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.