Kitabı oku: «The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest», sayfa 4
CHAPTER VIII.
IN THE GRIP OF SIMON LAKE
But Simon Lake’s voice, setting aside its rasping natural inflection, was mild enough as he addressed them.
“Wa-al, boys, yer see thet I’ve got a smart long arm.”
“I’d like to know by what right you’ve had us brought here in this fashion,” broke out Tom indignantly. “We’re not interfering with you. Why, then, can’t you leave us alone?”
“Jes’ cos I want er bit uv infermation frum yer,” rejoined Simon easily. He leaned down and picked up a bit of wood. Then, drawing a knife, he shaped it to a toothpick and thrust it in his mouth. During the pause the boys noticed that several rough-looking men had sauntered up from various positions about the camp. Among them was one short, stocky man, who might have been the thickset man of the boat the night before. This individual’s hat was shoved back – for it was warm and stuffy in this place – exposing a ruddy stubble of hair. A bristly mustache as coarse as wire sprouted from his upper lip. This man was Zeb Hunt, Bully Banjo’s mate when afloat and chief lieutenant ashore. In some ways he was a bigger ruffian than his superior.
“Ez I sed,” resumed Simon Lake, when he had shaped the pick to his satisfaction, “I want er bit uv infermation from yer. It ain’t often thet Simon Lake wants ter know suthin’ thet he kain’t find out right smart fer hisself. But this yar time it’s diff’ent. I’m a kalkerlatin’ on you byes helpin’ me out.”
A sudden gleam came into those cold, steely eyes. A flash of warning not to trifle with him, it seemed. But it died out as suddenly as it had come, and in his monotonous Yankee drawl, Simon went on:
“Ther hull in an’ outs uv it is – how fur hez Chillingwuth gone?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” exclaimed Tom, who had decided to act as spokesman, and silenced the impetuous Jack by a look.
“Oh, yes, yer do, boy. Daon’t try ter gilflicker me. I’m ez smart ez a steel trap, boy, and ez quick as sixty-’leven, so da-ont rile me up. I’m askin’ yer ag’in – how fur hez Chillingworth gone?”
“He’s anchored down in the cove,” said Tom, willfully misunderstanding him.
Again that angry gleam shone in Bully Banjo’s eyes. His thin lips tightened till they were a mere slit across his gaunt visage.
“Daon’t rile me, boy,” he said, in an almost pleading voice, although Tom was swift to catch the menace behind it. “Daon’t rile me. Yer seen thet them I wants I gits. Yer seen thet when that Chink yonder walked inter yer by the crick. Speak me true, bye, an’ speak me fair, an’ yer kin go on yer way. But ef yer lie – wa-al, by Juniper, you’ll wish as you wuz dead a hundred times afore you be.”
“In any event,” said Tom boldly enough, and without a quiver in his voice, though his scalp tightened and his heart beat thick and fast at these words; “in any event, if you think you can carry out any such high-handed piece of business as this without suffering for it, you’re badly mistaken.”
Simon Lake laughed. His mirth was not pleasant to hear.
“We’re in the twentieth century, recollect,” added Tom. “There is such a thing as law and order. Seattle is not so very far away. Port Townsend, too. There are police there, and the means to make you suffer.”
“Wa-al, d’ye hear thet, Zeb?” asked Bully Banjo, turning to his mate. “I kinder kalkerlate thet is ther all-firedest best joke I’ve hearn since Heck wuz a pup. By Juniper, boy,” he went on impressively, “ther ain’t no law made kin touch me. Understand? No law made. They’re welcome ter try ef they want ter. You kin see fer yourselves thet nobody wouldn’t find this place unless they knowed the way, and nobody’s not never goin’ ter diskiver it ’cept those who I’ve a mind shall. Na-ow air yer goin’ ter tell me wot Chillingworth hez done in ther matter of tryin’ ter bring me up with a short tun?”
“No. I am not,” replied Tom firmly. “That is Mr. Chillingworth’s business. Why do you ask us about it? We are only out here as his guests. We know nothing about your ras – ” “Rascality” Tom was going to say, but thought better of it and substituted: “Goings on.”
Lake smiled unpleasantly. His fingers closed suggestively around his knife.
“Yer seem ter cle’n plum everlastingly fergit thet I kin find out all I want ter know frum thet Chink thar,” he snapped suddenly, pointing to Fu, who stood apart with his tall countryman. The two seemed to be talking earnestly. As Lake turned, the tall Mongolian hastened toward him. It was as if he had overheard him, although that at the distance which he had been standing would have been impossible.
“That fellow yonder,” he said, speaking slowly, but using good English, “that fellow yonder,” pointing to Fu, “tells me that these boys and their companions were anchored on a sloop in the cove last night. They saw the burials and overheard some of our talk.”
Lake’s face grew black, as if a thundercloud had settled on it. Zeb Hunt exclaimed angrily. The men standing about began to mutter. Tom saw that the frightened Fu must have told everything.
“Is this true?” demanded Lake, turning to the boys.
“I suppose so,” rejoined Tom doggedly. He felt a helpless sense that there was no use in denying it.
“Thet means jes’ so much more ammernition in Chillingworth’s hands,” mused Lake slowly. “Consarn him! Why kain’t he fall inter line like the other ranchers? I don’t hev no trouble with them. I pay fer what I git, cash daown on the nail, an’ no questions asked. By Juniper, it’s funny ter me the way Chillingworth acts.”
“We’ve got to get the whip hand of him sooner or later,” struck in Zeb Hunt. “Why not now?”
“How d’ye mean, Zeb?” asked the lanky Bully Banjo, turning quickly on him as a man who is ready to grasp at any suggestion.
“What I mean is jest this: We’ve got these two kids here and the Chink – though the Chink don’t count. But don’t yer see thet as long ez we hold ther kids, we kin dictate terms. Ef Chillingworth gets cantankerous – biff! – one of the kids is sniffed out.”
This amiable plan was proposed in a calm way that alarmed the boys far more than if vehemence had been used. They saw that logically to keep them prisoners was the only thing for the gang to do.
Nevertheless, he hung on Simon Lake’s next words. They were not long in coming.
“Zeb,” he said approvingly, “I allers said yer hed a long haid. Now, by Chowder, I knows it. Thet’s a right smart idee. Here, Death, and you, too, Squinty, take charge of these kids, feed ’em well, but I’ll hold you responsible fer ’em. Take ’em away. I’ll make up my mind later what we’ll do with ’em.”
Then, apparently noticing Tom’s start at the ominous name of one of the worthies who came forward at the word of command, the mighty Bully Banjo condescended to explain:
“Death’s right name is ‘Death on the Trail’ He’s a Chinook, and ef you cut up any didoes, ye’ll find he’s well named.”
The man named Death was a tall, dark-skinned fellow, clad in a buckskin coat and ragged trousers. His companion wore mackinacks and cowhide boots. Both had on ragged sombreros.
“Come on,” said Death, motioning to the boys.
Squinty said nothing, but his crossed eyes glinted malevolently as he produced two coils of rawhide rope.
Boiling with indignation and likewise considerably alarmed, the two boys had to submit to the indignity of being tied in the ropes till they resembled two packages bound securely round and round with twine. Like lifeless packages, too, they were presently picked up and helplessly borne toward the rear of the camp.
The cliff face towered for some distance above the base of the narrow valley at this point, and at its foot the boys, as they were bundled along, noticed a dark fissure. Tom judged it to be the mouth of a cave. He was right. And in a few minutes he learned also that it was to fulfill another purpose – that of a prison.
Death and Squinty set down their burdens at the entrance, and then rolled them inside just as if they had been bales of inanimate goods of some kind. The boys’ feelings were not soothed by the fact that fully a score of chattering, grinning Chinese watched the operation. These fellows were quartered back of the camp, and evidently formed a part of the consignment brought in on the schooner the night before.
The cave did not extend very far back in the rock face, and was narrow and low. But there was plenty of room in its narrow confines for two lads, bound as they were. Their two jailers shoved them as far in as possible and then without a word left them. Or so it seemed, but Tom’s eyes – about the only part of his body he could move – presently lit on a motionless figure sitting smoking on a rock near the cave entrance.
It was Death. A long rifle across his knees showed that he was acting as sentinel.
“Jack, old boy,” said Tom, at length, “how are you coming along?”
“As well as can be expected, as they say when a fellow’s been given up for dead and buried,” chuckled Jack.
His tone and words cheered Tom mightily. His brother, then, still retained his spirits, and hopeless as their position seemed that was something.
“Looks pretty bad, Tom,” said Jack presently. “I wish we could have got that medicine through to uncle.”
“So do I,” agreed Tom. “So far as this imprisonment is concerned, I imagine they will only keep us here till they get Chillingworth’s promise to let up on them.”
“But if he won’t give it?” demanded Jack. “He didn’t strike me as the kind of man to – ”
“Hark!” exclaimed Tom, interrupting him. “What’s that – music?”
Music it was. The strumming of a banjo, played with consummate skill.
Presently, too, a voice struck in. It was nasal and penetrating, offering a sharp contrast to the real skill of the banjo player:
“I sailed away in sixty-four,
In the Nancy brig from the Yankee shore;
We sailed and we sailed in sun and squall;
Fer traders’ gold where the South Seas fall;
Tip away – tip away – where the So-uth Seas fa-all!”
CHAPTER IX.
FAST IN THE TOILS
An hour or so later the lads were much astonished when Squinty entered the cave and, bending over them, rapidly loosened their bonds. So tightly had they been triced up, however, that it was some time before the stiffness was sufficiently out of their limbs to enable them to move with freedom. While they were “limbering up” their guardians allowed them to emerge from the cave and move and chafe their sore, aching limbs, at liberty. But, although it was pleasant to feel free once more – so far as their manacles went, that is – the boys did not by any means relish the surrounding crowd of Chinamen and rough-looking white men, the latter of whom indulged in some coarse jests at their expense.
At length, however, they were so far relieved from their cramped pains and “pins and needles” that they were able to stand upright and walk about without much difficulty. As soon as their guardians saw this they roughly ordered them to march in front of them toward the tent where they had had their first sight of Bully Banjo.
He was still sitting there as they were escorted up, and was deep in consultation with the tall Chinaman and the scrubby-haired man, whom we know as Zeb Hunt. Apparently the subjects of the consultation had been the boys, for as Death and Squinty marched them up Simon Lake looked up from a stick he had been industriously whittling, and turned to his companions with a quick “hush.”
“Waal,” said he, as the boys came to a halt, “you’ve bin doin’s some putty tall thinkin’, I kalkerlate.”
“Why,” rejoined Tom boldly, “I guess those cords were tied a little too tight for our thoughts to circulate very freely.”
He had determined not to let this ruffian see that he had caused them to fear him – an effect which he was evidently desirous of producing.
“Putty good!” chuckled Simon, seemingly pleased at Tom’s pleasantry. “You’re ez bright ez a new dollar, bye. Anybody kin see that. But thet ain’t what I wants ter talk ter yer about. Wot I wants to know is how you’ll regard a little proposition I’m goin’ ter make ter yer.”
Tom could not check his look of astonishment at this, while, as for Jack, his eyes seemed to start out of his head. Lake’s tone had become friendly, even confidential. But it did not fool either of the boys for a minute.
“What new bit of villainy is he going to spring?” wondered Tom. Aloud he said:
“What is your proposition?”
“Waal,” drawled Lake, “in the fust place, it’s a chance fer you byes ter make some easy money, then in the second, it’s a job that won’t require hardly any work on your parts.”
“Well, what is it?” demanded Tom bluntly.
“Jes’ this,” spoke Simon Lake. “It’s important fer me ter hev Chillingworth out uv ther way fer a day er two. Now I want yer to write him a note at my dictation, telling him ther fix yer in, an’ askin’ him ter come an’ get yer. You kin tell him thet we’ve left you prisoners right here or any other place whar it’ll take him some time to look yer up.”
“I hardly understand – ” began Tom.
“Then yer ain’t ez bright ez I thought yer,” snarled Lake. “See here, s’pose you do as I say – waal, it’ll take Chillingworth a little time ter find yer, won’t it, pervided you lay low and don’t go lookin’ fer him?”
“Of course, but – ”
“Waal, in the meantime,” went on Lake, as if the matter were already settled, “I’ll be putting through my little bit of business. It will take me near Chillingworth’s ranch, and I don’t want him ter be near while it’s going on – savvy?”
“I ‘savvy’ this much,” said Tom indignantly, “that you wish us to betray our friends so that you may be able to carry on your illegal business.”
Lake’s brow grew dark and lowering.
“Thet’s a bad tone ter adopt with me, bud,” he said slowly, “an’ you ain’t in any position ter dictate terms ter us – be yer?”
“Of course not,” struck in Jack, “but just the same, we aren’t in a position where you are going to get us to do your dirty work.”
“Wow!” howled Zeb Hunt, capering about and slapping his knees with his big gnarled hands. “Hear the young turkey gobble. My! ain’t he a fine young bird.”
“Shet yer mouth, Zeb,” snarled Lake. Zeb instantly relapsed into silence. Under other circumstances it would have been amusing to the boys to notice how suddenly his jaw fell, and the laugh left his features. Now, however, it was just the reverse. It demonstrated how thoroughly the rascal had the members of his band under his control.
“Waal,” resumed the Yankee slowly, and fixing his eyes in a cold stare on the boys, “you’ve hearn what I hed ter say. Thar’s fifty dollars in it fer yer ef you’ll write the notes. I’d hev writ ’em myself,” he unblushingly went on, “but I ain’t no hand with a pen, and neither is none of ther others. ’Tain’t as if ther wuz anything crooked in et,” he went on persuasively, “it’s jes’ ter keep er man out uv ther way fer a day er two. I’ll leave yer with plenty of provisions an’ Death ter look arter you. When yer friends git near Death he’ll vamoose an’ join me at a place he knows uv. I’ll be fur away by thet time.”
“You seem to have it all figured out,” said Tom dryly.
“Yew bate. Us daown easters is right smart at sich things, by Juniper.”
“There’s only one thing you have omitted in your calculations.”
“What’s thet, young feller?”
“That your whole scheme depends on our falling in with it.”
“Waal, yew do, don’t ye?”
“Not in the longest day you ever lived, Simon Lake.”
“Nor for more money than you ever saw.”
The boys’ answers came like two pistol shots.
Lake, all pretense at good feeling over now, jumped to his feet. A look of furious rage came over his lean features. His gray eyes blazed like twin points of fire.
“So thet’s yer answer, is it?” he shouted. “Waal, I’ve bin Simon Lake ter you boys heretofore. Now, by Chowder, you’ll see ther Bully Banjo part of me. Here, Death, an’ you, too, Squinty – take these kids back ter ther cave. Guard ’em close. I’ll hold you responsible fer them, an’ heaven hev mercy on yer soul ef they git away. We’ll see how – ”
There came a sudden crackling in the brush behind them. Lake faced round with a motion swift as a wild cat. Zeb Hunt and one or two of the others seized their rifles and plunged off into the underbrush. It was evident that they suspected that a concealed spy had caused the noise.
“Bring him out,” roared Bully Banjo. “I’ll use his hide fer a banjo head, by Chowder!”
But after a quarter of an hour or so, the others returned and reported that they had been unable to find anything. The noise must have been made by some wild animal they declared. At any rate, there was no trace of a human being in the undergrowth.
Much relieved, apparently, Lake ordered the boys taken off to the cave. A few minutes later they were once more in their place of captivity. But this time only their hands and ankles were manacled. But even had their limbs been free, it would have been madness even to dream of escaping, for in front of the cave Death, as remorseless as his namesake, and the sinister Squinty kept watch. Squatting on rocks, their pipes between their teeth and their rifles held loosely on their knees, not a movement of the boy prisoners escaped them.
Evidently, Bully Banjo’s words were law, to be carried out to the letter. Such, at least, would have been gathered from the grim relentless manner in which Death and his companion mounted guard over that cave.
Of what fate Simon Lake had in store for them, of course, the boys could not form the remotest idea, but apparently he meant to keep them in his power till such time as he was certain that he could use them as a power against Chillingworth, whom he rightly felt was the most inexorable enemy he had among the weak-spirited ranchers.
In low tones Jack and Tom discussed the situation, and their guards made no objection to their doing so, apparently. At least, they made no move to interfere. No doubt the boys were not watched so closely as grown men would have been. What could two bound lads do, their guards reasoned. It was not long before they were due to have a striking illustration of what such lads as the Bungalow Boys were capable of.
According to Tom’s way of thinking, Bully Banjo would keep them in the cavern till he and his lieutenants could decide on some way in which they could be used to keep Chillingworth out of the way while Lake ran his Chinamen through by the convenient trail which cut across one corner of the Chillingworth ranch. Of what this way was to be they could not, naturally, form any idea. Possibly, they figured out, it might be by means of a decoy note.
At all events, situated as they were, neither lad was in a mood to waste time on speculation. Rather did they devote their mental efforts to figuring out some way of escape. But, try as they would, they could think of none.
At dusk Squinty was relieved on guard by another of the band – a man of even more sinister appearance than he himself, – a fellow with a big bottle nose and red, inflamed features. He had the besotted, foolish look of a man who is given to yielding to a passion for drink. He brought with him some tin dishes – or rather two tin bowls, and a pair of tin cups. The former contained a kind of stew with a big hunk of bread stuck on one side of the receptacle. The cups were filled with steaming coffee. The newcomer and Death silently released the boys’ hands so that they could eat. While they satisfied their appetites, which by this time were rather sharp, Tom wished devoutly that among the “table furnishings” there had been two knives. He would have risked the attempt to conceal one of them. But, to his disappointment, the meal was served with spoons as the only means of conveying the eatables to the mouth. So that plan was nipped in the bud.
Death and the red-faced man talked in low tones while the boys ate. Apparently the latter was trying to induce the Indian to perform some service for him which the other was unwilling to undertake. At last, however, he appeared to yield, and the boys saw the red-faced individual slip something that looked like money into the Indian’s hand. The latter shambled off and shortly reappeared with a round bottle covered with wicker, which he handed to the red-faced man. The bottle appeared to have come from the quarters of the Chinamen, for that was the direction in which the Indian had gone on his errand.
Supper over, the tin dishes were removed, and the boys’ hands tied once more. They tried to ask some questions, but were cut short with growls from both their guardians. They sat silently wondering how things were going forward with their uncle and Mr. Chillingworth, as the dark rushed on.
Before long the canyon was enveloped in a gray gloom, which presently became black night. Far above them – seen as if from the bottom of a pit – were stars, shining brightly, and with an irritating sense of freedom. The boys had crawled to the cavern mouth to make these observations, but Death and his companion forced them back. As darkness fell, from the camp they could hear the “Plunk-a-plunka-plunk” of Simon Lake’s banjo. The rascal’s harsh voice, too, reached them, crooning out apparently sentimental songs of the cheap music-hall variety.
It grew chilly as the evening wore on. A sea wind laden with a penetrating dampness swept up the canyon. It moaned in a dismal fashion in the black pine woods. Death and the red-nosed man dragged wood to the cave mouth and made a fire. When it was kindled they sat by it hugging their knees, their rifles between their legs, and staring moodily into the glowing embers. Every now and then the Indian would rise to get more wood. At such times he would take a perfunctory glance into the cave to see how his charges were faring.
When he did this the red-nosed took advantage of the other’s back being turned to raise the bottle to his lips and take a long draught. Presently he offered the bottle to the Indian. The Chinook silently took a long drink and handed it back. This performance was repeated several times.
By the time the last tinkle of the plaintive banjo had died out and silence reigned among the chattering Chinamen, both the Indian and the red-nosed man appeared to have difficulty in keeping awake. Presently the latter began to nod. He dozed off two or three times, awakening with a start. Before long he was off in real earnest. His head lolled forward on his chest, his mouth flopped open supinely. He lurched down, huddled in a heap, a degrading spectacle. The potent effect of what he had consumed overcame the Indian more slowly. Before he gave himself up to sleep, in fact, he entered the cave and felt the boys’ ropes carefully. Then apparently, to make sure they were all secure, he strode off toward the main camp and presently returned with more rope. With this he made additional thongs. Then with a grunt of satisfaction he left the cave, and, after a cautious look about him, he, too, laid himself down in front of the fire and presently his wary, beady eyes closed. The Chinese liquor, strong, sleep-inducing, and wit-benumbing, had overtaken him, too.
“Oh, if only we had a knife,” sighed Tom, “we could make a dash for it now.”
“You bet we would,” cried Jack. “All they could do would be to fire after us, and they’d stand little chance of hitting us in the dark.”
“Well, no good wishing,” sighed Tom. “Here we are now, tied up tighter than ever, and – ”
A small stone fell in front of the cave. In the silence, broken only by the murmur of the stream and the sighing of the wind in the pines it sounded as startlingly loud as a rifle shot. Presently another fell.
Could it be a signal of some kind?
But suppose it was – who could it be? Certainly not Mr. Chillingworth or the boys’ uncle, or —
At this point of Tom’s meditations another small stone fell. There could no longer be any doubt. Somebody on the cliff above was trying to attract their attention. But there did not seem to be any way of showing him that they heard and understood.
All at once, both boys, who had been painfully wiggling toward the front of the cave – moving with difficulty in their tight bonds – gave a surprised gasp.
Something that at first glance seemed like a strand of spider’s web, with an immense spider hanging on the end of it, was swinging in the cave mouth, between them and the red glow of the dying watch fire.
But it was not a spider, nor a web. It was a thin string, and as Tom struggled to the front of the cave and neared the object dangling at the end of the cord, he almost fell backward with astonishment.
It was an opened clasp-knife.
