Jack made no reply, although Rhodes’ views displeased him. He had tried to hide his anger at being offered a bribe. Nevertheless, he was more than ever convinced that Rhodes wanted to get the Scouts away from the mine to prevent them from learning important facts about Corning’s kidnapping.
Thinking it over, he decided to make his own investigation by talking to some of the miners. No opportunity presented itself, however. Whenever he approached a workman, Rhodes quickly arrived upon the scene.
Biding his time, Jack waited until nightfall. Then, slipping away from the Scout tent, he stole to the thatched roof shack of Phillipe, the man Rhodes had struck.
A soft tap on the door brought the miner to the door. Suspiciously, he gazed at Jack.
“Amigo—friend,” Jack assured him. In halting Spanish he asked to be admitted.
The man allowed him to enter the barren hovel. Laboriously, Jack tried to make him understand that he sought information about Mr. Corning.
“Bandits come,Senor,” the miner informed him with gestures. “They ride off withSenorCorning.”
“And the emeralds?”
“No,Senor. Carlos get nothing.SenorCorning refuse to open safe.”
“That’s funny,” Jack remarked, half to himself. “Rhodes told us Carlos cleaned out the safe. He must have lied.”
“SenorRhodes lie about many things,” Phillipe muttered. “Old mine—”
The words froze on his lips. Unnoticed, Rhodes had approached and now stood, feet astride, in the open doorway.
Coldly, he addressed Jack. “I figured I’d find you here. Trying to stir trouble among my workers?”
“No such thing,” Jack denied.
“Go to your quarters and remain there for the night! Must I remind you, this is an emerald mining camp and that regulations must be rigid.”
Jack held his tongue, knowing that opposition most certainly would result in a beating for Phillipe. He left with the engineer, separating from him at the cottage. Going on to the Scout camp, he was surprised to find his friends in earnest conversation.
“Say, Jack,” War greeted him. “Did you take that gun—the one we snatched from Carlos?”
“Haven’t touched it,” Jack rejoined. “You’ll find it under my sleeping bag.”
“Someone’s swiped it,” War informed him. “Rhodes probably! We saw him poking his nose into the tent before supper. I’ll bet he took it to make sure we don’t start anything!”
“Let’s demand it back!” Willie urged.
“No use,” Mr. Livingston advised. “He’d only deny he took it. Besides, maybe we’re better off without that weapon. Loaded guns do cause accidents.”
Dismissing the matter of the lost revolver, Jack told the group of his talk with Phillipe.
“Corning was kidnapped, all right,” he declared. “But why did Rhodes lie about the emeralds? Apparently, Carlos didn’t steal them, because Corning wouldn’t open the safe.”
“That needn’t have stopped him,” Mr. Livingston pointed out. “He could have blown it quite easily.”
“Seemingly, emeralds weren’t Carlos’ main objective. He must have swooped down here with the deliberate intention of taking Corning captive. For ransom?”
“He’s made no demand as yet,” Mr. Livingston commented. “Furthermore, those emeralds in the safe would be worth far more than he could expect to get in a cash demand.”
“The whole deal looks phony,” Jack said. “Rhodes knows more than he’s telling, and he’s afraid I’ll find out something by talking to the miners. That’s why he watches me so closely.”
“I’d like to look over Corning’s papers,” Mr. Livingston said thoughtfully. “If ever he searched for an old mine, I’m sure he would have left a record of his work.”
“We could ask Rhodes to let us look over his things.”
“I did, this afternoon, Jack. He denied me access to the office file.”
“Why not look without his permission?”
“I don’t like to do that, Jack.”
“We’re dealing with a guy who has no scruples,” Jack pointed out. “Anyway, let’s breeze him again. Maybe if we bear down hard, he’ll let us go through Corning’s papers.”
“We can try,” Mr. Livingston agreed.
Leaving the other Scouts behind, the pair walked to the office. The building was lighted with two gasoline lamps, but upon entering, they found no one there.
“Rhodes is at the house, I guess,” the Scout leader said.
“Then this may be our chance,” Jack suggested. His gaze fastened upon the filing cabinet. “Why not?”
“It’s probably locked.”
“Probably,” Jack agreed. He tried the wooden drawer, and to his surprise, it pulled open.
Stuffed into the back of the file were samples of rock and a bottle of chemical. Manila folders were stacked in the front, each neatly labeled. However, nearly all were empty of papers.
“Rhodes must have cleaned out about everything,” Jack commented. “Nothing here apparently, except routine letters.”
He pulled out a second drawer, entirely empty except for a long roll of heavy paper, tied with cord. Impelled by curiosity, he untied the knot and spread out the sheet.
“Why, it’s a map!” he exclaimed. “A map of an emerald mine!”
“This one?” Mr. Livingston demanded. Getting up, he went to the desk to peer over Jack’s shoulder.
The map was roughly drawn, but to scale. Even a casual glance convinced the two that it was not a representation of the Last Chance mining operation.
“It seems to be located across the stream,” Jack said, his interest growing. “In the densely forested area. You don’t suppose—”
“That it might be a drawing of the old lost Spanish mine?” supplied Mr. Livingston. “It could be, Jack!”
“The mine seems to be situated south of here,” Jack went on, studying the markings intently. “Some of these lines have been erased and re-drawn.”
“The map can’t have too much value, or it wouldn’t have been left out of the safe,” Mr. Livingston replied. “The legend appears to be in Corning’s handwriting, but I’m sure some of the writing isn’t his.”
As the two poured over the drawings, they were startled to hear approaching footsteps. Quickly, Jack thrust the map back into the filing cabinet drawer.
Scarcely had he closed it than the door was flung open. But it was not McClellan Rhodes who stood there, but Willie.
“Come quick!” he urged the pair.
“What’s doing?” Mr. Livingston asked alertly. “Anyone hurt?”
Willie shook his head. “War and I were taking a little walk down the trail before turning in for the night. We saw something mighty queer! We want you both to see it too! Come right away or it may be too late!”
Taking time only to replace the map in the filing cabinet, Jack and Mr. Livingston followed War and Willie outside the office.
“What’s this all about?” Jack demanded.
“You’ll see,” Willie promised, leading the way down the trail.
The night was dark, with only a sliver of a moon to light the path. Though the Scouts had flashlights, they avoided using them.
The mountain mist swirled about them as they crept through a tunnel of trees to an outcropping of rock which gave an unobstructed view. Below, but invisible, lay the valley.
“Why did you fellows bring us here?” Jack demanded, as Willie and War paused. “What is there to see?”
“Wait,” War advised.
Even as he spoke, Mr. Livingston and Jack were startled to catch the flash of a light. It appeared to come from another rock almost level with them, jutting out from the mountain side.
The beam went on and off in a series of flashes.
“Code!” Jack muttered.
“It’s code, all right,” Willie agreed, “but not Morse. Nothing you can read.”
As the four watched, there was an answering series of flashes from below. The light signals seemed to come from a level of perhaps a third of the distance to the valley.
“What does it mean?” Jack demanded. “Who is signaling?”
“Rhodes at this end,” War informed him. “Willie and I learned that much before we came to the office.”
“There are no houses down there—nothing but trail,” Mr. Livingston said. “Can it be—”
“That he’s signaling Carlos, the bandit?” War supplied eagerly. “That’s the way Willie and I doped it out.”
“I was thinking of that possibility,” Mr. Livingston admitted. “Rhodes isn’t bothered by Corning’s disappearance. I’m sure of that. He may have plotted it, though I hate to think so.”
“He’d do anything to stay at the mine as engineer,” Willie said grimly. “He isn’t making the slightest effort to trace Mr. Corning.”
“It seems that way to me,” Mr. Livingston nodded. “Of course, unless the authorities will undertake a search, there’s not much that can be done.”
“Rhodes must know the hide-out of those bandits,” Jack asserted. “Shall we breeze him now?”
“No, let’s not let him know that we saw him signaling,” the Scout leader decided after a slight hesitation. “He’d tell us nothing. We’ll learn far more by appearing dumb, and keeping an alert watch.”
After the signaling had ceased, the Scouts waited until Rhodes had returned to his cottage. Then rejoining Ken at their own camp, they discussed the strange flashes.
Reluctantly, the Scouts agreed with Mr. Livingston that it would be folly to set off into wild country in search of a bandit camp.
“With more definite information, we may be able to get the authorities to step in,” the Scout leader suggested. “I propose that we disregard Rhodes’ order to leave, and stay here a few days longer to see what we can learn.”
“If Rhodes was signaling Carlos, it’s a cinch he plotted Mr. Corning’s kidnapping,” Jack speculated. “But how can we prove it?”
When no one answered, he abruptly arose from the fire. “Phillipe may be our answer,” he asserted. “I’m going to try once more to talk to him.”
Pulling on a heavy jacket, he swung down a dark path toward the miner’s hut.
He had walked only a short distance when a figure suddenly emerged from the shadows. Rhodes stood there, blocking the trail.
“Out rather late, aren’t you?” the engineer asked.
“Just taking a walk,” Jack muttered.
“Better walk back to your camp.”
Jack hesitated, ready to give argument. But he recalled Mr. Livingston’s advice that it would be wise to make a show of cooperation.
“Okay,” he agreed, turning around. “This mountain air is too chilly for comfort anyway.”
“It’s unsafe to go wandering around after dark,” Rhodes continued, walking with Jack. “Someone might misjudge your motives and take a shot at you.”
“You go about though?”
“That’s different,” the engineer answered. “I’m armed and the miners know me.”
He walked with Jack to the camp, and there left him.
“It’s useless,” Jack reported his failure to the other Scouts. “Rhodes will have this camp watched all night.”
“We may as well turn in,” Mr. Livingston advised. “Something may develop tomorrow.”
The Scouts spent a comfortable night in their sleeping bags. As they were cleaning up the next morning, Rhodes strode down the path. His quick glance noted that no preparation had been made for departure.
“You’ll be pulling out soon?” he demanded.
“Hadn’t figured on it,” Mr. Livingston replied.
“I told you yesterday that you can’t remain here. Company rules.”
“We’re not leaving until we learn if my friend is still alive.”
“You can’t do him any good by staying here,” Rhodes said, his eyes narrowing. “Return to Bogota. If there is a ransom demand, I’ll notify you at once.”
“We plan to stay another day or so.”
“Impossible!”
“Why is it impossible? What reason do you have for wanting us to leave at once?”
“Why, no reason,” the engineer replied. “I told you it’s a company rule. You refuse to leave?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I’ll have you driven out!” Rhodes exclaimed, losing his temper. “I’ll show you who is in charge here. I’ll—”
His tirade was interrupted by the arrival of Phillipe. The miner’s grimy face was pale beneath his broad, floppy hat.
“Come quick,Senor!” he urged.
“Trouble in the pit?”
“Si, Senor, the men refuse to dig. They say it is not safe—danger of a slide.”
“That’s rot! There’s no danger!” Rhodes fumed. “I’ll have a look.”
Temporarily forgetting his feud with the Scouts, he went quickly with Phillipe. Curious to learn what was happening, Mr. Livingston and the Explorers followed.
Miners had clustered at the top of the pit, chattering excitedly in their own tongue. As Rhodes came up, they showed him a crack which had developed in the rock wall above the big hole.
“It’s nothing,” Rhodes assured them. “Back to your digging!”
The miners sullenly refused to budge. Rhodes whipped out a revolver.
“There is no danger!” he shouted. “Get back to work!”
Unwillingly, the miners picked up their tools and slowly descended into the pit. Rhodes remained above, his revolver held in readiness.
Mechanically, the miners worked, now and then raising their eyes fearfully to the towering rock above them. As their crowbars failed to dislodge even powdery dust from above, they relaxed somewhat.
Presently a pocket of emeralds was uncovered. In great excitement, Rhodes rushed down to examine the gems. All were small and of poor color.
“This vein is playing out!” he exclaimed wrathfully.
Pocketing the gems, he started to climb the rough rock steps. Watching from above, the Scouts saw him halt to re-examine the emeralds.
“Rhodes seems determined to get everything he can from this pit without loss of time,” Mr. Livingston remarked in a low tone.
Jack nodded. He had raised his eyes to the wall of rock above the engineer. Suddenly he was struck with horror! A new crack, much deeper than the other, had formed.
Even as he gazed in sick fascination, it widened and moved horizontally, like a runner in a silk stocking.
Jarred to a realization of the danger, he shouted a hoarse warning to the engineer below.
“A slide! Run for your life!”
Rhodes heard, but he seemed rooted to where he stood. As he jerked his eyes up to stare at the towering wall, the rock began to move.
With a choked, terrified cry, the engineer leaped wildly up the steps. For a moment, it appeared that he might make it safely.
The great main mass of rock and dirt fell behind him, sending up a cloud of dust. But Rhodes was caught by the edge of the slide. A huge rock felled him.
Clawing and fighting, he was buried beneath the debris.
Even before the dust from the slide had cleared away, Mr. Livingston and the Scouts were frantically at work. Descending into the pit, they organized the miners and themselves seized shovels.
Rhodes’ left arm and his cap lay exposed. In a matter of minutes, they had freed him from the tomb of earth and rock.
Badly battered and unconscious, the engineer nevertheless still breathed.
On an improvised stretcher, Rhodes was carried to the cottage. His wife, meeting the procession, gazed at the prone figure, and uttered an agonized shriek. Becoming calm after a moment, she bade the Scouts carry her husband into the bedroom.
“How badly is he hurt?” she asked anxiously.
“We don’t know yet,” Mr. Livingston told her. “He’s lucky though, to be alive. How far is the nearest doctor?”
“Bogota.”
“Then we’ll have to do what we can for him ourselves. Get hot water and bandages. Antiseptic. Pain drugs if you have them.”
Mrs. Rhodes hastened to obey the orders. Though the Scouts never had admired the woman, they now found themselves feeling very sorry for her. In the emergency, she worked efficiently and did not allow herself to become emotional.
Getting the engineer undressed and into bed, the Explorers examined him for serious injury. Aside from innumerable scratches and cuts from fallen rock, the right arm was broken and he had a deep gash across his thigh.
Mr. Livingston set the arm expertly and treated the wounds. Rhodes’ breathing had become steadier, but he did not regain consciousness.
“I’m worried,” the Scout leader confessed to the Scouts who anxiously hovered near. “He should be coming around unless he has a skull injury.”
“Should we send to Bogota for a doctor?” Ken suggested.
“That would take more than a week, round trip. By that time, Rhodes either will be much better, or beyond help, I’m afraid. We can send Jose, but I’m doubtful that it will do any good.”
Leaving Mr. Livingston and Jack with the patient, the others sought their guide. He readily agreed to go for a doctor, promising to return as quickly as possible to the mine.
“When you reach the village, report Appleby Corning’s absence,” Ken urged. “Ask the authorities to send a search party.”
“Si, Senor,” Jose nodded.
He mounted a mule and rode away from the mine, never to be seen by the Scouts again. An irresponsible fellow, he pocketed the money they gave him, and once well away from the area, promptly forgot the mission on which he had been sent.
Left with Rhodes, Jack and Mr. Livingston remained anxiously by the bedside. The patient tossed and jerked restlessly, but his occasional mutterings encouraged them to believe that he might yet recover consciousness.
Mrs. Rhodes was in the kitchen when the engineer’s eyes opened for a moment. He stared blankly into Jack’s face, but without recognition.
“Corning—” he muttered, his voice bitter with hatred. “I’ll get you—I’ll get you!”
As Mr. Livingston moved from the window to join Jack at the bedside, the engineer again lapsed into silence. The Scout leader stood watching him.
“He’s coming around, I think,” he told Jack. “While he may be out of his head for awhile, this is an encouraging sign.”
Within a few minutes, the patient became so restless that he had to be restrained to keep him from flinging off the bed covers.
“Don’t try to stop me!” he muttered. “I’m going back to the mine—Corning can’t take over in my place—I’ll get him for it!”
“You are at the mine,” Mr. Livingston told him patiently. “Relax.”
Rhodes fell back on the pillow, but only for a moment. A crafty smile overspread his pallid face.
“Carlos, you’re a wickedbandido,” he chuckled, “but so very stupid! Now you will do as I tell you, we both will profit—at the expense of Senor Corning, who hates us both!”
As Jack and Mr. Livingston bent low to catch the almost inaudible mutterings, Mrs. Rhodes came in with a pitcher of water. She caught the mumbled word “Corning” and stiffened alertly.
“My husband is conscious?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you call me at once?”
“There seemed no need,” Mr. Livingston replied. “He’s coming around, but he’s not himself yet.”
“What did he say?”
“Something about Corning and the bandit, Carlos.”
Mrs. Rhodes laughed nervously. “His mind is wandering. Why, he doesn’t even know Carlos!” Setting the pitcher on the stand, she turned again to the pair by the bedside. “I’ll take over now, thank you.”
“We don’t mind staying,” Jack said. “You may need us if he turns restless again.”
“If I do, I’ll call. I prefer to be alone with my husband.”
“Very well,” Mr. Livingston agreed, with a nod to Jack. “If you want us, we’ll be in our tent.”
Once well away from the cottage, the two discussed the abrupt dismissal.
“She was afraid her husband would spill something,” Jack declared.
“We might have learned a few things if we could have stayed,” Mr. Livingston agreed. “This convinces me Rhodes knows only too well what became of Corning. It was no casual kidnapping.”
“I’ll bet Rhodes paid Carlos to pull off that raid!” Jack replied. “He probably knows where Corning is held.”
“He may. But Rhodes’ position here would be most insecure should Corning escape and return.”
“So you figure if Rhodes planned the kidnapping, he’d want to see to it that your friend never got back?”
Mr. Livingston nodded soberly. “I’d think Corning already is out of the picture except for one thing.”
“What’s that, Hap?”
“Carlos is a sly, treacherous fellow. Clever enough to realize that alive, Corning could be a financial asset.”
“He could blackmail Rhodes!”
“Yes, Jack, I figure if Carlos is wholly unscrupulous, that’s what he may do. So I half expect a ransom demand, but upon Rhodes—not the mine owners.”
“That’s why you’ve been waiting here?”
“Partially. I’m hoping Carlos presently will show his hand. If we can get a clue, he may lead us to the hide-out.”
“With Rhodes laid up, the situation has changed!” Jack chuckled. “He won’t be sending us away today!”
“No, and we’ll have a chance to talk to Phillipe. Let’s do it now.”
The miner was not at his hut. However, they found him at the mine. No work was being done. Tons of rock and dirt had fallen into the pit, and must be moved before emeralds again could be mined. Disinterested, the men sat about, smoking and talking. From the general tone of the conversation, the Scouts gathered that no one grieved because of Rhodes’ accident.
Drawing Phillipe aside, Mr. Livingston and Jack questioned him again as to the bandit raid. The miner repeated his previous story. He talked more freely however, and nodded wisely when Jack hinted that the kidnapping might have been plotted by Rhodes.
“I can’t understand why Rhodes is so keen on being in charge here,” Mr. Livingston went on. “The vein of emeralds seems to be playing out. At least, that’s what we’ve been told.”
“It is true, Senor. But greater riches not far from here.”
“You’re speaking of the lost Spanish mine?” the Scout leader interposed alertly. “We saw a map in Rhodes’ office.”
“Senor Corning spend many weeks searching for mine. He make big mistake in telling Senor Rhodes.”
“So that’s why Rhodes was so eager to get back here!” Mr. Livingston exclaimed. “At last I begin to see the picture!”
“Si, Senor, he find it by following Senor Corning’s map. Then he change map, so no one else find mine!”
“That explains why Rhodes left the map lying around so carelessly,” Jack commented. “He figured that if anyone tried to use it, they’d be mixed up.”
“Phillipe, who besides Mr. Corning and Rhodes knows the location of the old Spanish mine?”
“No one, Senor.”
“No one?”
“Only me, Senor. I follow Senor Rhodes across river, into wilderness. Learn secret.”
“Phillipe, could you take us to this mine?”
“Very difficult trip, Senor.”
“But you could guide us there?”
“Si, Senor.”
“We’ll make it worth your while. How far is the mine from here?”
“Not far, Senor, but way hard.”
“How soon can we start?” Mr. Livingston urged.
“Tomorrow morning,” Phillipe said reluctantly.
It was obvious he had no zest for the adventure.
“Not sooner?”
“No, Senor. Trip very long. Bad to be on trail over night.”
“To be on the safe side, we’ll take a tent and light camping equipment,” Mr. Livingston decided. “Jack, only you and Ken are to go with us. Phillipe, be ready at dawn, and tell no one where we are going.”
“Senor Rhodes make trouble if he finds out!” the miner warned.
“Rhodes needn’t know about this little trip,” Mr. Livingston answered. “Anyway, he’s in no condition right now to ask any questions.”
Preparations rapidly went forward for the next day’s expedition.
“If all goes well, we should be back here by tomorrow night,” Mr. Livingston told Willie and War. “Once I’ve learned the location of the lost mine, I’ll have a leverage over Rhodes. I think then, if he regains his sense, I can force him to tell me the truth about Corning.”
“Rhodes is coming around all right,” Willie reported. “I was up to the cottage a few minutes ago. He was sitting up in bed, guzzling soup.”
“The man has the constitution of an ox,” Mr. Livingston replied. “I’m not worried about him. He’ll come through in fine shape.”
“We’ll have to work fast while he’s laid up,” asserted Jack. “Once he begins to regain his strength, he’ll start tightening up on us.”
That night, Mr. Livingston and the Scouts revisited the engineer. Very much himself again, he was in an ugly mood. Not even thanking them for their efforts in saving his life, he said gruffly:
“My wife tells me you’re packing your stuff. Leaving?”
“Only for a day,” Mr. Livingston returned.
“You’re not crazy enough to venture out into the bush in search of your friend?”
“Would that be crazy?” Mr. Livingston countered.
“It sure would! I tell you that if you’ll wait, there may be a ransom demand.” Sudden suspicion shone in Rhodes’ dark eyes. “Say, maybe this excursion of yours doesn’t concern your friend!”
Mr. Livingston made no answer. He and the Scouts already were turning toward the door.
“Just a minute!” the engineer called sharply. With an effort, he half pulled himself from the bed. “If you have anything else in mind, I’m warning you to lay off or it may cost you your lives! I’m ordering you to stay here in camp!”
Mr. Livingston smiled. “First you order us to leave. Now you order us to stay. Can’t you make up your mind?”
“You’re taking advantage of me while I’m flat on my back!” Rhodes snarled. “Oh, you’re not fooling me one bit. I may be cooped up here, but I’m not stupid. I know what you’re about. And I’m giving you a last warning! Stay in camp, or you’ll regret it!”
Mr. Livingston and the Scouts did not hear the final threat. Leaving the man to his tirade, they quietly closed the bedroom door and left the cottage.
When the Scout party, led by Phillipe, slipped out of camp shortly after dawn the next morning, they saw Rhodes at the cottage window.
He sat in a big chair, wrapped in blankets. Obviously, he had posted himself there to watch, and was well aware of their intention.
“We’re not fooling him one bit,” remarked Ken. “I’ll bet a cent he’ll have one of his men keep track of us. He’d stop us if he could.”
Once well away from the mining camp, the Scouts doubled back to the river. The stream, fed by recent rains higher in the mountains, raced as fast as a mill stream.
Phillipe guided the party to a log bridge crossing. There Ken, Jack and Mr. Livingston parted with the other Scouts.
“Return to camp and wait for us,” the Scout leader instructed Willie and Warwick. “We’ll make a fast trip to see what we can discover.”
“Rhodes probably won’t be able to get out of the cottage,” Jack added. “But if he does, keep an eye on him. Especially watch to see if he flashes any more of those mysterious signals.”
“Sure,” Willie promised. “How long will you be gone?”
“If all goes well, we should be back in camp by nightfall. But don’t worry if we’re delayed. The going will be rough, and the trip may take longer than we expect.”
Crossing the narrow, log bridge, Phillipe and the three explorers lost themselves in the dense vegetation. For hours, they hacked their way through tough creepers, and at times were compelled to chop down small saplings.
By noon, as the party rested and ate a cold lunch, it was difficult for the Scouts to maintain their customary good cheer. Although accustomed to hard, outdoor work, the boys suffered from strained muscles and aching backs.
“We’re making about a mile every two hours,” Ken calculated gloomily. “Maybe less. Phillipe, are you sure you’re taking us the right way?”
“This the way,” the miner replied. “Trail very bad.”
After resting, the Scouts forced themselves to continue, though they had long ago lost zest for the adventure.
Phillipe seemed to know exactly where he was headed, yet as the day wore on, the Explorers began to lose faith that he ever could lead them to the lost Spanish mine. Then, the little miner seemed to become less certain. They saw him studying the ridges with puzzled eyes, and occasionally shaking his head as if confused.
“Phillipe doesn’t know where he’s going,” Ken said to Jack as the party made another halt. “The vegetation has closed in since he saw that mine. This trip was a mistake.”
Phillipe would not admit confusion. But after another hour of hard labor had brought them to a relatively clear area overlooking the river, he had to admit defeat.
“Very sorry, Senor,” he apologized to Mr. Livingston.
Phillipe’s regret was so genuine that the Scouts could not believe that he had betrayed them deliberately. His intentions, undoubtedly, had been good. Given several days to search, they might find the lost mine. But in the present circumstance, the quest must be abandoned.
“Wish we’d followed directions on that map,” Willie remarked regretfully.
“The result would have been the same,” Mr. Livingston declared. “I’m sure the markings were altered. We’ll rest awhile and start back.”
Anxiously, the Scouts noted how fast the sun was lowering. The return trip, of course, would be much easier. Even so, it would be nightfall before they reached the Last Chance mine.
After resting for awhile, Jack arose to hack at the rocks with a pick. Among the fragments were a few tiny green specks. But there was no fire in them.
“We must be close to the old vein,” he remarked. “Too bad we can’t camp and try again tomorrow.”
He gazed questioningly at Mr. Livingston. The Scout leader hesitated, then shook his head.
“I wish we could find that old mine, Jack. But time is running out on us. We must get back to camp and devote all our energy to finding Mr. Corning, if he still is alive.”
“How we going to do it?” Ken asked in despair. “Rhodes may have the answer, but he won’t help us. As you pointed out, Hap, it’s hopeless to undertake a search in this wild country unless one has a definite clue.”
“The clues, I’m afraid, never will be forthcoming. Our only one—those flashing signals—aren’t much to go on.”
“Then what’s the program?” Jack questioned.
“When I get back to camp, we’ll start for the village to notify the authorities. They may organize a search, though I haven’t much hope.”
“Rhodes is the key to the whole situation,” Ken insisted. “If only we could force him to talk—”
“That’s a forlorn hope too, I’m afraid,” the Scout leader answered. “If we’d found this old mine, we might have used our knowledge as a leverage. Having failed, I don’t see what we can do.”
After hacking awhile at the outcropping of rock, Jack walked down to the river’s edge. Foam was back-washing against the boulders and the current was very swift.
He stood there a moment, fascinated by the speed of the wild torrent. Intending to rejoin his friends, he chose a way different from the one he had come. Soon he regretted it, finding himself in a mat of dense vegetation.
As he hacked a path, he felt his footing give beneath him. Unexpectedly, the floor of creepers dissolved.
Down he plunged, uttering a terrified shriek as he fell!
Jack struck solid earth some distance below. Stunned by the suddenness of the fall as well as the impact, he lay for a moment, unable to move.
Then gingerly, he sat up. No bones had been broken. He felt for his flashlight and was relieved to discover it intact.
The beam of light disclosed that he had fallen into a cave-like hole perhaps ten feet below the surface of the ridge above.
Slowly, Jack pulled himself to an upright position, discovering that he could stand without stooping. It was then that he made an exciting discovery.
The ceiling overhead had a distinct curve!
“This looks like part of an old tunnel!” he thought in elation.
Before Jack could investigate further, he heard a shout from above.
Mr. Livingston peered down through the narrow opening, calling anxiously:
“Jack, are you hurt?”
“Hardly a scratch,” the Scout replied with a chuckle. “This is a deep hole though, and I can’t get out by myself.”
“Stay where you are,” Mr. Livingston directed. “We’ll get a rope and haul you up.”
“Don’t be in too big a hurry, Hap. I want to look around a bit while I’m here. It appears to me that I’ve fallen into a tunnel.”
“A tunnel, Jack? What makes you think so?” The tone of Mr. Livingston’s voice plainly disclosed that the information had startled him.
“This is no cave. The walls have been hewn, and the ceiling is arched.”
“It may be the lost mine!”
“I suspect so,” Jack agreed cheerfully. “While you’re getting that rope, I’ll see what I can learn.”
Venturing forward, the youth flashed his light over one of the side walls. Distinctly, he could make out ancient pick marks.
That the tunnel was an old one he no longer had the slightest doubt. Mr. Livingston had told him that the Spaniards, being amateurs at mining, had used the tunnel method in their quest for emeralds.
Focusing his beam ahead of him, he walked until his way was blocked by earth and debris. Unable to proceed farther, he returned to find his friends anxiously lowering a knotted rope through the opening.
“It’s the lost mine!” Jack reported jubilantly. “I’m sure of it!”
“Bring up a handful of emeralds,” Ken shouted with a laugh.
“Toss down a pick and I’ll try!”
“There’s no time for exploration,” Mr. Livingston objected. “We’re mighty lucky to have found the mine!”
“It may not be the one Corning mapped,” Ken commented. “It looks like an old Spanish tunnel though.”
“This mine same one Senor Corning find,” Phillipe asserted. “Senor Rhodes later on cover vein with earth and rock to hide it and keep gems safe.”
“That debris certainly looked as if it might have been piled on deliberately,” Jack informed the group above. “Lower a pick and I’ll find out.”
Persuaded against his better judgment, Mr. Livingston lowered the requested tool. Phillipe also went down by means of the rope.
He and Jack removed some of the loose debris, exposing a streak of rock, narrow but with a well-defined green color.
“We strike vein,” Phillipe said, resting for a moment from his labors. “If emeralds form, they big ones I think.”
On they labored, taking turns with pick and crowbar. Above, Mr. Livingston and Ken warned them that the day fast was waning.
“We’ve found the mine and that’s the important thing.” the Scout leader called down impatiently. “We’ll mark it well, and hope we can return. Now we must leave or we’ll never reach camp tonight.”
Deep in the earth, Jack and Phillipe scarcely heard. In a fever of excitement, they sensed that they were on the verge of a great discovery.
Phillipe struck again with his bar, using infinite skill. The sharp point split the rock neatly, exposing a section of dark green beryl. Embedded in it were several large, well-formed emeralds.
Phillipe sucked in his breath. “Senor,” he murmured, “Great wealth is here! A fortune!”
Jack scooped out the emeralds, examining them in the beam of the flashlight. All were perfect gems, dark green, with a deep smoldering fire.
“Senor, you hold great riches in your hand,” Phillipe whispered.
“Appleby Corning’s ransom perhaps.” Hypnotized by the warm glow of the gems, Jack turned them over and over in his palm.
He was brought from his reverie by an echoing shout from above.