CHAPTER XXI.

  THE BEST WAY TO LEARN IS TO LOOK AND LISTEN.

  After gliding through the thorn brake, Joe lowered himself to the veryground. Fairly creeping, he seemed at a loss, clever as he had shown,himself. But, after thrice scrutinising the ground, he saw somethingdully gleaming. He crawled up to it. It was a piece of tinfoil, such asis used for enveloping chewing tobacco. It was roughly shaped into theform of a dart, the head pointing in the direction which he immediatelytook. It led him to another thorny bush, guarding an airhole about ayard square, almost impossible to discover even close by in broad day.

  Joe knew that the guide had laid the indicator there, and with joy andconfidence he dived into this kind of wild animals' burrow. It was adry water course, a natural culvert, or drain, six feet wide in thebest parts, and sometimes twelve high, ragged with worn rock, but alsofloored most smoothly with the finest yellow sand. Spite of his haste,he could not help carrying a pinch--spread out artistically on hispalm--to his mouth; he tasted it for metallic traces, and grinned ashe murmured, "Copper, I guess; silver, dead sure; and some gold. Theserocks would pay blasting up some day."

  But he was not after gold this time. So far the sand had glowed faintlyorange from an unknown light. But soon the tunnel grew perfectlylightless.

  "Whew!" muttered the Carcajieu, smiling, "In this place the King ofShades himself would stub his toe!"

  As he pushed on he employed the minutest care not to make even thefaintest noise that could betray him.

  Ten minutes seemed an interminable period thus. Only then, though,did a luminous streaking show that he had actually arrived under thecaptain's tent.

  He stopped, so anxious that he quivered convulsively. He was ashamed athimself for being so unstrung. He breathed long and regularly till hehad calmed himself, and being confident, he examined the rocky side ofhis concealment as far up as possible. There were many fissures, butfew went clean through straight. Two or three gave him views of thetent interior, useless to him. One, however, about four or five feetup, offered a capital spy hole. He applied his eye and gazed in. Almostat once he drew himself violently back in surprise, and a grin ofdelight hard to depict. He turned pale, and large beads of perspirationformed on his brow and slowly trickled down.

  "Good heavens!" he thought to himself, "Can it be? I must have seenawry!" But, having another peep, he murmured, "It's the man, and nomistake! Doubt is not allowable. He is not in the grave, then. Hangme!" he went on, clenching his fists mechanically, "But the devilwill have to take you, or this time I shall. 'Tis he, the outlaw, thevillain who robbed the miners. Oh, you wretch! Are you still in thisworld? But I have your inmost secret now, and you may well tremble!This is a wide desert, old boy, but on three sides there are railroadsnow; law officers and courts of justice on all four. You are a goner,this trip, Mr. Harry Brown!"

  After having thus given vent to anger and indignation long contained,Corky Joe felt calmness return to his mind. He wiped his forehead dry,smoothed his features, and, this time, it was the serene, steady eyeas of an astronomer that he set to the gap.

  As far as appearances went, there was nothing to justify the strangewrath which blazed up in the false lieutenant. The tent and cavernformed half a circle, which, if completed, would have spanned overtwenty yards from the apex to the base. An iron folding bedstead,on which was a flock mattress, and a quantity of buffalo robes andother furs, was set up at the back, trunks being piled near it. On afolding table in the centre, between a bottle lantern and a candle ina tin dish, a travelling case was opened, more filled with papers thanshaving utensils and toilet implements. It was supplied with secretpockets and false bottom, so that, though the captain always carriedit on his horse and kept it by him, Joe had never suspected it was areceptacle for documents.

  There was no doubt that so much care was only expended on proofsagainst the villain whose identity with a former and criminal self Joecould hereby establish.

  On the table lay writing materials. By means of these a man, seated ona campstool, was "making notes." Not the harmless memos of business,or private details, but with a sureness of hand and dexterity in everyfinger that proved an experienced forger was here; the writer wasimitating notes of hand such as the army officers get discounted by theIndian traders in anticipation of their salary. This man in no wiseresembled Captain Kidd save in stature, and even in that point therewas a difference, as being slighter--he seemed more tall. It was hardto tell his exact age, as in the case of actors who are clean shaven,he being so, and all white or grey hairs scrupulously extracted. Mostbeholders would have set him down as thirty, but he might still be tenyears older. His face was oval, with a broad forehead, but pressed inat the temples. His hair, of that blueish black suggesting dye, rolledin ample curls down upon his shoulders, enframing handsome lineaments.Under thick brows, large, widely opened eyes were continually inmovement, the pupils having that power of deepening or lightening inshade as emotions affected the owner; often they were veiled almostentirely, and then again they shot out lightning glances of unwontedmagnetic force. His nose was straight, and yet a little curved at thetip, with tremulous nostrils. The ruddy, sensual mouth was overlarge,with sound teeth. The cheekbones stood out a trifle, and there was thecleft of a wound, or, perhaps, a congenital hare split on the squarechin.

  As the aesthetic rule runs out West, this was a handsome man. But aftereven only a few minutes' view, one would shrink with terror, there wassuch a stamp of tigerish ferocity in the deep fine wrinkles of thebrow, the restlessness of the gaze, the flutter of the nostrils, asthough scenting carnage, and the cruelly mocking smile playing on thelips.

  His face was clean shaven, we say--"shaved under" for a week, asbarbers word it, so that every line and trait could be traced, andby them, by the olive complexion, and by the contour, the name ofHarry Brown, much too Anglo-Saxon, applied by Corky Joe, seemed veryunbefitting. He was rather of Mexican-Spanish and Indian race.

  Whatever he was, and whatever Joe had mentioned in relation to him,this was no vulgar rogue. He still was an enigma whose veil was notentirely stripped away because one of his _aliases_ was known.

  Several minutes passed during which the forger went on with his work,which seemed mere amusement, with all the tranquillity of a noblemanin his study, well aware that nobody durst disturb him. It would havebeen difficult for his retreat to have been intruded upon withouthis leave, so well closed in was it. Besides, he had a brace ofrevolvers near to give a lesson to any imprudent person who presentedhimself unannounced. Finally, the stranger pushed the papers away fromhim, laid down the pen more carefully, with that respect which thehigh-class artisan has for his tools, rested his elbow on the table andhis cheek in his hand, and yielded to deep meditation. The attentiveobserver could read nothing on the visage, as smoothly cold as marble.

  Over a dozen times the false lieutenant felt tempted to "settle" thisman by putting a bullet into his brain, an easy matter; but each timehis prompting was checked by a higher force, like that which causes apolice officer to take his man alive, though the reward is the same forthe body in any condition.

  The man was not his property. He belonged to society, unto which hewould have to render up accounts of his crimes; society alone had aright to try him and make an example of him.

  For all but a quarter of an hour the musing man dwelt motionlesslystaring into vacancy. It was a mute dialogue with himself. At theend he flung up his head sharply, sprang to his feet, and stalked toand fro in the narrow walk, his hands behind his back, and his headhanging. When he stopped, he was at the table anew. He actively busiedhimself in packing up the notes and papers in the toilet case, closedit with a secret spring, and put it under his pillow.

  Like men who have no confidants, he talked in a low voice to himselfwhilst so occupied. It was rather mumbling than even muttering; butLieutenant Carcajieu's "good day for hearing" was come. He overheardpretty well all. Two singular things: not only did the voice differfrom Captain Kidd's in tone and accents, but th
e man, thought to beEnglish, spoke fluent Spanish.

  "_iCaray!_" he exclaimed, "That infernal Corky Joe was lucky thistime; it is long since I have had a solid house where I could feelcomfortable and, mainly, safe. This confounded disguise began tochoke me like a corset on the Fat Woman in the Show; Richard actuallyyearned to be himself again! By St. Antonio! What a jolly thing it isnot to have to play a part. Even for an hour it is a luxury to be ableto stretch one's legs mentally and bodily. But, pshaw! Still a fewmore days and we shall be at ease if this providential guide is to bedepended on! He's a capital blade, a little blunt, like all English,quaint, novel, but the right stuff. I can't tell why, but I feel warmtowards him."

  The lieutenant could not help smiling at this confession.

  "Besides, he saved my life," went on the other, "there's something inthat. It is true that if he had known who I was, he would have letthe bears chew me up, more than likely. Ugh! It gives me creeping allover again to remember that fix. However, I was saved to live many aday yet in and out of the cover of Captain Kidd. Kidd! Ha, ha! There'sone who never suspected he would be useful after his death, when ourpartnership was suddenly cleft asunder by an insertion of my knife inhis jugular as he was sleeping with liquor. But what's the sense ofbringing his memory up? He's out of the battle of life; the secret isburied out of mortal ken."

  As he spoke he performed his metamorphosis, the arraying himself inthe shell, so to say of Captain Kidd. He dressed and "made up" soartistically, that Joe himself, who was no mean actor, could not helpadmiring.

  The disguise was complete, nothing being omitted to aid illusion. Thetransformation was executed quickly too.

  "A rainy night, ugh!" muttered the re-become Captain Kidd. "Butprudence is the mother of security, and you don't catch me lying downwithout going the rounds of my camp!"

  As the speaker began to break down the rampart which fended thedoorway, the lieutenant abandoned his peephole. He crawled back as hehad come, slipped forth from the opening, made his painful way throughthe thorn brake and came out into the clear ground. Convincing himselfthat nobody was on the lookout for him, he went over to the tent ofDona Rosario. Leon's blanket was in a heap by the door. He wrappedit around him, leaving his pistol arm free, like a Highlander in hisplaid, and lay down, feigning to steep.

  He had not been thus placed ten minutes before the tent doorway flapwas lifted, and out stepped the captain with the bottle lantern.

  The latter went the rounds conscientiously, rousing more than onedrowsy sentinel with a swing of the lantern or a boot smartly applied.As the men growled he chuckled, and so worked himself up into a goodhumour like a bulldog who had had several successful scuffles. Hispromenade brought him round to Rosario's tent, but just as he wasdrawing back his leg to awaken the presumedly sleeping figure, therewas the _ku-klux_ of a large revolver going on full cock, and, withouttaking the trouble to rise, Joe challenged:

  "No tricks on travellers. Who are you with a light, and so free withyour boot?"

  "A friend, a friend! Hold hard," the leader hastened to cry. "Here isone who keeps a good guard."

  "The chief!" ejaculated the other, pretending surprise.

  "You bet. And," here he lowered the lantern over the man, sitting upnonchalantly, but with the revolver ready, "it's Corky Joe."

  "Same man, cap."

  "But how do I find you here when Foxface was set over this tent?"

  "Oh, that's all right, chief. 'Want to know?"

  "Go on, I'm listening."

  "Why, that young ass, the Drudge, sent to give Lottery Paul a rub downwith the camphorated spirits, as you prescribed--"

  "Quite right, I did."

  "Well, he forgot the keg."

  "Then I understand the rest," returned the gold seeker, laughing,"Foxface caught the Frenchman's complaint, and both took the remedyinternally?"

  "You've hit it, old man, they never left what would wet a fly's eye inthe keg; the consequences are, that they are drunk as David's sow, andsnoring away. But as I knew you wanted this tent well looked after,women being fine as needles, I took up my station here till reliefcomes."

  "You are a trump, Joe, and did the proper thing. I am sorry it is soblamed cold and damp--I am frozen like a snow wolf myself, and have afit of sleep on me. Try to keep your eyes open till you are relieved,and with that good night, lieutenant."

  "Oh, I am not sleepy now, boss. Out in the open I git wide awake. Resteasy, anyway," he said, dropping down again in that favourite attitudeof the veteran frontiersman, who knows that the prowling Indian willscarce resist the temptation to shoot an arrow at the sentry who isvisible upright.

  Kidd went into his tent, and the light was put out there. This marking,the lieutenant rose a little and whistled part of a tune in a low tone.The Drudge crawled up to him around the lady's tent, finishing the air.

  "Take my place here in your own blanket, and let me have the signal ifanything new happens."

  So saying, the lieutenant vanished within the tent of Dona Rosario.