Hidden Gold

  CHAPTER XVI

  TRAPPED

  When Wade first opened his eyes, after he had been stricken senseless,he was first conscious of his throbbing head, and on seeking the reasonof the pain, was amazed to find his fingers stained with the blood whichmatted his hair. With an exclamation he struggled to his feet, still toodazed to think clearly, but sufficiently aroused to be startled by thepredicament in which he found himself.

  He was at the bottom of a rock-walled fissure, about six feet wide bytwenty feet in length. There was no way to climb out of this naturalprison, for its granite sides, fifteen feet in height, were withoutcrack, projection, or other foothold; indeed, in the light of theafternoon sun, one _facade_ shone smooth as glass. If he should be leftthere without sustenance, he told himself, he might as well be entombed;then, to his delight, he caught the sound of splashing water. At least,he would not perish of thirst, for at one end of the rocky chamber atiny stream fell down the face of the cliff, to disappear afterwardthrough a narrow cleft. A draught of the cool water refreshed himsomewhat, and when he had bathed his head as well as he could, he satdown on the warm sand to think over the situation.

  Now that his brain was clearing he felt sure that his capture was thework of Moran, doubtless planned as a revenge for the events of theirlast meeting, although what shape this revenge was to take the cattlemancould not guess. He feared that he would either be shot or left tostarve in this _cul-de-sac_ in the hills. The thought of all that he andhis friends had suffered through Moran lashed the ranchman temporarilyto fury; but that he soon controlled as well as he could, for he foundits only result was to increase the pain in his head, without aiding tosolve the problem of escape. The prospect of getting out of his prisonseemed remote, for one glance at its precipitate walls had shown himthat not even a mountain goat could scale them. Help, if it came at all,must come through Santry, who could be counted on to arouse thecountryside. The thought of the state the old man must be in worriedWade; and he was too familiar with the vast number of small canyons andhidden pockets in the mountains to believe that his friends would soonfind him. Before help could reach him, undoubtedly Moran would show hishand, in which for the present were all the trumps.

  It was characteristic of the cattleman that, with the full realizationof his danger, should come a great calm. He had too lively animagination to be called a man of iron nerve, for that quality ofcourage is not so often a virtue as a lack of sensitiveness. He who iscourageous because he knows no fear is not so brave by half as he whogauges the extent of his peril and rises superior to it. Wade's couragewas of the latter sort, an ascendancy of the mind over the flesh.Whenever danger threatened him, his nerves responded to his need withthe precision of the taut strings of a perfectly tuned fiddle under amaster hand. He had been more nervous, many a time, over the thought ofsome one of his men riding a dangerous horse or turning a stampede, thanhe was now that his own life seemed threatened.

  Shrugging his broad shoulders, he rolled and smoked a cigarette. Theslight exhilaration of the smoke, acting on his weakened condition,together with the slight dizziness still remaining from the blow on hishead, was far from conducing to clear thinking, but he forced himself tocareful thought. He was less concerned about himself than he was aboutSantry and Dorothy; particularly Dorothy, for he had now come toappreciate how closely she had come into his life. Her sympathy had beenvery sweet to him, but he told himself that he would be sorry to haveher worry about him now, when there was so little chance of their seeingeach other again. He had no great hope of rescue. He expected to die,either by violence or by the slower process of starvation, but in eithercase he meant to meet his fate like a man.

  Of Helen Rexhill, he thought now with a sense of distaste. It wasaltogether unlikely that she had been privy to her father'sdepredations, but certainly she countenanced them by her presence inCrawling Water, and she had shown up so poorly in contrast with DorothyPurnell that Wade could not recall his former tenderness for his earlysweetheart. Even if great good fortune should enable him to escape fromhis prison, the interests of the Rexhill family were too far removedfrom his own to be ever again bridged by the tie of love, or even ofgood-feeling. He could not blame the daughter for the misdeeds of herparent, but the old sentiment could never be revived. It was not forHelen that the instinct of self-preservation stirred within him, nor wasit in her eyes that he would look for the light of joy over his rescue,if rescue should come.

  He smoked several cigarettes, until the waning of his supply of tobaccowarned him to economize against future cravings. Realizing that even ifhis friends were within a stone's throw of him they would not be likelyto find him unless he gave some sign of his presence, he got to his feetand, making a trumpet out of his hands, shouted loudly. He repeated thisa dozen times, or more, and was about to sink back upon the sand when heheard footsteps approaching on the ground overhead. He had little ideathat a friend was responding to his call, but being unarmed he could dono more than crouch against the wall of the cliff while he scanned theopening above him.

  Presently there appeared in the opening the head of a Texan, Goat Neale,whom Wade recognized as a member of Moran's crew and a man of some noteas a gunfighter.

  "How," drawled the Texan, by way of greeting. "Feelin' pretty good?"When the ranchman did not reply, his inquisitor seemed amused. "A funnything like this here always makes me laff," he remarked. "It sure doesme a heap of good to see you all corraled like a fly in a bottle. Mebbeyou'd take satisfaction in knowin' that it was me brung you down outyonder in the timber. I was sure mighty glad to take a wallop at you,after the way you all done us up that night at the ranch."

  "So I'm indebted to you for this, eh?" Wade spoke casually, as thoughthe matter were a trifling thing. He was wondering if he could bribeNeale to set him free. Unfortunately he had no cash about him, and heconcluded that the Texan would not think promises worth while under thecircumstances.

  "Sure. I reckon you'd like to see the boss? Well, he's comin' right onover. Just now he's eatin' a mess o' bacon and beans and cawfee, over tothe camp. My Gawd, that's good cawfee, too. Like to have some, eh?" ButWade refused to play Tantalus to the lure of this temptation and keptsilent. "Here he comes now."

  "Is he all right?" Wade heard Moran ask, as Neale backed away from therim of the hole.

  "Yep," the Texan answered.

  The ranchman instinctively braced himself to meet whatever might befall.It was quite possible, he knew, that Moran had spared him in thetimber-belt to torture him here; he did not know whether to expect abullet or a tongue lashing, but he was resolved to meet his fatecourageously and, as far as was humanly possible, stoically. To hissurprise, the agent's tone did not reveal a great amount of venom.

  "Hello, Wade!" he greeted, as he looked down on his prisoner. "Find yourquarters pretty comfortable, eh? It's been a bit of a shock to you, nodoubt, but then shocks seem to be in order in Crawling Water Valley justnow."

  "Moran, I've lived in this country a good many years." Wade spoke with asuavity which would have indicated deadly peril to the other had the twobeen on anything like equal terms. "I've seen a good many blackguardscome and go in that time, but the worst of them was redeemed by more ofthe spark of manhood than there seems to be in you."

  "Is that so?" Moran's face darkened in swift anger, but he restrainedhimself. "Well, we'll pass up the pleasantries until after our businessis done. You and I've got a few old scores to settle and you won't findme backward when the times comes, my boy. It isn't time yet, althoughmaybe the time isn't so very far away. Now, see here." He leaned overthe edge of the cliff to display a folded paper and a fountain-pen. "Ihave here a quit-claim deed to your ranch, fully made out and legallywitnessed, needing only your signature to make it valid. Will you signit?"

  Wade started in spite of himself. This idea was so preposterous that ithad never occurred to him as the real motive for his capture. He couldscarcely believe that so good a lawyer as Senator Rexhill could be blindto the fact that such a paper, secured
under duress, would have novalidity under the law. He looked up at the agent in amazement.

  "I know what you're thinking, of course," Moran went on, with an evilsmile. "We're no fools. I've got here, besides the deed, a check madeout to you for ten thousand dollars." He held it up. "You'll rememberthat we made you that offer once before. You turned it down then, butmaybe you'll change your mind now. After you indorse the check I'lldeposit it to your credit in the local bank."

  The cattleman's face fell as he caught the drift of this complication.That ten thousand dollars represented only a small part of the value ofhis property was true, but many another man had sold property for lessthan it was worth. If a perfectly good check for ten thousand dollars,bearing his indorsement, were deposited to the credit of his bankingaccount, the fact would go far to offset any charge of duress that hemight later bring. To suppose that he had undervalued his holdings wouldbe no more unreasonable than to suppose that a man of Senator Rexhill'sprominence would stoop to physical coercion of an adversary. Thequestion would merely be one of personal probity, with the presumptionon the Senator's side.

  "Once we get a title to the land, a handle to fight with, we sha'n'tcare what you try to do," Moran explained further. "We can afford tolaugh at you." That seemed to Wade to be true. "If you accept my offernow, I will set you free as soon as this check is in the bank, and thesettlement of our personal scores can go over to another time. I assureyou that I am just as anxious to get at you as you are to get at me, butI've always made it a rule never to mix pleasure and business. You'llhave a fair start to get away. On the other hand, if you refuse, you'llbe left here without food. Once each day I'll visit you; at other timesyou'll be left alone, except when Goat may care to entertain himself bybaiting you. You'll be perfectly safe here, guard or no guard, believeme."

  Moran chuckled ominously, his thoughts divided between professionalpride, excited by the thought of successfully completing the work he hadcome to Crawling Water to do, and exultation at the prospect that hissufferings while gagged the previous night might be atoned for athousand times if Wade should refuse to sign the quit-claim.

  "In plain speech," said Wade, pale but calm, "you propose to starve meto death."

  "Exactly," was the cheerful assurance. "If I were you, I'd think a bitbefore answering."

  Because the cattleman was in the fullest flush of physical vigor, thelust of life was strong in him. Never doubting that Moran meant what hesaid, Wade was on the point of compliance, thinking to assume the burdenlater on, of a struggle with Rexhill to regain his ranch. His manhoodrebelled at the idea of coercion, but, dead, he could certainly notdefend himself; it seemed to him better that he should live to carry onthe fight. He would most likely have yielded but for the taunt ofcowardice which had already been noised about Crawling Water. True, thecharge had sprung from those who liked him least, but it had stung him.He was no coward, and he would not feed such a report now by yielding toMoran. Whatever the outcome of a later fight might be, the fact that hehad knuckled under to the agent could never be lived down. Such successas he had won had been achieved by playing a man's part in man's world.

  "I'll tell you what I'll do, Moran," he said, finally. "Give me a handout of this hole, or come down here yourself. Throw aside your gun, butkeep your knife. I'll allow you that advantage. Meet me face to face!Damn you, be a man! Anything that you can gain by my signature, you cangain by my death. Get the best of me, if you can, in a man's fight.Pah!" He spat contemptuously. "You're a coward, Moran, a white-liveredcoward! You don't dare fight with me on anything like equal terms. I'llget out of here somehow, and when I do--by Heaven, I'll corner you, andI'll make you fight."

  "Get out? How?" Moran laughed the idea to scorn. "Your friends can lookfor you from now till snowfall. They'll never find even your bones. Rotthere, if you choose. Why should I take a chance on you when I've gotyou where I want you? You ought to die. You know too much."

  "Yes," Wade retorted grimly. "I know too much. I know enough to hangyou, you murderer. Who killed Oscar Jensen? Answer that! You did it, oryou had it done, and then you tried to put it on Santry and me, and I'mnot the only one who knows it. This country's too small to hold you,Moran. Your fate is settled already, whatever may happen to me."

  "Still, I seem to be holding four aces now," Moran grinned back at him."And the cards are stacked."

  Left alone, Wade rolled himself a cigarette from his scant hoard oftobacco. Already he was hungry, for deep shadows in his prison markedthe approach of night, and he had the appetite of a healthy man. Theknowledge that he was to be denied food made him feel the hungrier,until he resolutely put the thought of eating out of his mind. Thewater, trickling down the face of the rock, was a God-send, though, andhe drank frequently from the little stream.

  By habit a heavy smoker, he viewed with dismay the inroads which he hadalready made on his store of tobacco for that deprivation he felt wouldbe the most real of any that he could suffer. He tried to take shorterpuffs upon his cigarette, and between them shielded the fire with hishand, so that the air-draughts in the fissure might not cheat him of anyof the smoke. He figured that he had scarcely enough tobacco left for adozen cigarettes, which was less than his usual daily allowance.

  On searching his pockets, in the hope of finding a second sack ofDurham, he chanced upon his clasp-knife, and viewed the find with joy.The thought of using it as a weapon did not impress him, for his captorswould keep out of reach of such a toy, but he concluded that he mightpossibly use it to carve some sort of foothold in the rock. The idea ofcutting the granite was out of the question, but there might be strataof softer stone which he could dig into. It was a forlorn hope, in aforlorn cause, and it proved futile. At his first effort the knife'ssingle blade snapped off short, and he threw the useless handle away.

  Darkness fell some time before the cool night air penetrated thefissure; when it did so the cold seemed likely to be added to his otherphysical discomforts. In the higher altitudes the nights were distinctlychilly even in mid-summer, and he had on only a light outing shirt,above his waist. As the hour grew late, the cold increased in severityuntil Wade was forced to walk up and down his narrow prison in theeffort to keep warm. He had just turned to retrace his steps, on onesuch occasion, when his ears caught the soft pat-pat of a footfall onthe ground above. He instantly became motionless and tensely alert,wondering which of his enemies was so stealthily returning, and for whatreason.

  He thought it not unlikely that Moran had altered his purpose and comeback to shoot him while he slept. Brave though he was, the idea of beingshot down in such a manner made his flesh crawl. Stooping, he picked upa fragment of rock; although he realized the futility of the weapon, itwas all he had. Certainly, whoever approached was moving with the utmoststealth, which argued an attack of some kind. Drawing back the hand thatheld the stone, the cattleman shrank into a corner of the fissure andwaited. Against the starlit sky, he had an excellent view of the openingabove him, and possibly by a lucky throw the stone would serve againstone assailant, at least.

  The pat-pat-pat drew nearer and stopped, at last, on the extreme edgeof the hole. A low, long-drawn sniff showed that this was no humanenemy. If the sound had been louder, Wade would have guessed that it wasmade by a bear; but as it was he guessed the prowler to be amountain-lion. He had little fear of such a beast; most of them werenotorious cowards unless cornered, and when presently a pair of glowingeyes peered down into the fissure, he hurled the stone at them with allhis might. His aim was evidently true, for with a snarl of pain theanimal drew back.

  But just as amongst the most pacific human races there are some bravespirits, so amongst the American lions there are a few which possess allthe courage of their jungle brothers. Actuated by overweening curiosity,or else by a thirst for blood, the big cat returned again and again tothe edge of the hole. After his first throw Wade was unable to hit thebeast with a stone, although his efforts had the temporary effect offrightening it. Gradually, however, it grew bolder, and was restrain
edfrom springing upon him only, as it seemed, by some sixth sense whichwarned it of the impossibility of getting out of the fissure after oncegetting in. Baffled and furious, the lion sniffed and prowled about therim of the hole until the ranchman began to think it would surely leapupon him.

  He picked up his broken pocket-knife and waited for this to happen. Theshattered blade would be of little use, but it might prove better thanhis bare hands if he had to defend himself against the brute's teeth andclaws.