Descending into a valley area where the trail was nearly obliterated by dense foliage and creepers, the Scouts encountered rain. It let up by late afternoon. Nevertheless, Mr. Livingston decided to camp early.
War and Willie soon had a fire going which enabled them to dry out other wood for use during the night. Damp clothing was hung on a quickly constructed rack near the heat.
By the time supper was ready, everyone felt quite comfortable. Jack and the guide looked after the pack animals, while the other Scouts cleaned up the camp for the night.
Returning to the fire, Jack stood for a moment with his back to the flames. The night had closed in dark and with a hint of more rain.
“Y’know, I’ve had an uneasy feeling the last hour or so,” he confessed in a low voice.
Ken, busy laying out his eiderdown sleeping bag, quickly raised his head. “Uneasy?” he repeated. “About going on to the mine, you mean?”
Jack kept his voice low. “It’s not that, Ken. I’ve had an odd feeling that someone has been trailing us, even before we made camp.”
He expected Ken to laugh, but the other accepted his remark seriously.
“I’ve had the same feeling, Jack. The foliage is so dense here that one gets that closed in sensation. But who would follow us? Not Mrs. Rhodes?”
“No, she couldn’t have doubled back because there’s no other trail.”
“I’ve thought several times in the last hour that I’ve heard a rustling among the foliage, Jack. Wild animals probably. All the same, I think I’ll look around.”
“I already have, Ken. No sign of anyone.”
“We’re just being jittery.”
“Maybe,” Jack agreed, not completely convinced. “We’d better keep a good fire going tonight, just in case.”
Feeding the dying flames with another cut log, he started into the tent. Just then he was startled by a slight rustling of leaves almost directly behind. He and Ken both turned swiftly. Their pulses began to pound.
Against the dark foliage, a man stood clearly outlined. He was armed. As they stood frozen, he spoke a sharp command in Spanish, and came slowly toward them.
Jack and Ken did not understand the words, but the meaning was clear enough.
The smiling, hard-faced man who confronted them was a bandit.
Before they could make any response to his command, he fired a shot. The bullet nipped into the dirt at Jack’s feet.
Thus warned that the grizzled little man was not one with whom to trifle, the two Scouts quickly raised their hands.
The shot had brought War, Willie and Jose out of the shelter. They too were instantly covered and forced to line up with their faces to a tree.
The bandit kept up a patter of Spanish which only Jose could understand. Shaking with fear, he interpreted for the others.
“The bandit is Carlos, who long has terrorized the hills,” he told them nervously. “He says he will not harm anyone, if his commands are obeyed. We are to turn over all money and watches. If we refuse, he shoot to kill!”
Willie and War began to empty their pockets. Jack and Ken were more deliberate. Their delay brought an exclamation of impatience from the bandit.
Carlos gazed sharply about the camp, evidently aware that only five persons were accounted for. What had become of Mr. Livingston, Jack wondered. He remembered that the Scout leader had slipped away from camp for a moment to bring in more fire wood. Surely, he must have been alerted by the firing of a shot!
Carlos swiftly scooped up the money and watches which the Scouts reluctantly turned over. But before he could stuff the loot into the pouch he carried at his belt, there came a sharp command from the darkness behind the bandit.
“Hands up or I’ll shoot!”
The voice was Mr. Livingston’s! The Scouts knew that their leader was unarmed. Carlos, however, had no such knowledge.
Startled, he whirled around and fired blindly into the darkness.
In that instant, when the man’s attention was diverted from the captives by the fire, Jack and Ken acted together.
Lunging forward, they tackled the bandit below the knees. He went down, and in the brief but fierce struggle, they succeeded in knocking the weapon from his hand.
With the agility of a jungle cat, Carlos squirmed from Jack’s grasp. Slipping back into the foliage, he was swallowed by the darkness.
Jack groped and finally found the lost weapon. He started in pursuit.
“Let him go,” ordered Mr. Livingston, who had emerged into the circle of flickering firelight. “We can’t possibly overtake him, and it’s risky to try. He’ll have a horse tethered somewhere near.”
As the Scouts listened, they heard the bold bandit’s retreating footsteps. Then all became silent in the forest.
“What if he comes back later, maybe with some of his followers?” War asked anxiously.
“We have his gun, so I don’t think he’ll be back tonight,” Mr. Livingston replied. “Good work, Jack! I thought you and Ken would react as you did! Any of our stuff missing?”
The Scouts took careful inventory. In his haste to escape, the bandit had left behind all the cash and jewelry.
“I doubt Carlos will try another raid tonight, knowing we’ll be on the alert,” Mr. Livingston commented. “All the same, we’ll set up a guard.”
The incident was more disturbing to Jose than to the Scouts. For hours after the bandit had gone, he huddled in his blanket, his back to a tree, fearfully watching the shadows.
In broken English, he related to the Explorers that Carlos was well known for his cruelty and bold ways. Somewhere in the hills he maintained a hide-out with a few faithful but disreputable followers. The Colombian government had placed a price upon his head. But no one ever had claimed the reward. Year after year, the bandit continued to swoop down on luckless travelers. Three times in the past year he reportedly had made valuable hauls of emeralds which were being taken out of the mine for shipment.
Despite Jose’s fears, no more was heard that night from the bandit. The Scouts slept well, and as soon as the sun came up, were on their way.
For several hours they pushed on, keeping an alert watch for Carlos. At times, they imagined they heard a soft rustling of the foliage along the trail, but they saw no one. Jack had kept the bandit’s automatic as a souvenir, disregarding Jose’s advice to discard it.
“You keep gun—Carlos come back for it,” the guide predicted grimly.
“Let him,” Jack returned cheerfully. “Next time I’ll be more alert.”
By noon, the party had reached a low ridge. As they rested briefly, Jose pointed out a forested valley and a fast-moving river.
“Last Chance mine,” he informed the group. “We be there in next hour.”
“The mine is very old?” Mr. Livingston inquired.
“Si, Senor.It was worked before the Spanish Conquest and many times lost. When the mine close, workers move away—jungle close in. Mine have many names.”
“The Last Chance sounds pretty modern,” the Scout leader remarked with a smile.
“Senor Corning give it that name when he come,” Jose explained.
“I can imagine why,” Mr. Livingston remarked to Jack. “He figured that if he didn’t make good here, the mine might be closed again. At least the company which employs him would lose its government lease.”
“With Carlos hovering around ready to swoop down, I shouldn’t think mining would be very profitable,” Ken contributed. “That old boy is a pest! Maybe Mr. Corning sent for us to help him get rid of the hill bandits.”
“I doubt it,” the Scout leader rejoined. “Corning would know how to deal with Carlos. No, I’m afraid the trouble is more serious than that.”
Eager to reach the mine, the party went on, working through vines which had overgrown the trail. After a wearisome struggle, they emerged onto a wider path which showed evidence of recent use.
Finally, they came out into a clearing which offered a view of the mine. Spread before them at the edge of a gorge were a cluster of wooden buildings with thatched roofs. The largest, and most sturdily constructed, they took to be the main office.
Weary and footsore, the arrivals left Jose in charge of the animals, and tramped into the central building. Their approach had been observed by native workmen. Yet, there had been no one to welcome them.
“Corning may be sick,” Mr. Livingston remarked anxiously.
He and the Scouts found themselves in an untidy two-room office, furnished with a couch, a desk, a safe and a filing cabinet. As they gazed about, a tall, lean man with dark moustache came in through the door they had just entered.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he greeted them, politely but without a flicker of a smile. “Anything I can do for you?”
“We’re looking for the engineer in charge,” Mr. Livingston said after a moment of silence.
“Speaking.”
“Appleby Corning, I should have said,” the Scout leader corrected himself.
“Corning no longer is in charge here.”
“Not in charge?” Mr. Livingston responded, startled. “There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake, I assure you.”
“Is Mr. Corning ill?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the man replied somewhat indifferently. “He’s not here. The last time I saw him was six months ago.”
“Six months!” the Scout leader exclaimed. “Impossible! Why, I’ve had letters from him and a couple of cables since then.”
“Of that I wouldn’t know, Mr.—”
“Livingston,” the Scout official supplied. “Excuse me for not introducing myself and the other members of my party. Seeing you instead of my friend, rather gave me a jolt.”
“I can imagine,” the other rejoined coldly. “I’m McClellan Rhodes.”
“I guessed it,” Mr. Livingston returned. “You say you’re in charge here? The company reassigned you?”
The engineer gazed at the Scout official with defiant, unwavering eyes. “I took charge when I found everything going to the dogs here,” he informed the group. “Someone had to do it, you understand. If I had waited to get authority from the company, the workers would have been gone, and the mine stripped.”
“Where is Mr. Corning?”
“I wish I knew.”
“When did you take over here?” Mr. Livingston demanded. His voice was sharper than he meant it to be.
“About ten days ago.”
“Mr. Corning wasn’t here when you came?”
“He was not. As I told you, I found everything in a mess—workers preparing to pull out. I stepped in to save the mine for the owners.”
“What became of my friend?”
“I’ve told you I don’t know,” the engineer replied, no longer hiding his impatience. “I have important work to do now, and can’t answer any more questions. Corning, I think, is dead. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Just a minute, please,” Mr. Livingston interposed as the mining engineer started to leave the office. “We’ve come a long distance to see Appleby Corning. I feel I must know more about his strange disappearance.”
Rhodes halted in the doorway, scowling. “I’m busy,” he replied pointedly. “As I told you, work isn’t progressing as it should. Whenever I turn my back, those confounded Indians lean on their tools, instead of working.”
“We won’t keep you long,” Mr. Livingston returned in a quiet voice. “Just tell us what became of Mr. Corning.”
“I don’t know,” the engineer retorted in exasperation. “I thought I made that clear.”
“Why do you say he’s probably dead.”
“Because he’s a captive of Carlos.”
“The bandit!”
“So I assume. I’d heard repeated reports that the mine was being badly managed. I came here to see if I could help. Lucky I did too. I found everything in chaos. Bandits, led by Carlos, had dropped down on the camp twelve hours earlier. They’d robbed the safe of emeralds and taken Corning captive.”
“How long ago was that?” Mr. Livingston asked.
“Ten days ago.”
“What attempt have you made to trace Appleby?”
“None.”
“None?” The Scout leader repeated sharply.
“It’s useless,” the engineer informed him. “You don’t know this country. Carlos is a devil. It would take a small army to blast him out of his hide-out.”
“He didn’t seem such a bold demon when we brushed into him,” Jack drawled, entering the conversation. “In fact, he turned tail and ran like a coward.”
Rhodes turned to stare intently at the youth. “You encountered Carlos?” he demanded. “Where?”
“On the trail. He was alone.”
“He tried to rob us,” contributed Ken, “but we were fortunate enough to elude him.”
“Carlos doesn’t usually operate alone,” Rhodes informed the group. “You were lucky he didn’t shoot you at sight.”
“If we’d known that he had taken Mr. Corning captive, we’d have pursued him,” Mr. Livingston said. “Where is his hide-out?”
“Oh, he has half a dozen of them back in the hills,” the mining engineer returned vaguely. “He moves from one to another. A reward has been placed on his head, but no one ever collects.”
“You say you’ve made no effort to try to find Corning?”
“That’s right,” Rhodes retorted, “and I don’t like your tone, Mister. You know what these mountain trails are like.”
“We do.”
“I can’t send natives to look for him. They wouldn’t venture a step. As for myself, it would be folly to leave the mine. My first duty is to the operators.”
“So nothing is to be done?”
“I didn’t put it that way,” Mr. Rhodes returned, his eyes flashing. “If your friend is still alive—which I seriously doubt—there will be a ransom demand in time. It will be prohibitive, of course. Whether or not it is met, will be up to the mine operators, not to me.”
“I’m not satisfied to sit and wait, Mr. Rhodes. Appleby and I were close friends. Something must be done.”
“Then you do it!” the engineer snapped. He started to leave the office, then paused again. “I’ll put you up here for a day or so, if you’re not too particular about your accommodations,” he told the group. “One of the men will show you to your quarters as soon as the place has been fumigated.”
“Fumigated?” Mr. Livingston’s eyebrows jerked upward. “For insects, you mean?”
“Not exactly. The last occupant died of some unknown disease that’s been knocking the natives off like flies.”
“In that case, we’ll use our sleeping bags and remain out-of-doors,” Mr. Livingston stated. “We have our canvas shelters.”
“Suit yourself,” the engineer shrugged. “The nights here get pretty cold though. After a couple of days, I think you’ll be hitting the trail.”
No one made a reply. The engineer hesitated a moment, and then without saying more, went out of the building. The Scouts saw him descend a series of roughly hewn stone steps into a pit where a dozen natives were at work.
Mr. Livingston made certain that no one loitered near the office, before he spoke. Then he said: “The situation is a lot worse than I expected.”
“Rhodes may be lying!” Ken asserted.
“Do you think Appleby Corning really is dead?” War asked anxiously.
“Something has happened to him, that’s evident,” the Scout leader replied. “I was afraid of it when he didn’t meet us or send word.”
“All the same, there’s something fishy about Rhodes’ story,” Jack insisted. “Why would he show up here at exactly the right moment to check on the mine? Wasn’t he discharged?”
“That was my understanding, Jack. Corning didn’t write very much, you know.”
“The natural thing after being discharged would be to clear out,” Jack went on. “Rhodes apparently didn’t do that. He hung around, waiting for a chance to move in.”
“And maybe he created that chance!” suggested Willie. “Maybe he did away with Corning himself! I’ll bet the tale about Carlos swooping down here is a phony!”
“It might be,” Mr. Livingston conceded. “That part should be easy to check, if we can talk with the natives. Some of them must speak a little English.”
“Rhodes has moved in here to further his own interests, and he doesn’t give a hoot what became of Appleby Corning,” Willie expanded his theory. “It’s to his advantage not to have him found.”
“That’s so,” agreed Jack. “Getting rid of Corning may have been part of a well-planned scheme. If it’s true that Rhodes came here only ten days ago, it’s unlikely he’d have had time to get word to his wife.”
“Yet she knew he was in charge here days ago!” Ken exclaimed. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t have made the trip.”
“I’m terribly afraid Appleby has been the victim of treachery,” Mr. Livingston nodded. “We’ve got to learn what became of him, and not depend on Rhodes’ word either.”
“We might drive him into a corner, and try to force the truth out of him,” War proposed.
The others vetoed his suggestion. “That wouldn’t get us anywhere,” Mr. Livingston objected. “Rhodes controls the natives here. His word is law.”
“Can’t we organize search parties?” Willie asked.
“In this jungle growth?” Jack caught him up. “It would be worse than looking for a needle in a haystack! Without a clue as to Carlos’ hide-out, we’d lose ourselves, and never find Corning.”
“That’s the way it looks to me,” Mr. Livingston admitted. “Another thing, I’m not fully convinced that my friend was seized by bandits. Our first job is to confirm that fact.”
“Rhodes won’t do anything to help us,” Ken said. “Where do we start?”
“While you fellows get settled, I’ll amble around to see what I can learn,” Jack offered.
Once outside the office building, curiosity led him toward the V-shaped pit where stocky Indians labored with crowbar and pick. A vein of beryl lay exposed.
With infinite skill, the laborers shattered the rock, taking care not to smash the calcite or the emeralds. Eagerly, Rhodes examined the exposed gems. But the take did not satisfy him. With an exclamation of rage, he struck one of the workers in the face.
The fellow stumbled backward against the rocks. A small object rolled from his gnarled hand. Only then did Jack realize that Rhodes’ anger had been caused by the native’s thievery.
The engineer seized the gem and dropped it into his leather pouch. His gaze fell upon Jack who stood watching.
“Get out of here!” he ordered harshly. “No one is allowed near the vein except the workmen! Believe me, I have enough trouble watching them. They steal me blind!”
“You or the company?” Jack asked, irked by the engineer’s unwarranted attack.
“The company,” Rhodes corrected himself. “Every gem taken from this mine is accounted for, I assure you. But the vein’s playing out. A new pit must be opened, or the mine soon will close down.”
Jack made no reply for his eyes were on the fallen workman. The fellow had no shoes, his trousers were ragged, and his shirt torn. It was his gaze however, that held the Scout’s attention. The man was eyeing Rhodes with a deep, smoldering hatred.
The engineer himself became aware of the expression. Ignoring Jack for the moment, he strode over and bestowed a savage kick upon the fallen one.
“Thieving leech!” he berated him. “Stupid, stealing fool!”
His wrath expended, the engineer again turned upon Jack.
“Didn’t I ask you to get out of here?” he asked coldly but with his voice now carefully controlled. “No one is allowed in the pit. It’s a company rule.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack apologized. “I’ll leave. You needn’t worry, though, about any of the Scouts taking your emeralds.”
“No?” The engineer flashed an amused smile. “Son, if you’re here long enough, you may find their lure irresistible. Many a murder has been committed for an emerald—here at this mine too.”
“Appleby Corning being the latest victim?”
“Carlos has preyed upon this mine for years,” Rhodes replied, not answering Jack’s question directly. “He’s a bad actor.”
“Why doesn’t someone clean out his gang?”
“This isn’t the United States,” Rhodes retorted. “The authorities can’t be bothered. Now will you move out and stop asking so many questions? You hinder me.”
Jack nodded and climbed out of the pit, but not before he had made careful note of the fallen workman. He would remember the face. Later, if he approached the matter right, the man might talk.
Leaving the pit, he sought his companions, who had pitched their tents in a sheltered area some distance from the huts.
“Learn anything, Jack?” Ken accosted him as he came up.
“Not yet. Rhodes drove me out of the mine.”
“We took a look at that hut Rhodes assigned to us,” Willie informed him in disgust. “It’s the worst looking hole in the place. We figure he wanted to make it as tough as possible for us.”
“Where’s Mrs. Rhodes?”
“She’s moved into the best place in the diggings, with her husband.” Ken pointed to a well-built frame structure near the main office. “That must have been where Appleby Corning lived.”
“I wish we could look through his papers,” Mr. Livingston said. “We might run into something that would help.”
“What sort of clue?” Jack questioned, staring thoughtfully toward the hut.
“I don’t actually know, Jack. But there’s more to this raid and kidnapping than Rhodes has told us.”
“Maybe we can get in and look around.”
“Not now at any rate,” Mr. Livingston rejected his proposal. “Mrs. Rhodes is in there. We saw her go in a few minutes ago.”
“She knows we’re here, but she just ignores us,” added War. “Suits me fine.”
Leaving Jose, War and Willie to unpack the equipment, the other three started toward the office. Enroute, Jack told of the beating Rhodes had inflicted upon the peon.
“It doesn’t surprise me,” Mr. Livingston commented. “Rhodes is a brute!”
“The man was trying to steal an emerald,” Jack admitted. “Obviously, he hates Rhodes and probably would like to get even. I’ll talk to him at the first opportunity.”
“You may not get anything,” Mr. Livingston advised. “Jose might have better luck. At least, he could draw the fellow out better, and Rhodes wouldn’t be suspicious if he saw them together.”
“I never thought of Jose!” Jack exclaimed. “That’s the ticket!”
The three had reached the little office on the rise of land. An outer door stood open to the breeze. Jack was surprised to see that Rhodes had left the pit and now was inside the building.
His back was to the approaching trio. He had squatted before the big safe, and deftly was turning the dials.
Involuntarily, the three halted, alerted by the engineer’s tense attitude. Why, they wondered, did he act so furtively, as if engaged in a dishonest act?
The big safe door swung open. Rhodes reached in and drew out a long, cardboard box. Dipping in his hand, he lifted out a fistful of green emeralds.
Gloatingly, as a miser would gaze at his hoard of gold, he fondled the gems. The watchers saw him compare some of the larger emeralds with those taken from his leather pouch.
“There’s something fishy about this!” Jack muttered. “Didn’t he tell us that ten days ago, Carlos broke into the safe and took all the emeralds? Why, that handful must represent weeks of digging!”
His voice, though scarcely above a whisper, had carried inside the building.
Startled, Rhodes suddenly straightened. Seeing the three just outside the door, he thrust all the gems back into the box and hurriedly locked the safe.
“I was just putting away the emeralds that were brought up this morning,” McClellan Rhodes remarked as Mr. Livingston and the two Scouts tramped into the office.
“Quite a haul?” inquired the Scout leader.
“Fair.” Reluctant to discuss the subject of emeralds, the mining engineer dismissed the matter. “You’ve pitched your tent, I see,” he remarked. “Well, you can take your meals with my wife and me for today. I’d advise an early start in the morning.”
“We hadn’t planned on leaving,” Mr. Livingston told him.
“No?” Rhodes voice was sharp. “I don’t like to seem inhospitable, but visitors aren’t particularly welcome here at the mine. No facilities, you know.”
“We don’t mind roughing it.”
“You can’t stay,” Rhodes said shortly. “Your presence here would interfere with the work. If it’s worry about Corning that is holding you, let me say again, there is absolutely nothing you can do. In time, there may be a ransom demand—probably in emeralds.”
“But didn’t you tell us earlier today that Carlos stripped the safe?” Jack interposed.
There was a moment of strained silence, and the engineer’s dark eyes glinted with suppressed anger. But his voice was carefully controlled when he replied:
“That’s right. Since then, we’ve dug a few more. I just finished washing them in a bath of hydrochloric acid.”
Jack let the remark go unchallenged. He was convinced however, that the man was lying. Since he had left him in the pit, there had been insufficient time to clean the day’s gleaning of emeralds. Yet the cardboard box, replaced in the safe, had contained at least a double handful of fine specimens.
“Please tell me everything you know about the bandit raid,” Mr. Livingston urged, seating himself on a high stool.
“Nothing to tell. When I arrived here, the workers were preparing to pull out. They told me Carlos and his men had swooped down the night before, terrorizing the camp. Your friend Corning was caught by surprise and taken prisoner. The bandits made him open the safe. They took the emeralds and a little cash and rode off.”
“Odd they’d burden themselves with Corning,” Mr. Livingston commented. “Especially after they got what they wanted.”
“Carlos doesn’t miss any bets. He’ll make a ransom demand.”
“Earlier today you said you were convinced Corning is dead,” Ken reminded him. “Now you’re pretty sure he’s being held prisoner?”
“What are you trying to do? Mix me up?” Rhodes shot at him. “I told you I think your friend is dead, and I’ll stick by it. But if he’s still alive, there will be a ransom demand. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” Ken drawled. “I don’t mean to be inquisitive, but to help us get the picture, would you mind telling us why the mine operators hired Corning in the first place?”
“I’ll be glad to, because it was a mistake, and they realize it now. Until Corning took over, I’d been in charge here for nearly three years. Emerald production began to drop during the last six months or so. That wasn’t my fault. The vein’s played out.”
“Then it was because production had fallen off that Corning was assigned here?” Mr. Livingston inquired.
“That was behind it,” Rhodes admitted with a scowl. “Corning’s a big talker. He sold himself and ran me down—convinced the operators that the miners weren’t being handled right, and that I—”
“Yes?” the Scout leader prompted as Rhodes ended in mid-sentence.
“Nothing,” the engineer said shortly. “That’s all there was to it. Corning took over here and things went to the dogs fast. He had a wild theory that he could find the old mine that was worked at the time of the Spanish Conquest. He spent a lot of his time searching for it, and even had some of the natives helping him. Production fell off more than ever.”
“Corning didn’t find the rich vein?” Mr. Livingston questioned to keep the other talking.
“What do you think? That old mine has been lost for centuries, and it will stay hidden for years to come.”
“Corning always was a methodical sort of fellow,” Mr. Livingston said thoughtfully. “If he searched for that old vein, he must have done it systematically. He’d have left a record of his work too.”
“He did make a map.”
“A map?” Jack interposed eagerly. “May we see it?”
“It’s worthless.”
“Anyway, may we see it?” Jack insisted.
“It’s in the safe, and I haven’t time to get it out now,” Mr. Rhodes said, looking at his wrist watch. “I must get back to the pit.”
Making certain that the safe door was locked, the engineer abruptly quitted the office.
“That talk about the map certainly made him pull out in a hurry,” Ken remarked when they were alone. “What do you think, Hap?”
“That he was lying again,” Mr. Livingston answered. “I can’t believe he has the slightest concern about Appleby Corning’s welfare.”
“And how was it that he just happened to arrive here at the opportune time to take over the mine for the owners?” Jack added. “Fishy!”
Ken had moved to the desk, an old fashioned roll top affair. It was locked. On top of a bookcase devoted to mining journals and books on mineralogy were numerous specimens of rock, an Indian bow and arrow and other trinkets.
Noticing several sheets of paper thrust into one of the books, he examined them. All were blank, evidently having been used as a page marker.
Inspired by Ken’s activity, Jack also searched the room for possible clues, even peering behind the safe.
“If Corning left any papers behind, they’re locked in the desk,” he concluded. “Rhodes wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave anything kicking around.”
“He might at the house where Corning lived,” Ken suggested. “Naturally, he wouldn’t figure we’d do any searching there.”
“How can we?” Jack demanded. “Not with Mrs. Rhodes camped on the spot.”
“She can’t stay there forever. Maybe, if we watch our chance—”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Livingston demurred. “It’s a risky thing to do and not to my liking.”
“We’re not dealing with honorable people,” Jack reminded him. “Shouldn’t we try to learn the truth about what happened here?”
“Go ahead,” Mr. Livingston reluctantly consented. “I can’t see, though, that we’re likely to come upon anything that will help us trace Corning.”
“We could go for the authorities,” Ken proposed. “Wouldn’t they organize a search party?”
“Possibly, Ken. But from what I’ve been told, the authorities don’t concern themselves very much with the activities of Carlos. He’s a law unto himself.”
“How about setting off by ourselves?” Ken asked.
“I’m afraid Rhodes told us the truth when he said the country hereabouts is impossible. Once we left the trail, we’d have to hack our way foot by foot. We’d have no chance of reaching Carlos’ hide-out without a guide. And who knows the way?”
“What’s more,” Ken added, “if we did succeed in finding it, we’d be no match for Carlos and his armed followers. They’d make short work of us.”
“Then what’s to be done?” Jack asked in discouragement. “Give up? Return to Bogota or Cartagena?”
“I’ve thought it over, and I intend to stay here at the mine for a day or two at least,” Mr. Livingston told him. “I’m not convinced that Corning is dead. If there should be a ransom demand, I want to be on hand when it comes.”
“Will Rhodes let us stay, do you think?” Jack questioned doubtfully.
“He may become quite unpleasant,” Mr. Livingston admitted. “We’ll ignore his hints to leave, and see what happens. Circulate a bit, meanwhile, and see what information you can pick up. I’ll do likewise.”
Quitting the little office, the three went out into the bright sunlight. Jack noted that Mrs. Rhodes was seated in the screened porch of Corning’s former dwelling. Although she appeared to be reading a magazine, he noticed that her gaze followed the trio.
Workmen were coming up out of the mine pit, to eat their lunch. The man whom McClellan Rhodes had abused, sat down with his back to a rock and began munching a cold tortilla. Jack sauntered over to speak to him.
Before he had spoken more than a phrase of halting Spanish, he heard heavy steps behind him. Turning, he saw Rhodes bearing down upon him.
“You are not to talk to the workmen,” he told Jack harshly. “A company rule.”
“Seems to me you have a lot of ’em around here,” Jack growled. “I was only passing the time of day.”
“It makes no difference. You know my orders. Stay out of the pit, and away from the miners.”
“Okay,” Jack agreed, deciding to make no issue of the matter.
He ambled down to the edge of a deep but swift flowing stream some distance from the camp but within the cleared area. A log bridge, made by felling a tall tree, spanned the torrent. He started to cross, but had taken scarcely three steps on the precarious footing when Rhodes again descended upon him.
“Hey, you!” the engineer shouted.
Startled, Jack nearly lost his balance. Retreating to shore, he waited for Rhodes to come up.
“Stay in camp!” the engineer ordered. “Don’t go wandering around.”
“I merely intended to cross the stream,” Jack replied, nettled. “I hope I have better sense than to go roaming the wilds without leaving a trail.”
“No one is allowed across the river.”
“Then why the bridge? Decoration?”
Mr. Rhodes coldly ignored the question. “My wife has lunch ready,” he said. “She’s an excellent cook and I trust you’ll enjoy her cooking during your brief stay here. You will join us?”
“Thanks,” Jack responded, feeling at a disadvantage. “But we don’t want to put you to any trouble, or your wife.”
“No trouble,” the engineer said shortly. “Come along.”
Jack fell into step. As they left the river, Rhodes relaxed somewhat and talked cheerfully of a recent visit he had made to the coast.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” he abruptly asked the Scout.
The unexpected question caught Jack off guard. At a loss for a reply, he began to stammer.
“You have me all wrong,” the engineer went on. “Maybe I seem abrupt, but this is rough country, and one can’t be too careful. Worried about Corning?”
“Naturally.”
“Believe me, if anything can be done, I’ll do it,” Rhodes assured him. “The point I’m trying to make is this, you can’t help him by remaining here. You’ll only hinder my work.”
“It’s for Mr. Livingston to decide what we do.”
“So I gathered.” The engineer eyed Jack shrewdly. “But your opinion carries weight with him. I saw that right away. Now if you and the other boys were to talk to him, you could make him see how foolish it is to remain here. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How do you mean?”
Rhodes drew a small emerald from his pocket. In the sunlight it shown with a deep fire.
“Notice the color,” he directed. “A perfect gem. You like it?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Feel it—roll it in your hand,” Rhodes urged, closing Jack’s fingers over the gem. “Now all you need to do is convince Mr. Livingston to leave here by tomorrow morning. Do that and this emerald is yours!”
Annoyed by the attempted bribe, Jack returned the emerald to the mining engineer.
“No, thanks,” he said. “Sorry, you can’t buy me. Seems you’re mighty eager to get us away from here.”
“No such thing.” Rhodes replaced the gem in a pouch which Jack noticed contained even larger emeralds. “Visitors interfere with the work. I was willing to make it worth your while to leave—that’s all.”
“I doubt Mr. Livingston will pull out while his friend is held captive by bandits. Odd isn’t it, that there’s been no ransom demand in so many days?”
“Nothing odd about it,” Rhodes retorted. “Corning’s probably dead. Carlos is without heart, cruel and vicious.”
“Why not organize a party and track him down?”
“He’d elude us. No, the only thing to do is to be patient and see what develops.”