on his brow and all over his body. If this was the case his fate was to be worse than if he had been dashed to pieces and mercifully killed outright.
Hung where he was between heaven and earth, he would have to die miserably of starvation, unless madness intervened and he leaped crazily to his own destruction. All at once, as he made his investigations, his foot slipped, and with a cry of actual terror the cow-puncher felt himself beginning to dart downward through space. By a desperate, despairing effort he clutched the branches as he fell, and drew himself, with infinite pains, back upon his precious perch. Once there he lay trembling and nauseated at the thought of the narrowness of his escape from a plunge into the abyss.
Of all the tight places he had ever been in, Coyote Pete was surely now in the very worst. He felt the wall behind him when he had somewhat recovered from his attack of deadly sickness. It was smooth as glass. No chance of climbing up. He would have examined his surroundings at greater length, but he dared not risk another slip like the one that had so unnerved him.
It was many years since Coyote Pete had prayed, but he did so then, commending his soul to his Maker, for that he would ever escape from his frightful predicament he did not dare to hope. Somewhat calmer after his devotions he lay still, not daring to move lest the motion of his body might dislodge some of the rotten wood, and he could not bear to think of hearing it go dropping down into that awful gorge beneath, finally losing all sound in the dread profundities.
It was unlikely in the extreme that he would ever be found, for in that unfrequented part of the mountain fastnesses it was most improbable that anyone ever passed. It was only the thirst for gold that had brought Ramon into the rugged place.
There came no sound from above, and Coyote concluded that the outlaws, hearing the crash of the landing, had concluded that he was dead, and departed.
“What a story fer the boys and the professor to hyar,” groaned the unhappy man, burying his face in his hands.
So the dark hours rolled away and daylight came. But those hours of terror had unnerved Coyote terribly. With the coming of day he dreaded more than ever to look beneath him. He felt that if he ever dared to gaze into the voids which he felt must lie beneath his fragile perch, that he must be impelled by a crazy desire to leap into space.
So strong did this feeling become that he lay there, not daring to look about him, until a sudden sound smote on his ears, – the sharp rattle of hoofs, coming apparently from the canyon above which his log was perched in such a precarious condition.
The sound in arousing Coyote’s hopes of rescue, – though how they were to rescue him he did not know, – had likewise temporarily banished his keener fears. Cautiously he peeped over the edge of his eyrie and then gave vent to a shout of astonishment that went echoing and roaring off among the canyon walls.
“Mother of all the bob cats!” he howled, “here I’ve bin lying all night ez scared ez a sick puppy and not ten feet above the ground!”
Such, in fact, was the case. The trees in which the log had so fortunately landed, grew out from almost the base of the great cliff. Coyote, glancing up, saw that they were the only ones on its hundred and fifty feet of height.
“Coyote, you old idjut, ain’t you never goin’ to larn?” the cowboy admonished himself. “Why didn’t you drop suthin’ down ter see how far you was above the ground, you consarned, double-barreled old chump? You’d hev saved yourself some gray hairs ef you hed.”
Reproaching himself thus, the cow-puncher dropped lightly from one of the lower branches of the trees to the ground.
“Wish I’d done that when I slipped last night,” he said. “Hold on, though, on second thoughts, I don’t. I’d have bin dead o’ fright afore I touched the ground in that case.”
But now the hoof beats which had attracted his attention were coming nearer. The floor of the canyon was so strewn with Titanic rock masses, though, that it was impossible to see more than a few yards in either direction.
“Wonder if that ain’t thet Ramon and his bunch come ter look at ther remains?” thought Pete. “Guess I’ll be on the safe side and jes’ duck a ’hind this yar rock till I make sure.”
So saying, he slipped between two boulders into a small natural cave in which he felt he would be secure from observation, and yet be able to see what was going forward. He had not long to wait. Suddenly, around the corner of one of the huge rock piles, there swung a troop of gaily caparisoned riders; Mexicans, beyond a doubt. Their serapes streamed out behind them in the wind like gaudy streamers.
“Now, what bunch of pesky greasers is this yar?” Pete was beginning to himself, when suddenly he broke off in amazement:
“Jack Merrill’s among ’em, by ginger. He’s a prisoner! No, he ain’t! He’s talking ter that chap in front with ther silver-mounted rifle. Bob cats! I have it now. It’s a troop of rurales, and they’re on the trail of Ramon!
“Yip-yip-yee-ee-ee!”
Giving vent to the long-drawn cow-puncher yell, Coyote Pete dashed from his place of concealment, and a more astonished lad than Jack Merrill I can assure you, you never saw, when he perceived the old plainsman suddenly bob up out of a great rock mass in that lonely canyon.
In his excess of joy Coyote fairly flung his arms about Jack’s neck.
But scant time could be given to greetings. Explanations were in order. Exclamations of indignation and of fury ran like wildfire among the Rangers, as the old plainsman told his tale. Then Jack related how he had fared, and how they had trailed the marauders, being much delayed at times, though, by faulty tracks where the party had passed over hard ground.
“By ginger, I never noticed till now, that we are in the same canyon we came through with that outfit of Ramon’s late yesterday!” exclaimed Pete. “Gloomy place, ain’t it? And it seemed pretty glum to me last night, I can tell you.”
He gazed at the cliff and shuddered a little. He could not help it.
“Say, Jack, hez my hair turned white?” he asked suddenly.
“No,” laughed the boy, “why?”
“Arter what I went through, I hearn tell of such things. Me for a nice snug place in a stampede, or the front rank in a shooting scrape arter this. I’ve no more use for exciting sports.”
“Senors,” interrupted the leader of the Rangers presently, “we had better be proceeding. Ramon may have broken camp and gone on by this time, and again he may have – ”
“May have what?” asked Jack, for the capitano paused and seemed unwilling to proceed.
“I do not wish to alarm you unduly, senor,” said the young officer, “but I know the character of that notorious outlaw well. It is possible that if we do not hurry we may arrive too late to save your friends from a terrible fate.”
The thought was maddening to Jack.
“Oh, that we have been fooling away time here!” he exclaimed impatiently; “Pete, you can mount behind me. There. Are you all right? Yes? Then forward!”
“Forward!” shouted the officer, and the bugle rang shrilly out.
Amidst a cloud of dust the Mexican Rangers swept on down the canyon, intent on their errand of vengeance.
CHAPTER XXI
THE CAPTAIN PLAYS A TRICK
All at once, as they reached a part of the canyon where it narrowed into a mere defile, something came rattling down the side of the steep wall to the right. It was a dislodged pebble, but it caused the advancing corps to look up swiftly.
Above them, outlined against the sky, were several figures, – those undoubtedly of the men of whom they were in search. As they were still looking upward, the men on the cliff summit began to pump down lead, the bullets singing and droning and pattering about them like a leaden hail storm.
“Hot work,” grunted Pete, noting with enthusiasm the absolute collectedness of the leader of the Rangers. He gave a sharp command and his men swung into single file and pulled their ponies over till they were riding so close to the rock wall of the canyon that it was necessary for the riders to throw one leg up on the saddle. This made it impossible for the marksmen on the summit to pick them off, for the cliff hung outward a little.
“As I thought, the rascals were prepared for us,” said the young officer, “how far is it now, Senor Coyote, to the camp?”
“Ten minutes should bring us thar, – ah!”
A big rock hurled from above struck the ground in front of and a little to one side of the advancing cavalcade. It split to pieces from the force of its impact.
“If that had hit anyone his troubles would hev bin over,” snorted Pete without turning a hair.
Jack paled a little, though. In a few seconds they would reach a part of the canyon where they could no longer crowd in under the slightly overhanging cliff. At this point they would be exposed to the full fury of any rifle fire or stone volley which the brigands above might pour down on them.
But the officer of the Rangers had, it seemed, anticipated this. He ordered one of his men to dismount and remove his regimentals. This done, the empty garments were filled with brush and leaves, and the sombrero was tied securely to the upper part of the dummy, which, at a distance, and particularly from above, would resemble pretty closely a real man.
The dummy was then mounted on a pony, a lame animal and not good for much. After its “rider” had been securely fastened in place, the pony was given a couple of whacks with the Rangers’ long quirts, and frenzied with excitement it plunged forward.
These operations had all been carried on in the shadow of the overhanging cliff, and those above had no knowledge of the trick that was to be played on them till they saw the apparently daring rider suddenly dash from the shelter. Instantly a volley of rifle shots was poured down upon the dummy, and a veritable avalanche of mighty rocks and boulders were hurled downward. The luckless pony galloped bravely down through this inferno of bullets and missiles, only to have its life exterminated by a quick-killing bullet after about five minutes of flight.
“Now, senors!”
The young officer, his eyes aflame, dashed forward, followed by his Rangers and our adventurers. The Ranger, whose pony had been sacrificed, was carried on the back of another trooper’s saddle. In a minute they were in the open and a howl of fury from above testified how thoroughly the outlaws had been tricked. Their fire had been drawn and they had exhausted the available supply of large rocks on the dummy!
As the column dashed across the unprotected space, a scattering fire whistled about them, but no more injury than a few punctured saddles and a damaged hat or two was done. The next instant the cavalcade swept out of the canyon and into the small plateau where the camp of the night before had been made.
A delighted shout burst from Jack’s lips, and was echoed instantly by Coyote Pete as they perceived, still tied and bound, their companions in adventure. A feeble cry answered them, and an instant later the reunited party was furiously shaking hands, slapping backs and jumping about in a thousand ecstatic antics, while the Rangers looked on, shrugging their shoulders at the mad Gringoes, and rolling cigarettes.
“Shall we pursue the outlaws?” asked Jack, after the first transports were over and comparative quiet had settled down.
The officer shook his head.
“It would be useless now. We have scattered them and let us hope that we have heard the last of them. It will be my duty, however, to keep a constant lookout for them.”
To the boys’ delight, their stolen stock was all there, too. Firewater whinnied delightedly as he saw his young master, and even the burros seemed to take part in the general rejoicing. While the brigands had made some inroads on the boys’ provisions, there still remained enough food to last them, with care, on the remainder of their dash for the Trembling Mountain.
After the tension of the last few hours it was delightful to feel a sense of security once more. Their enemies were scattered and it was unlikely that the band would attempt any more high-handed methods. Should they do so, however, it would be too late, for before they set forward on the last stage of their journey the adventurers arranged with the captain to meet him and his Rangers at a spot near the Trembling Mountain in three days’ time.
The young officer willingly agreed, but expressed some curiosity as to the nature of their quest. He was informed that the object of the expedition was a scientific one, to investigate the reports of the relics of a forgotten race that lay within the bowels of the mountain.
Jack parted with the Rangers with regret. He had come to admire them for their dash, courage and resource. They were ideal troops for the rough country they patrolled and kept in order by rough and ready methods. The young officer, too, felt much regard for Senor Jack, as he called him.
So a few hours after the reunion in the outlaws’ abandoned camp, the two parties set out in different directions. The Rangers followed the course they assumed that Ramon had taken in his flight, while our adventurers struck out for the smoking peaks which were now much nearer than when they had had their first sight of them. They traveled the rest of that day at a good speed, and sunset found them camped in a pleasant little valley where the broad-fronded banana tree grew, whose fruit afforded a welcome addition to their menu.
The next day, at noon, the professor, after making an observation, announced that they were then within a few hours’ travel of the Trembling Mountain. This announcement was, in fact, hardly necessary, for all day a mighty peak, from whose snow-covered summit there issued a lazy roll of smoke, had overshadowed their way. Everybody guessed that the frowning acclivity was the mountain for which they had come so far in quest.
Late afternoon brought them to its base, and with his measuring instruments the professor, an hour after camp had been pitched, located the entrance which no other American, assuredly, had ever passed. Their pulses beat swift and hard, as the lads and Coyote followed the old man over the rock-strewn slopes to the spot.
Amid a grove of dark, sombre trees, – somehow suggesting a sacrificial grove, – lay the entrance to the Trembling Mountain. All felt a sense of mystical awe as they stood in the solemn shadows. It was as if they had come under the spell of some tremendous brooding presence. Quite unconsciously they spoke in whispers.
It was the same feeling that overcomes one in the aisle of some mighty cathedral. As if to accentuate the similarity of impression, the wind sighing softly in the dark, dome-shaped trees, sounded like a solemn chant, now high and tremulous, now low in a rumbling diapason that thrilled.
CHAPTER XXII
THE DWELLING OF A VANISHED RACE
“Gee, it’s kind of lonesome, ain’t it?” said Pete, expressing exactly what they all felt.
Although they now stood in the presence of the long-sought goal, somehow each one of the party felt uncomfortably impressed. A nameless fear hung about the place. It was with difficulty that they shook off the feeling and examined the surroundings further.
The entrance to the cave itself must have escaped observation had one not known it was there. It was square, with a mighty cross-bar of unhewn stone supporting its summit. In this cross-bar were cut some rude hieroglyphics, but even the professor, savant though he was, could not hazard a guess at their meaning.
The professor, alone, seemed unimpressed by the gloomy majesty and mystery of the place. His eyes burned with a scientific fire and he rubbed his hands briskly together.
“At last!” he breathed, as if in an ecstasy, “who knows what unknown treasures we may reveal to the world, beyond that portal!”
“Shall we go inside?” asked Jack presently.
“We might as well now as at any other time,” said the professor, “Ralph, will you and Walter go back to the camp and get the torches?”
The lads at once hastened off on their errand. Truth to tell, they were each rather glad to get, for a short time only, out of the spell of that somber spot.
The torches referred to were of the kerosene variety, but specially made to burn for twenty-four hours continuously. They had been made to the professor’s order for the expedition.
The boys returned shortly with the illuminants. Ralph also brought a supply of matches and a canteen of water, and both boys had stuffed their pockets full of what food they could hastily get together. The professor praised their foresight and then, from his own pocket, produced a huge spool of coarse, strong thread.
“I took the hint from the classics,” he said, “you all recollect the tale of the labyrinth? Well, we will make this thread fast at the entrance, and as we go along we will unwind it. In that way if we get lost we can find our way back by feeling along the thread.”
“That’s a splendid idea,” cried Jack, “I tell you I shouldn’t much fancy the idea of going in there, unless I was pretty sure how I was going to get out again.”
“I don’t blame you,” said the professor, “and now are we all ready?”
“All right!” came in a chorus, and led by the man of science, the adventurers crossed the mystic threshold. A thrill shot through even Coyote Pete, the least impressible of the party, as they did so. How long had it been since the race of ancient dwellers of the Chinipal had swarmed those subterranean corridors, now as silent as midnight?
The torches soon became necessary for the passage sloped abruptly downward from the portal. The smoky light showed them that they were in a sort of corridor, seemingly hewn out of the rock. It was about ten feet in width and some eight or nine in height. The floor was worn almost concave by the constant tread of the feet that had passed and repassed in the bygone ages.
For some distance the sloping passage ran on, and then they suddenly found themselves in a vaulted chamber where their footsteps rang echoingly. Great stalactites hung from the roof glittering whitely as the torch light fell upon them.
“This is magnificent!” breathed the professor, “a wonderland of science.” His voice, raised a little in his enthusiasm, went booming and reverberating hollowly through the place. From the remotest corners there came rumbling back echo-like the last words of his exclamation.
“I guess we had better not talk so loud,” said Ralph, shivering a bit at this uncanny manifestation.
“No, somebody might hear you,” scoffed Walt, who was putting on an air of great assurance. Suddenly he emitted a yell and jumped about four feet. Something had crept up behind him in the darkness and laid a cold hand on the back of his neck. It was Coyote Pete who had noted the boy’s arrogance and wanted to give him a lesson. After that Walt was as quiet as a lamb.
Pressing forward, their torches showed them the entrance to another dark passage on the other side of the vaulted chamber.
“Shall we keep on?” asked the professor of his young charges.
“By all means, so far as I am concerned,” was Jack’s reply. “I don’t know about Walt, though,” he added a trifle maliciously.
“Oh, I’m all right. Don’t worry about me,” the ranch lad assured him.
“Then forward it is,” announced the professor, plunging once more into the narrow confines of a subterranean corridor.
But suddenly an alarming thing happened. A great rush of wind beat against their faces accompanied by a roaring, rushing sound, somewhat like the voice of the cloudburst on the never-to-be-forgotten night when they had lost their equipment.
In a flash their torches were extinguished and they were plunged into total darkness, something soft and clammy brushed by Jack’s head and then a perfect avalanche of the same unpleasant things was upon them. They were knocked down like ten pins by the charge, and badly scared, too, as you may imagine.
Presently the noise and the turmoil ceased, and the passage was quiet once more with the roar of the mysterious creatures dying away in the distance.
“Let’s get out of this!” cried Walt tremblingly.
“Nonsense,” said the professor. “We might have expected some such thing. Those were bats. Thousands of them, I guess, who have made their home here undisturbed for centuries.”
“Wonder if they are of the kind that suck your blood?” shuddered Ralph, with the horror of the contact of the clammy bodies still upon him.
“Vampires, you mean?” asked the professor. “No, at least I don’t think so. We are too far north for that. The vampire is found in South America, in Brazil and so on. But let us light up the torches again.”
Ralph produced the matches and a cheerful red glow soon radiated upon the stone walls and roof. A sickly, musty smell, the trace of the bats, was still in the air, however, as a reminder of their passing.
The passage soon ended, and the professor’s feet encountered a steep flight of steps cut in the stone, or so it seemed.
“Be careful, boys,” he warned, “a slip here might prove fatal.”
Very cautiously, therefore, they descended into what at first appeared to be a bottomless pit. Suddenly their torches glittered on something that shone like molten metal beneath them.
“Water!” cried the professor.
“A lake,” added Jack, raising his torch so that the light illumined what appeared to be a considerable body of water.
“Water, sure enough,” echoed Pete, “maybe it’s another subterranean river like that one at the Haunted Mesa.”
“This is no river,” said the professor. “See, its surface is as smooth as glass.”
By this time they had descended to the rocky shelf which ran all around the edge of the subterranean lake, while above their torch-light fell redly on a domed roof of dark stone.
“Look! Look!” cried Walter suddenly, “Fish!”
Sure enough, they could now see shoals of white-tinted fish swimming near the surface.
“Can it be that the light attracts them?” wondered Jack.
“Not likely,” said the professor, “I guess they are blind. It is not unusual to find fish in these subterranean lakes. Specimens have been found in our own country and in many places in Europe which boast similar bodies of water.”
Walt had been leaning over the edge of the lake intent, apparently, on trying to catch one of the blind fish. Suddenly he gave a sharp outcry, which was immediately followed by a splash.
“He is overboard!” cried Pete, rushing to the spot and throwing himself on his stomach so as to catch Walt when he rose to the surface. But at that instant a startling thing happened.
Simultaneously almost with the splash of the unlucky ranch boy, there came a sound as of some great body rushing through the water from some remote corner of the cave to which their light did not penetrate. The next instant a cry of real horror broke from all their throats as a terrible misshapen head with blind eyes reared itself above the water and darted at Walt as he rose to the surface.
It was apparently a might eel, a creature of undreamed of dimensions. Its slimy, whitish-colored body was thick as a barrel and its lothsome head and sightless slits of eyes gave it a hideously repulsive appearance.
“Pete! Pete! Save me!” shrieked Walt.
But in another instant it would have been too late had it not been for the old plainsman’s coolness. Stretching out one hand to Walt as he struggled in the water, the cow-puncher’s other hand slid to his waist. The next instant a shot rang out sharply, and they saw the monster’s head sink, a stream of red blood crimsoning the water where their torches gleamed upon it.
Trembling in every limb at this narrow escape, Walt was dragged out. The professor had had the foresight to carry with him some stimulating medicine, and a portion of this he poured down the half-fainting lad’s throat. Under its influence the naturally strong lad soon revived, but there was still a scared look in his eyes.
“What could that monster have been?” asked Jack with a shudder in his tones.
“Undoubtedly a creature of the eel or giant conger tribe,” rejoined the scientist, “I have read that some of the ancient races used to keep such creatures, and in some cases worshipped them even to the horror of nourishing them on human lives.”
“Ugh!” exclaimed Jack, “I’m glad that Coyote’s shot killed the beast. But it could hardly have been one of the original ones.”
“Hardly,” said the professor, with a smile, “but there is no reason why such creatures should not multiply, and, as we know, there are plenty of fish in the lake for them to feed upon.”
“Then there may be others in the water?” asked Ralph.
“I see no reason why not. In fact, I – but, good gracious, what is that?”
The water became suddenly violently agitated as the body of the dead eel, fully forty feet in length, arose lazily to the surface. The reason was an onrush of its brethren gathering to a cannibal feast. It was a fearsome sight to see their jaws clamping and tearing, while their long white tentacles waved.
“Let’s get away from here,” said the professor presently. “See there is another passage. Let us find out what that leads to.”
As he spoke there came a startling interruption.
A rumbling sound, somewhat as if a heavy train were passing overhead, filled the cavern. It shook violently and the waters of the lake became wildly agitated. The monsters at once left their feast and sank into the lake, leaving the mangled body of their dead mate floating on the surface.
The rumbling grew louder and the cavern shook till the lake was lashed into little wavelets.
“It is the voice of the Trembling Mountain,” said the professor solemnly; “somewhere the mighty forces of nature’s forges are at work.”
