The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest

“Ter-morrer, I reckon,” was the rejoinder. “Yer see thet them boys uv mine are getting pretty ugly. Thet’s one reason why I don’t want to spend too long a time hyarabouts.”

“Good heaven!” exclaimed the professor at the thought of his boy left behind in the camp. “You surely don’t fear an outbreak of trouble while you’re gone.”

“No,” rejoined Lake. “Frankly I don’t, but you kain’t mos’ genally allers tell. Howsomever, I kalkerlate thet Zeb Hunt kin tackle any trouble thet comes along.”

“I sincerely hope so,” said the professor, somewhat reassured. He then turned with the rest to watch with rapt attention what was transpiring on the rocking stone.

Monday had now almost reached the summit, and under his weight the big stone was tipping gradually outward till the part of it he had reached hung above the gulch. It descended as steadily as the arm of a semaphore, and, although the experience appeared to be a terrifying one, the black was smiling as though he enjoyed it.

As the point of the stone – which, as has been said, was cone-shaped – touched the rock ledge Monday nimbly leaped from it and stood on the narrow shelf of stone. The fellow, like most islanders, was as agile as a goat. He smiled broadly back at his companions who, however, were not looking at him, but at the stone, which, relieved of its weight, now tilted back into position again as if actuated by some hidden machinery.

“Wonder how that old sealer felt the first time he tried it?” mused the professor.

“Kind er skeery like, I reckon,” said Simon Lake. “I guess he – ”

But Tom interrupted him with a sharp question. It was odd, but the idea which had just struck the boy had not as yet occurred to the others.

“How do you get back again?”

Lake laughed.

“Waal, yer see thar’s a trail up thet cliff that leads to ther top. Frum thar thar’s a path thet leads to a cove the ’tother side of the island. Thar’s mighty shallow water close in shore thar, so we kain’t bring ther schooner round, but Zeb Hunt an’ me keep a boat thar so that when we get through in ther cave we’ll cut across the other half of ther island and row home in ther boat.”

That solved the mystery which for an instant had perplexed them all. Lake, who seemed to be in high spirits, confided to them that all these secrets had been contained in the map of the place the old sealer had given him. Not knowing Lake’s character, our party wondered a good deal at his flow of spirits for – except when he had his banjo in hand – he was generally taciturn and sullen. They did not know that danger acted on him like wine on some men. Affairs at the camp were far more critical than he had let them know. That morning Lake had received a note threatening his life if he did not immediately set sail. It was characteristic of the man that this only made him delay the more.

“The varmints. I’ll teach ’em,” he had muttered, as he tore the missive into shreds.

But the realization that mutiny was imminent had been the real reason for his visit that morning to the gold-bearing rocks. He wished to make sure that they were as valuable as he believed, and if they proved to be so he was quite cold-blooded enough to sail off and abandon the mutineers to their fate. Returning to the island at some later date, he would ransack it of its precious metal at his leisure.

Tuesday followed his fellow-countryman over. He made the passage in perfect safety, fairly squealing with delight as the big rock tipped with him. Then came Tom’s turn. He also made the crossing without accident, as did the professor and Mr. Chillingworth. Simon Lake came last, carrying his weapons and a sack of tools which he had brought – a drill and such implements – the better for boring and obtaining samples.

When they all stood on the ledge and watched the big stone rise majestically for the last time, Tom was conscious of a sinking sensation. What if something had happened to the trail – if it were blocked or something. They would inevitably be prisoners till death came to their relief. However, there was no time to dwell on gloomy thoughts like these.

While they had been making the passage of the gulch a change had set in in the weather. It had been bright when they set out, but now dark clouds had rolled up, obscuring the sun and casting gloom into the depths of the crevasse upon whose edge they stood. There was an oppressive feeling, too, in the air.

“Thar’s a storm of some kind comin’ up,” commented Lake, gazing overhead at the driving clouds.

“Thunder?” asked the professor sniffing the heavy, sultry air.

“Looks like it. Ef it is one, we’ll be glad of shelter. We git some hummers daown in these parts, I kin tell yer. They don’t come often, but when they do, by Chowder! they deliver ’em in large packages.”

As he spoke a few heavy drops of rain fell.

“Come on. Better hurry for the cave,” cried Lake, hastening forward with his sack of tools. They followed him, keeping as close to the cliff-face as they could. The ledge was narrow, and it was unpleasant to think of what a misstep would result in.

The cave proved to be a large one and reached back some distance into the rock. Its floor was littered with bowlders and earth, where Lake and Zeb Hunt had carried on their prospecting operations.

The professor picked up a bit of the stuff. In the dim light they could see the dull glint of metal in it. Lake watched the scientist curiously.

“Waal,” he said, “haow is it?”

“I cannot tell positively,” was the rejoinder, “but if it is all like this, it is worth considerable per ton.”

“Will she run two thousand dollars to the ton?” asked Lake curiously.

The professor shook his head.

“Impossible to say without adequate assaying implements.”

“Make me out a list of wot yer want and when I come back from ther next run I’ll bring ’em with me,” promised Lake.

To Tom this speech seemed particularly ominous. It meant that there was no intention on Lake’s part of their escaping.

“Here’s a good boring,” said Lake presently. He drew a lantern from the tool bag and lit it, holding it up against a place at the back of the cave which had been pecked at with a pick. To do this he had to squat down almost doubled up in the cramped space. This brought the tip of one of his pistol holsters against an outcropping rock and the weapon fell to the ground unnoticed by Lake, but instantly seen by Tom, who stood close behind. Without any very definite idea of what he meant to do with it, the boy slipped it inside his shirt. Perhaps he would have some opportunity to find use for it, he thought vaguely.

Lake, earnestly examining bits of rock and handing them up to the professor, did not notice the loss of his weapon.

Suddenly there came an ominous growling sound from outside. It was thunder. The storm was rapidly nearing them then.

“Gee whillakers!” exclaimed Lake, suddenly springing erect. “Ef I ain’t forgotten ter go an’ look fer thet signal.”

“What do you mean?” asked the professor.

“Why, frum ther top uv this cliff yer kin see ther camp with field-glasses. I brought mine along fer thet purpose. Afore I left I agreed with Zeb thet in the event uv trubble he wuz ter hoist a red flag. Ef everything wuz all right, he was to run up the blue one. I’m goin’ up thar now afore ther storm makes it too thick.”

He hastened from the cave and, making his way along the ledge, began to mount the face of the cliff by a narrow stairway cut at a sharp incline in the face of the acclivity. Presently he vanished at the summit. It was then that Tom, with shining eyes, turned to the others.

“Our chance to escape has come!” he exclaimed.

“How do you make that out?” asked Mr. Chillingworth listlessly.

For reply Tom drew out his pistol.

“We can make Lake prisoner on his return,” he said eagerly, “and then make our way across the island to the cove in which, as he told us, he had hidden the boat.”

“Good gracious boy!” cried the professor excitedly. “That’s a good idea. A splendid one, but – what about my boy?”

Tom, who in his excitement had quite forgotten that the son and heir of the Dingle fortunes was in the care of Zeb Hunt, looked thoughtful.

“Of course, we must get him,” he said. “I’ll tell you,” he cried, his eyes flashing at the adventurous daring of the plan he was about to propose, “we’ll make Lake prisoner and take him along with us. With him in our power, we will be in a position to make terms with the rascals. We can conceal him somewhere and refuse to give him up till we get our liberty and the boy.”

Perhaps to any one less desperately situated the plan would have appealed only as the forlornest kind of a forlorn hope. But to our party it seemed feasible, and even excellently practicable.

But as they stood discussing it in the cave mouth, there came a sudden blinding flash of lightning. Involuntarily they all stepped back within the cavern. The clap of thunder that followed the electrical display shook the cliff till it vibrated again.

“Wow! this is a real storm, sure enough!” exclaimed Tom. “I never saw such lightning.”

“And no rain,” said the professor; “that makes it doubly bad. These dry electrical storms are always more severe than those accompanied by a heavy downpour.”

As he spoke there came another blinding flash, accompanied by a terrific peal of thunder. But the figure of Lake could now be seen coming down the cliff-face on his way back to the cave. The time to put their plan into execution had arrived. Amid the turmoil of the elements, they discussed it. It was agreed that Tom, hiding behind a big fragment of rock at the entrance of the cave mouth, was to level his pistol at the unsuspecting desperado as he appeared. He was then to be disarmed and tied, and the rest of their arrangements they left in an undecided condition till the first part of the daring program was carried out. The main thing to do, so all hands agreed, was to capture Lake.

Nearer and nearer came the unsuspecting leader of the Chinese runners. Tom crouched back into his place of concealment as the other came on. The rest stood close behind him. They hardly dared to breathe as the footsteps of the man they wished to capture drew closer.

As his form was framed in the cave mouth Tom sprang erect, holding the pistol level and pointed straight at Lake’s head. He saw the rascal grow white under his tan and open his mouth as if about to speak. But at the same instant there came a crash that seemed as if heaven and earth were being devoured in one vast catastrophe. At the same time a sheet of dazzling, burning white flame enveloped them. The figures in the cave mouth were illumined in its livid glare as if cut out of black paper. Crash followed crash. Another and another. A sensation like that of the pricking of myriad pin points ran through them. The blue lightning darted, hissing viciously about them, bathing them in living electricity.

Bewildered and stunned, Tom saw Lake’s figure reel and fall backward, clutching at the rock as he fell. The boy sprang forward to catch him and save him from falling into the abyss below, when a crash that dwarfed the others fairly stopped him in his tracks.

There came a mighty splitting, rending sound and Tom, looking upward in the direction from whence it came, saw the form of the great rocking stone swaying drunkenly on the bed in which it had rested securely through the ages.

Suddenly the great rock mass toppled out, its black form impending between the lad and the sky. The noise of its falling reverberated above the shriek of the storm and the thunder’s loudest roar.

Instinctively Tom tottered backward as it fell. Stunned, half deafened, and numb from the lightning, he reeled like a sick man. But even above it all, he could hear Lake’s wild death-shriek ringing out as he plunged backward.

The next instant there was a shock that seemed to shake the cliff to its mighty foundations. The dim light of the storm-shrouded day was blocked out, and at the same moment Tom lost consciousness.

But to the others there came no such merciful blotting out of the strange horror of the situation. In the very act of overpowering their enemy, they had, in turn, been overwhelmed by a crushing disaster.

The rocking stone, driven and unseated by a terrific thunderbolt, had lost its delicate balance and toppled from its base into the abyss.

In its fall it had wedged across the narrow gorge, blocking completely with the weight of tons of stone the entrance to the cave.

The castaways of Bully Banjo’s island were buried alive beyond hope of escape.

CHAPTER XXI.

MR. CHILLINGWORTH FIRES – AND MISSES

As is often the case where a disaster so complete has overtaken men, their very powers of speech seem to be taken from them. We read of men entombed in mines sitting silently awaiting the end, and of the silence in which disabled submarines have sunk to the bed of the sea.

It was so in this case. After a brief examination had shown them, what in fact they already knew, that tons of stone blocked their escape from the cave, they had relapsed into apparent apathy.

No one even appeared to notice Tom, who presently came to himself and stood dizzily upright. The lamp still burned in the rear of the cavern, shedding a dim, yellow light. But outside its rays the place was pitchy black. The weight of the rock that had fallen blocking the cave mouth had also shut out all sound of the fury of the storm – so that the place was as silent as a graveyard.

In answer to Tom’s questions the professor told him in a dull, listless voice, what had occurred. Tom was a plucky lad and had faced a good many dangers without flinching, but as he realized their position his heart sank, and he felt a queer, sickish feeling, that, if it were not real panic, approximated it pretty closely.

“Then there is no hope?”

Tom heard the professor to the end and then spoke in the same dull, toneless voice.

The other shook his head.

“A convulsion of nature seated that stone there,” he said; “another one displaced it. It is hoping too much that a third will occur and free us.”

“Then we must sit here till we die?”

Mr. Chillingworth’s voice struck in. It was as lifeless as the tones of the others.

As for Monday and Tuesday they took no part in the conversation, but sat moodily in the rear of the cave accepting their fate in a stoical manner.

“I am afraid that the only thing for us to do is to die like men and Americans,” said the professor bravely.

“Oh, no! no! I cannot die like this. I must get out! Oh, heaven, I won’t die like this!”

As he shouted thus incoherently the rancher dashed himself against the rock that sealed the cave mouth. Tom started up to drag him from the entrance and prevent his uselessly bruising and cutting himself. But the professor laid a hand on the boy’s arm.

“Leave him alone,” he said; “poor fellow. Life was good to him. He will be quieter when that paroxysm is over.”

And so it proved. The rancher’s desperate fit left him weak and exhausted. He sank down on a bit of rock, his head buried in his hand. But his heaving shoulders told what he was enduring.

Tom felt that he, too, would have liked to leap to his feet and hurl his body at the imprisoning rock, but he restrained himself by an effort.

“If I am to die, I’ll at least try to die as a man should,” thought the boy to himself.

For some time more they sat in gloomy silence. The only sound that broke the hush was that of Chillingworth’s sobs. Presently the professor arose, and not with any real sense of finding anything, commenced, with the aid of the lantern, a thorough examination of the cave. But if he had ever expected to find any outlet, he was disappointed. The place was without any other aperture than the one the fallen mass of stone had sealed.

“Do you think that any one will ever find our – our – bodies in this dreadful place?” said Tom, as the professor, abandoning his search with a sigh, rejoined the boy.

“I am afraid not,” said the scientist gloomily. “Why, what did you have in mind, my boy?”

“Why, I have a bit of chalk here,” said Tom. “I thought we might scrawl up our names and the date and what happened on the walls of the cave. It would be a record in case – in case – ” his voice shook, but he controlled it bravely – “they ever found us,” he concluded.

“At any rate, it will be something to do,” agreed the professor, falling in with the idea heartily. “But why not leave a more complete message – an account of our strange captivity, and so on? I have a pencil somewhere, and a tablet for making scientific notes.”

“Good!” rejoined Tom. “You write the lengthy account while I chalk up a shorter record on the rocks.”

He turned toward the wall, looking about for a smooth place to letter their last message upon, while the professor began fumbling in his pockets for his pencil. The implement did not seem to be handy. At any rate, the man of science explored all his outside pockets without result. Then he began on his inside ones.

Suddenly, while he was feeling about inside his coat, he gave a cry that echoed oddly through the silences of the sealed cave. So sharp and so peculiar was the tone that Chillingworth looked up from between his hands.

“Have you found the pencil?” asked Tom, in a steady voice, turning from his work with the chalk and coming toward the professor.

The next instant he felt a sharp chilling of his senses. The professor’s mind had undoubtedly given way under the strain of the terrible situation.

He was creeping toward Tom, holding something with the utmost care between his long fingers. He was regarding this object, which, Tom thought from its shape, must be a pencil, with smiles of what seemed insane delight and foolish, meaningless gibberings.

“What’s the matter, professor?” asked Tom, stepping briskly toward him and adopting a tone like one would use toward a child. “Come, brace up, sir. Don’t give way!”

For the professor was now giggling hysterically. The Kanakas, sullenly crouched by the lamp in a far corner, regarded him curiously. Monday tapped his forehead significantly.

“Tom, my boy,” breathed the professor, laying a bony hand on the boy’s shoulder – “Tom, I’m not crazy! Listen to me.” Then evidently making a strong effort to control himself, he sank his voice into a hard, level tone: “We have a chance of escape!”

Tom gave an amazed gasp. Words – he had none to fit this staggering statement.

“Do you see this little tube?” the professor went on.

He held up the long, thin, cylindrical object which Tom had mistaken for a pencil. He now saw that it was a glass tube about ten inches long and filled with a yellow, pasty-looking substance.

“In that tube are four ounces of my explosive,” whispered the professor, his eyes burning.

“The same stuff that blew Mrs. Bijur’s roof up?” gasped Tom, but without a hint of laughter in his voice or on his face. He began to see what was in the wind now.

“Yes,” was the rejoinder; “at least what exploded there was not more than a hundredth part of this tube, and it was not of anything like similar strength, being diluted. I had this explosive with me on the yawl, thinking that I might use it in geological work – diluted, of course. When the collision came I recollect seizing up this tube of my invention and thrusting it into my coat. In this rush of recent events I had forgotten it till this moment, when, in my search for a pencil, I encountered it.”

“What do you mean to do with it?” asked Tom, in the same breathless tones. Without knowing it, he was clutching the professor in the intensity of his excitement and eager hope.

“I mean to attempt to blow up the rock that blocks the entrance of this cave,” was the calm reply. “We have tools – a drill, and we can use that long stick I cut as a walking staff, for a tampon to drive the charge home.”

“But how are we to fire it?” asked Tom. “We have no fuse and no means of getting one.”

“Confound it!” exclaimed the professor, his hopes dashed to the lowest ebb once more. “What a fellow I am to forget details. What are we to do? Here we have the means of escape within our grasp almost, only to see them snatched away by such an unlucky chance as this. In any event, an ordinary fuse would do us no good. My explosive only ignites by detonation – in other words, by being dealt a hard blow. If only we had a fulminate of mercury cap – ”

“Might as well wish that the stone hadn’t fallen,” said Tom briskly. “I tell you what, Professor, let us start those Kanakas drilling a hole in the rock where it seems thinnest. While they are doing it we, perhaps, can think of some plan to explode the charge.”

It is a striking example of the effect of action on men that the Kanakas, once they were set to work, became far less gloomy. They tapped the rock eagerly to ascertain, while the professor listened to see, where it sounded the least solid. He finally selected a place and ordered the two South Sea natives to commence their bore there. They at once set to work at the task, while Mr. Chillingworth, who had been roused from his lethargy by even this remote chance of gaining freedom, talked over eagerly with the others the possibility of hitting upon a way to explode the charge and shatter the stone without using a detonator. The rancher had had considerable experience with dynamite and giant powder on his ranch, where he had blown up scores of big tree roots, so that his contributions to the discussion were intelligent ones.

At last he sprang to his feet with a sharp cry: “I’ve got it. I know how we can explode that stuff.”

The others looked eagerly.

“How?” asked the professor bluntly.

“By hitting it with a bullet.”

“What?”

“I mean what I say. We have a pistol and two of us at least are good shots. We will place that explosive in the hole in the rock when it is drilled and then fire it by striking it with a bullet from the revolver, Tom secured when Lake dropped it.”

“That is a good idea,” said the professor dryly, “but when the explosion comes what is to become of us?”

Chillingworth’s enthusiasm vanished like the effervescence of a wet rocket.

“I didn’t think of that,” he said. “There is a chance that we might be blown to pieces by the same explosion that rends the rock.”

“Perfectly correct,” agreed the professor, with a curious ring in his voice, “but not necessary. The force of my explosive, when confined, is invariably downward and inward. That is to say, in this case if we bore a hole at a steep angle into the rock, we may be able to shatter part of it without hurting ourselves.”

The Kanakas were at once set to work boring another hole slanting in the proposed direction. When this was accomplished, the professor gingerly placed the tube of high explosive within the aperture and announced that, so far as he was concerned, all was ready.

“Hold on a minute,” exclaimed Tom, as a sudden idea struck him.

Drawing out his chalk, he marked a ring round the mouth of the bore.

“There,” he exclaimed, “that makes a good target and the hole containing the explosive is the bull’s-eye.”

“Hitting which in this case may mean annihilation, swift and terrible,” said the professor dryly.

“We must make up our minds to take that chance,” said Mr. Chillingworth firmly, and Tom was rejoiced to see that the rancher’s nerve had come back.

“Will you take the first shot?” he asked, handing the pistol to the rancher.

The Kanakas gazed on curiously. They had been told of the daring attempt that was to be made, and had no objection. A shrug of the shoulders was their way of saying:

“As well death one way as another.”

Mr. Chillingworth accepted the pistol and weighed it curiously to ascertain its balance.

“A nice little weapon,” he said, in a calm voice.

“I think we had all better shake hands,” said the professor, “before we retire to the rear of the cave.”

Seriously the trio imprisoned in the living tomb shook hands and then started back to the extreme end of the cavern. Just before they did this, the lantern had been placed where its light would fall on the target. This left the rear part of the cave in blackness. Perhaps they each were glad of this. Tom knew he had no wish to look at the others’ faces, although he hoped that no trace of fear showed on his own.

Packing themselves as compactly as possible against the rear wall of the place, they fell into silence as Chillingworth made ready to fire. Only by a constant wetting of his lips with the tip of his tongue did the rancher betray his excitement. Tom could feel his pulses pounding and his heart beating till it seemed it would burst his ribs. The sweat rolled off his face. He wondered how the professor felt. Would Chillingworth never stop his everlasting balancing of the pistol and aiming of it at the target? What would Jack – ?