CHAPTER XXV.

THE HEART OF TOM CONOVER.

The battle that raged in the heart of Tom Conover after that interview with Buffalo Bill can be but dimly indicated here.

In the end the man’s better instincts triumphed.

Buffalo Bill and his friends did not at once know this, however.

Night came early in the town that lay in the deep pit of the plain, the evening shadows deepening there even before the sun had set on the world outside.

Within the marble prison the darkness was soon so dense that, as Wild Bill said, “it could be felt.”

No food had been brought to the prisoners, nor had any messenger come to them, after that first announcement, conveyed by the woman herself, that it had been decided in council they were to die.

They crouched in the gloom and talked as the slow hours slipped by, while they waited, they did not know for what.

They tried the gold-copper bars of their prison again and again, but the bars were too strong and well set; they could not even shake them. They had no tools with which to hack at the marble walls, and probably if tools had been in their possession they could have accomplished nothing in that way.

“Ach!” grunted the baron, after a long interval of silence. “Dose vite Inchin mans vass a liar peen, aber he ton’d come unt hellup me, like as he said. Uff I hat someding to ead, I vouldn’t veel so pat, maybe. Here iss a town full of golt, and noddings to ead.”

“There is enough to eat in the town, no doubt,” commented Wild Bill, “but it’s like the gold—we can’t get it.”

“Aber I hund vor golt eenymore I hobes somepoty vill keeck me ka-vick.”

“I’m afraid you won’t hunt for gold any more, baron! But what’s the use of being blue? Can’t we do something—can’t we sing a little? I’ve got a voice like a crow, but I’d join in, if somebody would raise a tune.”

He began to sing a popular air that had a lighthearted lilt in it, and it was wonderful what a change it made in their spirits. They began to talk more confidently, and plan for a vigorous resistance when the time came for it.

But later on their plans were altered.

A door of their prison, of which they had not known, opened behind them, and snapped shut with a click, and they knew that some one had entered the room. When the intruder spoke they discovered that it was Tom Conover.

“I’ve made up my mind to help you,” he said, speaking in low tones. “You are to be slain at sunrise in the morning, by one of the priests of the Toltec temple. You saw the steaming lake that lies close by this prison—right behind it, in fact. The temple and this prison were built on this spot because of that boiling lake. Victims are stabbed on the stone steps back there, which lead down to it, and then their bodies tumble down into the lake, and that is the end of them, and people standing on the other shore, when they see that the thing is done, set up a great shout and afterward there are religious exercises in the temple, led by the priests.

“I’ve seen it myself, more than once; all enemies are served that way; and once a year, if no enemies have been taken, warriors are selected by lot for the purpose. It’s a horrible business, and I never was in love with it.

“And that’s the plan for you. I didn’t see at first how I could help it, as Itzlan is determined you shall not leave here alive; but I’ve worked out a plan.

“There is one Indian here who used to be my servant, and he will do whatever I tell him, perhaps because he isn’t over-and-above bright. Well, I have had him get your horses and tie them to those little pines at the edge of the trail, where it comes down from that notch in the mountains. You know the place. And I have had him tie your rifles and weapons to the saddles. On one of the saddles he has hung two buckskin bags of gold—pure gold; and that is for this Morgan boy.

“Perhaps I was a fool for doing that. But I’m going to risk it. And risk the anger of the woman. I’ll pull through all right, for the woman will stand by me, whatever comes. And I reckon,” he added thoughtfully, “that I’ll need her, if it gets out that I did it.”

“Why can’t you go with us?” asked Buffalo Bill, who had risen.

The other prisoners had also risen, in their excitement, the German with a startling clatter of his wooden shoes.

“You’d better take those blocks off your feet,” advised Conover, “they make too much noise; your stocking feet will be best for you. Carry the shoes in your hand, if you must have them.”

“Ach!” panted the baron, “der desert sand voult purn my feed off mitoudt ’em!”

“Then carry them in your hands. And now listen: Whatever the risk is, I’m going to take it. This door I came through here is a secret one, and only a few even of the Toltecs know of it. I’m going to hope that suspicion will fall on some of those who do know. For I think it isn’t understood that I possess the secret. Itzlan told me about it long ago, but perhaps she even has forgot that she did. Anyway, I take the risk.

“Listen: You are to follow me quietly out of this place and down the stone steps—the steps of sacrifice. There is a little path which we can take past the boiling lake, and we can get out of town by it, for, besides the lake, there are only a few houses, as the steam makes it unpleasant for people to live there.

“I think we can get out of the town, as the night is dark, and the steam, which is bad to-night, makes the air even thicker.”

He had dropped, or forgotten, nearly all of his dialect, his words showing now, in his haste and excitement, that once, at any rate, he had been a man of some education and attainments.

“When you reach the horses you will find the child there, tied up by the bushes. My Indian friend has stolen him and placed him there, and I had him give the kid a sleeping drink to keep him from making any noise. It sounds cruel, but it seemed necessary.

“But I’m wasting too much time. No,” he said, as Wild Bill sought to take him by the hand, “I don’t feel worthy to touch the hand of any honest and upright white man. You know why. But perhaps I can right things this way, and I want to, and I’ll take the risk. It will not be so great, and Itzlan will stand by me and protect me, no matter what comes.”

They heard him turn about.

“Follow me,” he whispered. “And take your shoes off, Schnitzenhauser. It wouldn’t be a bad idea if all of you removed your shoes. We’ve got to be silent as death itself, for if these Toltecs woke up to what’s happening, not one of us would live ten minutes. There’s a guard in front of the prison, but none out by that boiling lake. Even those guards are ignorant of this secret door. Now, follow me.”

They heard him fumbling along the wall and were sure he was searching for the hidden spring which moved the door.

“The horses were left out on the plain, for pasturage,” he said, as if this were an afterthought, “so that my Indian had no trouble in placing them where I told him to. The worst trouble was with the child. I had to steal the kid out from under the nose of one of the temple priests, and give him into the hands of the Indian. That was as hard a thing to do as anything that is before us.”

The hidden spring clicked under his fingers.

The scout and his companions were anxious to interrupt, to tell him how grateful they were, and beg his pardon for any wrong they had done by misjudging him, but his manner and the tones of his voice, as well as his direct warnings, kept them silent.

They heard the secret door spring open almost noiselessly.

“Follow me!” Conover repeated. “And step carefully. There is a flight of stone steps here. Just follow my voice.”

He stepped aside, waiting until they had filed silently out of the marble prison; then they heard the snap of the spring of the secret door, as it moved back into place.

After that he put himself at their head, and, by whispering to them, directed them where and how to step in order to follow him safely.

They felt the warm mist of the boiling lake on their faces and in their nostrils as they descended the flight of steps toward it, and puffs of hot steam were blown in their faces as they followed Conover in the darkness along the narrow path skirting the lake. Below they could hear its bubbling, like the sputtering of some giant teakettle.

It took iron nerves to repress a shudder as they passed along the lake and thought of the fate that had been fixed for them by Itzlan and the priests of the Toltec temple.

A half hour or more was consumed in getting out of the town, for a long flight of stone steps had to be ascended, but they reached the upland finally, with Conover still leading the way.

There he stopped.

“Good-by!” he said.

The moon had not yet risen—it rose late, toward morning; but in the starlight they could see him, and could discern that he held out his hand.

“I feel that I can shake hands with you now,” he said. “I think that you will get away.”

“Come with us!” Buffalo Bill urged, as he shook heartily the hand given him by Conover.

“No!” said Conover, with a positive click of his teeth.

Gravely he shook hands with all of them.

“No,” he repeated. “I’ve got to stay here! In the first place, since Itzlan is still alive, I don’t want to go. In the second place, if she gets into trouble I want to be here to help her. But I think there will be no trouble for either of us. She has a lot of influence, and many friends. It would mean war if any of the priests or chiefs turned against her. So there will be no trouble. I’m even hoping that neither of us will even be suspected of this thing.”

He pointed to the starlight.

“Off there is the notch, and your horses, and the Morgan kid; you’ll find them all now without trouble.”

“You won’t come with us?” said the great scout, reluctant to leave him.

“No! And I’m hoping that none of you will ever come this way again. We’ll not meet any more, likely. So, good-by, and success to you!”

He turned, as he said this, and broke into a run, as if he feared to linger; and the darkness soon hid him.

Buffalo Bill turned about and headed toward the notch.

“Forward march!” he said. “We want to be well out of this before morning comes. The Red Feathers will be hot after us as soon as they can see to strike the trail.”

They found the horses, and the child, their arms and ammunition, and the two stuffed bags of gold for the Morgan boy.

And in the darkness they rode away, wondering at their strange escape, and questioning among themselves as to what had become of the Piute and the Apaches.

But when morning dawned they came on the four Indians, who, hiding beside the trail, had been trying to screw up courage enough to make a scouting trip in the direction of the valley.

“Ai, Pa-e-has-ka!” they shouted.

They fell in joyfully behind the party of white men, and the flight was resumed.

It was a running flight, kept up without regard for the comfort of man or beast, until they knew they were well beyond the reach of the Toltecs, whose pursuit they feared.

Two days later they placed the boy in the home of his parents, with the bags of gold which Tom Conover had given him.

And their journey to and from the terrible Cumbres was at an end.

THE END

No. 138 of THE BUFFALO BILL BORDER STORIES, entitled “Buffalo Bill’s Totem Trail,” by Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, is a rattling good story in which Buffalo Bill and his pards meet with some of the most wonderful adventures that ever befell them.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.