“No, you were not!” exclaimed Dick, hotly. “You’ve got some hole close to the house! Now where is it?”
“If you knew that you’d soon learn a whole lot more,” was the sneering reply.
“And while we were learning it you might have a chance to make yourself scarce around here,” interrupted Ned. “We’d like to solve this mystery without outside help, but if you refuse to talk, we’ll turn you over to the police and see what luck they have with you. The game is up. Take your choice; talk to us or to the police.”
Slade hesitated and lowered the lids over eyes which had grown suddenly crafty. “You spoke of giving me a chance,” he began, speaking slowly and evidently choosing his words with care. “Do you mean I’ll be free to go if I show you what I know?”
“Absolutely,” declared Ned, after a glance at the other boys had assured him of their approval. “Play fair with us and we’ll let you go.”
“All right,” agreed Slade. “Take off these straps.”
“Not so fast,” interposed Ned. “We’ll give you the use of your feet and then if you prove yourself worthy, we’ll carry out the rest of the bargain.”
The belt was removed from Slade’s ankles and he arose from the chair. “Now lead on,” directed Ned, “and remember, no tricks—or into the flivver you go for a rough ride to town!”
The crafty expression in Slade’s eyes changed to a gleam of treachery, which might have aroused suspicion, had the boys noted it. Unfortunately for them, as events proved, they were too intent upon solving the mystery, as they eagerly followed their prisoner out of the door and down the steps. Rounding the corner of the house, Slade continued along its eastern wall and stopped before one of the foundation stones, a big slab some four feet long and three feet in height. “Give me the use of my hands and I’ll show you,” he offered.
“Nothing doing!” replied Ned, decidedly. “You’ll tell us what to do andwe’lldo it!”
“Suspicious, eh?” sneered Slade, and again he veiled the malicious light that flashed into his black eyes. “All right,” he continued, “step on that piece of white stone in the ground close to the wall.”
Ned did so and felt the stone settle an inch beneath his foot.
“Now push hard against the end of that slab,” continued Slade, indicating the big foundation stone.
Beals put his weight upon the point indicated and the slab swung inward pivoting upon a perpendicular axis near its center. The resulting opening was about three feet high and two feet wide, affording access to the cellar under the house.
“Well, are you satisfied?” demanded Slade, when the excited exclamations of astonishment had ceased.
By way of answer, Ned Blake unbuckled the belt from the slugger’s arms. “I don’t bear you any ill will, Slade, and I guess the rest of the boys feel the same. Evidently you’ve been mixed up in some sort of funny business and we’re going to know what it is mighty soon. Take my advice and keep straight hereafter.”
“Don’t you worry aboutme. I’ll take care of myself,” growled Slade, and turning on his heel, he strode away and passed from sight among the shadowy woods that bordered the lake.
Certain that Slugger Slade would lose no time in putting a safe distance between himself and the Coleson house, the boys turned their attention to the opening in the foundation wall, noting with great interest the ingenious way in which the heavy stone was made to turn on the iron pins at top and bottom, and examining the simple spring-catch, which held the slab in place until released by a pressure on the white stone.
“I wish I had hung onto that flashlight,” said Ned Blake regretfully, as he strove to pierce the inky blackness inside the wall. “We’ll have to depend on candles for our search, I guess. Wait a minute and I’ll bring some.”
Ned was back in a moment, and lighting the tapers, he crept cautiously through the opening followed by the rest of the boys. Within was the usual litter to be found in the cellar of an unfinished house. Broken tubs that had been used for the mixing of mortar; wrecked barrels and boxes of every description choked the space and made movement difficult. Just inside the wall the boys made their first discovery of interest. On a nail driven into a joint of the masonry hung a wig and false beard of coarse white hair and close at hand stood a wooden pickax painted white.
“I guess this puts the lid on one more ghost story,” remarked Ned, as the articles passed from hand to hand. “Somebody certainly went to a lot of trouble to work this ghost scare and we’ve yet to find the reason. There doesn’t seem to be anything of interest at this end of the cellar, but there’s an open way over to the left. Let’s follow it.”
The flickering light of the candles showed where rubbish had been thrown aside to provide a clear way, and following this, the boys at length came upon an angle in the foundation where the new masonry joined what had once been the wall of the old cellar. Turning this corner, they found themselves stopped by a low door of solid oak plank and evidently of recent construction. Taking a cautious step forward, Ned seized the iron handle, and bracing his foot against the wall, threw his weight backward. The door yielded and swinging open on its heavy hinges revealed a steep flight of steps extending downward into the darkness.
“By jiminy! It’s a way into the old mine!” muttered Dick Somers, as he shaded the candle and peered into the black pit.
“Who’s afraid!” growled Dave Wilbur, as the group hesitated on the brink of the steep descent. “Go ahead, Ned! We’ll follow!”
Thus urged, Ned felt his way carefully down the slippery stairs followed closely by the other four. They reached the bottom of the short flight when suddenly a scurrying sound filled the air. Vague shapes rushed upon them. The candles were knocked from their hands, and as the lights flickered out, a pitchy blackness covered them like a blanket.
“Quick! Up the stairs!” shouted Ned.
In this his companions needed no urging, and he followed at their heels slamming the door behind him. Stumbling blindly against piles of rubbish in an effort to keep in the narrow lane, the boys reached the cleared area just inside the opening through which the reflected light of the moon shone dimly. Crouching there in the faint light, the five stared at each other for a moment, until Ned Blake broke into shamefaced laugh.
“We’re a brave bunch to be scared out of our wits by a few crazy bats!” he exclaimed.
“Bats!” echoed Dick Somers and Charlie Rogers together. “Well, can you beat it!”
“All the same it was a darn scary place!” grumbled Tommy Beals, as he wiped the sweat and grime from his face. “I was pretty well keyed up with all that I’d been through and then, when I got a wallop in the eye and had my candle knocked out of my hand, I wasn’t so sure but what Coleson’s ghost was on the job after all!”
“It’s a sure bet that whoever has been using this place didn’t try to light it with candles,” argued Ned. “There must be a lantern or something of the kind around here.”
Taking a piece of candle from his pocket, Ned lighted it, and after a short search among the rubbish, discovered a small recess in the wall where lay a coil of rope, a roll of dirty canvas, and two lanterns.
“We’ll look this junk over later,” he remarked, “but first, let’s see what we can find down below.”
The lanterns were lighted and once more the boys descended the wooden stairs. The bats attacked again, but after battering uselessly against the lantern globes, they soon gave up the unequal contest. At the bottom of the stairway was a narrow tunnel sloping sharply downward. Along its center extended a pair of rusty iron rails on which stood a light dump-car.
“This is what Coleson used to haul up the copper ore in from the lower end of the mine,” remarked Ned as he squeezed past the car, which nearly filled the narrow space. “These rails run down to the lower end and this hand-winch was for hauling up the loaded car,” he continued, raising his lantern to examine a powerful-looking iron windlass bolted to heavy posts at the upper end of the tunnel.
“Here’s something funny!” cried Charlie Rogers, pointing to the wire cable which was wound upon the drum of the winch. “That wire rope looks to be brand new!”
“There’s no question of that,” declared Ned, after a close inspection, “and the gears of this winch are thick with fresh grease! This outfit has been used recently, or I missmyguess!”
“What’s thatlittlewindlass for?” asked Beals, pointing to a small device fastened to the wall. “Look! There’s a wire rope extending down along the roof of the tunnel!”
Dave Wilbur mounted upon the dump-car and reaching upward pulled hard on the rope.
“Gee whiz! It’s as tight as a bow string!” he exclaimed. “I wonder who or what is pulling on the other end!”
Picking up a stone, Ned knocked up the pawl which held the ratchet of the little winch. Instantly the drum began to revolve and the cable reeled off rapidly for perhaps a dozen yards when it came to a sudden stop. Seizing the crank handle, Ned attempted to reel it back but the pull upon it was too great, and only when Rogers and Beals had come to his assistance, did he succeed in rewinding the cable to its former position.
“By jiminy! This beats me!” ejaculated Dick. “Let’s follow that rope down and see who or what is pulling on it!”
“Not on your life!” chorused Beals and Rogers. “It’s too darned black and spooky-looking down there!”
Dave Wilbur also appeared reluctant to penetrate further into the mine.
“All right, you fellows keep one of the lanterns, and Dick and I will take the other and see what’s going on down below,” said Ned, “but instead of walking down the track we’ll ride down on the car. You can handle the winch and let us down slowly and be all ready to haul us up again when we yell.”
“That’s what I call pretty soft!” grumbled Dave. “I wish I had enlisted with Dick! All the hard work is going to be up atthisend!”
Ned and Dick climbed upon the car; Beals released the brake of the winch and the car started of its own weight.
“Keep your foot on the brake, Fatty,” warned Ned. “Don’t let her get going too fast or she’ll jump the track!”
And then as the snaky cable reeled steadily from the winch-drum, the dump-car, carrying the two lads, swayed and jolted downward into the blackness of the tunnel.
As the dump-car moved steadily downward along the rails, Ned Blake held the lantern high and peered ahead. The feeble yellow gleam showed the rock roof and sides of the tunnel, which gradually narrowed till it became barely wide enough to allow the passage of the car. Beyond the small circle of light was a wall of pitchy blackness, ever receding as they moved toward it and closing again behind them as they rumbled onward.
“That small cable runs right along overhead,” declared Ned, holding up the lantern to better illuminate the roof. “I’m blessed if I can see what’s holding it up there!” he continued. “It must be—”
The words were cut short by a warning shout from Dick, and turning, Ned caught the reflected gleam from the surface of a black pool which filled the tunnel from wall to wall.
“Jump for it!” yelled Ned, and in an instant both boys had leaped from the rear of the car knee-deep into the icy water.
Floundering back up the passage, they gained dry ground, and straining their eyes through the gloom, watched the car as it continued on its way down the track and disappeared beneath the inky water.
“Wow! We came near getting an all-over ducking!” cried Dick, as he stooped to wring the water from the bottom of his trousers.
“It was mighty stupid of me not to have been looking out for this,” Ned blamed himself. “Of course everybody knows the tunnel runs out under the lake and that the lower end is full of water.”
“The car is still going ahead,” announced Dick. “Look! The cable is running out yet.” But even as he spoke, the black wire rope dragging along between the rails suddenly stopped. “She’s got to the end of the tunnel,” he continued. “Now what!”
For a moment Ned Blake did not reply. He was staring up at the line of small cable stretched tightly along the roof of the mine and passing from sight where roof and water-surface met.
“I know what’s pulling so hard on that rope,” he said quietly. “It’s that buoy.”
“By jiminy! You’re right!” Dick’s voice rose excitedly. “And when that small winch is released, the buoy rises to the surface of the lake! But—but what’s the use of all this? That’s what I can’t make out!”
“Let’s try to make the boys hear and tell ’em to haul us back,” suggested Ned.
Raising their voices in a combined effort, they sent a shout reverberating up the tunnel, and an answering halloo came faintly to their ears.
“Here’s where Weary does his stuff!” grinned Dick, as he watched the cable drag slowly out of the water like a great black snake. “He’ll crab a plenty overthisnight’s hard labor!”
Soon the car came into view, looking not unlike some huge amphibian as it emerged from the pool streaming water at every angle. Climbing upon it as it passed, Ned and Dick were pulled up the steep incline, till at length they came in sight of their comrades grunting at the crank-handle of the winch.
“Well, what did you find?” puffed Beals, as the car came to rest in its original position.
“Nothing much,” replied Dick.
“Nothingmuch!” groaned Wilbur. “And that’s the fruit of the hardest labor a man was ever sentenced to! Say, you letmeride down and back a couple of times while you fellows grind that winch!”
“We didn’t find much because there’s nothing down there except water,” explained Ned, “but we’ve got an idea as to what’s pulling on that small cable,” and Ned proceeded to give his theory of the buoy which he and Dick had seen appear and disappear at the surface of the lake.
“Sounds reasonable,” admitted Charlie Rogers. “If anybody outside wanted to get an absolutely exact location of the submerged end of this mine, why that buoy would do the trick for ’em; but what the blazes could anybody want of it, and why so fussy to be withininches?”
“That’s the puzzle,” agreed Ned. “That’s what we got to find out. Slade hinted that if we got inside the cellar we’d soon learn the whole game. So far we haven’t accomplished much. Let’s look around up at this end of the mine.”
There was nothing to be seen in the restricted area about the car and winches, but partly concealed by the stairway was a narrow passage hewn in the rock.
“This is where Coleson started to follow the vein of ore back under the house, I guess,” said Ned and moved forward with his lantern.
Half a dozen steps brought him to a door set in the rock wall. A quick jerk threw it back upon its hinges, revealing a small chamber between the walls of which tiers of wooden boxes reached from floor to roof. Crowding together before the open door, the boys stood silent for a long minute.
“What’s in ’em?” Dick Somers’ muttered question voiced the curiosity of all.
Setting his lantern upon a projecting point of rock, Ned Blake cautiously lifted one of the boxes from the front tier. A dull metallic rattle sounded from within.
“I heard that same noise once before!” exclaimed Rogers excitedly. “I’ll never forget it!”
The box was tightly closed, but by aid of the winch-handle the cover was pried off and the secret of the haunted mine stood revealed to five pairs of astonished eyes. Ned lifted a bottle from the opened case and read the label on its flat side.
“Canadian Club Whisky.”
“Bootleggers!” yelped Dick Somers.
“Rum-runnersfrom across the lake!” wheezed Dave Wilbur.
“There’s no doubt of it,” said Ned, staring at the bottle in his hand. “They come across from Canada and locate the caved-in end of the mine by means of the ranges and that buoy. Once anchored there, they can lower these cases of whisky onto the dump-car that is waiting down below. They don’t have to land and leave tracks on the beach. It’s so simple we ought to have guessed it long ago!”
“And once they get the stuff safely stowed here, all they have to do is watch their chance to load a truck and run it up to Cleveland,” remarked Beals. “Like every other bunch of crooks and lawbreakers, they thought their scheme was one hundred per cent perfect.”
“Well, I guess itwasworking pretty fair till we butted in with our dance proposition,” grinned Dave Wilbur. “It’s no wonder they tried to drive us off the place.”
“Of course, we know they ran their truck up through the old wood-road and parked it among the scrub oaks opposite the end of the house,” began Dick. “Ned and I found where it stood but—but still there’s one thing that puzzles me.”
“You’re wondering why we never could find any tracks on the strip of sand between the house and the woods,” guessed Ned. “That question bothers me also. Let’s have another look inside the cellar.”
Leading the way with his lantern and closely followed by the other boys, Ned mounted the stairs. At the top he halted abruptly and held the lantern above his head. “Who was the last man in here?” he demanded.
“I was,” replied Charlie Rogers.
“Did you shut this door behind you?” Ned’s tone was sharp.
“I certainly didnot!” protested Rogers. “It was wide open and I remember pushing it clear back against the wall in order to give us a chance to beat it out of here if anything happened!”
Handing his lantern to Dick Somers, Ned approached the door and tried it cautiously; then putting his shoulder against it he pushed with all his strength. “Come here, Fatty,” he grunted. “Put your beef on it!”
Tommy hastened to Ned’s side and together they flung their united weight against the oak planks. It was useless. The door was securely fastened on the other side. They were trapped in the mine.
Grouped together upon the narrow steps of the mine, the five boys stared stupidly at the heavy, nail-studded barrier which stood between them and freedom.
“This is some of Slugger Slade’s work!” growled Ned Blake. “What a fool I was to have trusted him!”
“Shucks! We can break down this door!” cried Charlie Rogers. “Wait a minute till I get that winch-handle!” and running down the stairs, he quickly returned with the heavy iron crank.
Taking the implement and setting himself for a full swing, Ned attacked the door with a rain of blows which sent echoes reverberating down the tunnel like the roll of thunder. The solid oak resisted stubbornly, and as Ned redoubled his efforts, the iron handle snapped short in his hand.
“Here’s a sweet mess!” grunted Tommy Beals disgustedly.
“Let’s find something for a battering ram,” suggested Dick, starting down the stairs.
Diligent search through all parts of the mine failed to discover anything that could be used to force the door, and after a time the boys gave it up.
“What’s Slugger’s idea in locking us down here anyhow?” demanded Rogers, as he sat on the dump-car glaring helplessly at the closed door above him.
“No doubt he plans to keep us prisoners until he can get word to his rum-running gang,” replied Ned. “There’s several thousand dollars’ worth of liquor stored down here and they don’t want to lose it.”
“Then I suppose we’ve got to wait here till they come with a truck and cart the stuff away,” stormed Dick.
“Why, before they get around we’ll probably starve to death,” wailed Tommy Beals. “What time is it, anyhow, my watch has run down.”
“It’s three o’clock,” yawned Dave Wilbur, consulting his time-piece and stretching out beside Rogers on the dump-car. “This is a bum place to sleep, but at that, it’s better than standing up all night.”
“Weary is right,” muttered Charlie Rogers, “we may as well make the best of it. We’re caught like rats in a trap and there’s nothing to do but wait till we’re let out.”
Nobody attempted to dispute this dismal fact, and after a time the five “rats” sought the least uncomfortable spots in their decidedly uncomfortable trap and settled down with such patience as they could command. An hour dragged its tedious length away and then Ned Blake roused himself from his place on the stairs.
“Fellows,” he began, “we’re caught, as Red says, like rats in a trap. I’m bound to admit that it is the result of my stupidity in giving Slade his freedom and allowing him to turn the tables on us this way.”
“Forget it!” growled Charlie Rogers. “You’re no more to blame than the rest of us. We all agreed to let him go. Five dumb-bells—I’ll tell the world!”
“Mighty nice of you to talk that way about it, Red,” was the reply, “but it doesn’t change the fact that it was I who led you into this trap. I know this and I’ve been trying to figure some way to get out of it.”
“Not a chance,” drawled Dave Wilbur. “We’ll stay right here till somebody comes toletus out—which may be today or tomorrow or next week! ‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread’—that’sus!”
“Frankly, it’s this question oftimethat’s worrying me,” admitted Ned. “We could stand it several days without food, but there’s only a limited amount of air in this mine. Five of us use it up pretty fast. It’s getting stuffy up at this end of the tunnel even now and in another twenty-four hours it may become positively dangerous.”
“But what can we do?” demanded Beals. “The only way out is through that door!”
“Here’s what I was thinking,” replied Ned. “That whisky came down from the surface of the lake and up through the tunnel. I’m wondering if we can’t manage to reverse the process.”
“Are you talking about swimming under water to the end of the tunnel and then up to the surface?” cried Rogers. “Why, man, you’recrazy!”
“Don’t think of trying such a thing, Ned,” urged Dick, earnestly. “It’s a big hundred yards from where the water begins out to the end and it must be ten yards more to the surface!”
“Sure, it is,” asserted Wilbur. “Nobody but a South Sea Islander could stand a chance of getting through.”
“I’ll admit that under ordinary circumstances it would be a difficult and maybe an impossible stunt,” agreed Ned, “but I had no idea of attempting toswimany such distance. Let me ask you a question, Dick,” he continued. “After we jumped off the dump-car down there in the tunnel, how long did it take the car to get to the end of the mine?”
“Well, I would say about a minute and a half or maybe two minutes,” guessed Dick. “The cable kept running out about that long after the car disappeared below the water—if that’s what you mean.”
“Not over two minutes at the most,” was Ned’s comment. “Now that was when the car was empty; if it were loaded, it would run quite a lot faster.”
“And you’re talking about letting that dump-car carry us to the submerged end of the tunnel where we can then swim up to the surface?” demanded Rogers. “Not formine! I haven’t the nerve!”
“Gosh! I couldn’t hold my breath two minutes—no, nor one minute to save my life!” gasped Tommy Beals breathless already at the bare suggestion.
“Of course, I don’t expect you fellows to try it,” Ned hastened to explain. “I’m certain I can do it. Holding my breath for a full minute or more is easy enough, if I’m not exerting myself during the time, and when I got to the end of the tunnel I’d shoot up to the surface like a cork.”
“It’s too risky! Don’t try it, Ned!” pleaded Dick.
“Well, I’m not anxious to do it,” admitted Ned. “Here’s what I had planned. It’s now four o’clock; I’ll wait one hour more, and if nobody comes to let us out by then, I’ll get out without their help. By five o’clock the sun will be well up and I’ll be able to see the light above me, which will be a big help in locating the opening and reaching the surface.”
“Here’s hoping and praying that Slugger Slade or some of his gang gets here before five o’clock!” muttered Dick Somers.
The other three echoed his sentiment, but the hour passed without a sound to break the deathlike silence and, at length, Ned Blake rose and began to remove his outer clothing.
“Bring out a dozen cases of bottles and load ’em onto the car,” he directed, and the boys obeyed without a word.
After assuring himself that the car was loaded in such a manner as to distribute the weight equally on all four wheels and lessen the chance of it jumping the track, Ned gave his final directions to Tommy Beals, who was to handle the brake on the cable-drum.
“Let her run about as you did before, Fatty, until you feel her hit the water,” Ned explained. “The instant you see by the lessening of the drag on the cable that she’s gone under, why take your foot off the brake and let her run as fast as she will. Don’t look so solemn, you fellows. In about fifteen minutes you’ll hear me opening that door for you.”
Mounting the car, Ned gave the signal, and as Beals released the brake, the heavily loaded car started and rumbled away down into the blackness with Ned Blake clinging tightly to its forward end.
With fascinated eyes the four boys watched the cable as it ran rapidly from the drum of the winch. The instant its slackened speed showed that the car had struck the water, Dave Wilbur jerked out his watch and told off the seconds.
“Ten—twenty—thirty—forty—fifty—sixty—seventy—”
“She’s down!” shouted Beals as the cable stopped unreeling.
“Seventy-six seconds!” announced Wilbur. “Seventy-six, from the time she hit the water.”
“A minute and sixteen seconds,” muttered Dick Somers. “It was as long as any hour I ever lived!” and Dick sat down suddenly and buried his face in his hands.
Sitting there in the murky dimness of the old mine, Dick Somers struggled manfully against the anxiety which was making his heart throb painfully. Ned Blake was pal and leader of the other boys, but to Dick he was all this and much more. Not until this moment of terrible suspense did Dick fully realize the depth of his feeling for his friend and the shock of it brought a dry sob to his throat.
“Don’t take it so hard, Dick,” consoled Charlie Rogers in a voice that was husky in spite of his effort to control it. “Shucks! Ned’s all right. He’s a regular fish in the water! He can swim a couple of miles without half trying, and when it comes to doingunder-waterstunts—why he can beat a muskrat!”
“The only thing I was really worrying about was that the car might jump the track,” declared Tommy Beals in a cheerful tone, which was, however, belied by the solemn expression of his plump countenance. “I know by the way the cable acted that the old dump-wagon stayed on the rails and it’s dollars to doughnuts she made the end of the tunnel right side up!”
“Sure she did!” Rogers exclaimed confidently, “and the instant Ned saw light through the hole above him, why he started up. He thinks under water—take it from me!”
Thus the talk went on, hope contending with fear, and as the minutes ticked away, Dave Wilbur kept an anxious eye upon his watch. “The fifteen minutes are up,” he announced after what had seemed an endless wait. “Ned said it would take him that long, at least.”
Yet another full minute passed. Then there came a scraping sound on the farther side of the door, which quickly swung open, disclosing the dripping form of Ned Blake. The shout of relief and joy that burst from four throats was promptly checked by Ned’s warning gesture.
“Keep quiet!” he cried. “Tumble up here! Quick! Bring my clothes!”
The boys obeyed without question, and as they passed through the door, Ned closed it, replaced the heavy beam which had held it shut, and hurried his companions to a hiding-place behind a pile of barrels.
“There’s no chance to get out yet,” he chattered, as he struggled into his garments. “I had a narrow squeak of it. Latrobe and Slade were coming through the gate in Dave’s flivver, just as I turned the corner of the house. There was a truck right behind them. They’ll be here in a minute. Lie low and don’t breathe!”
Tommy Beals had brought one of the lanterns, which was quickly extinguished, and the boys had barely time to settle themselves in their places of concealment when the stone slab in the foundation wall swung back and the swarthy face of Latrobe appeared in the opening. A moment he paused to listen intently, then crept into the cellar, followed by Slugger Slade and the red-faced man whom Ned had recognized as Miller.
“They took both lanterns,” growled the leader, as he shot the rays of a flashlight into the niche where lay the canvas and the coil of rope.
“Yeah, they had both lights burning when I was watching ’em monkeying with the dump-car,” replied Slade. “They were too busy to notice me, so I just swung the door on ’em and propped that beam against it,” and Slade pointed to the heavy timber which still held the door shut.
“Well, maybe that was as good as you could have done,” was the grudging reply. “The game’s up, but we’ll load what we’ve got and make our get-away before anybody else comes snoopin’ around.”
“What’ll we do with these smart kids that butted in on our game and ruined it?” snarled Miller.
“Leave ’em shut in the mine till somebody who wants ’em starts looking for ’em,” was the cool answer. “They know too much about us and our business, and the longer they stay shut up, why the more time we’ll have to cover our tracks.”
“Their folks will probably start hunting for ’em today, but it may be a week or more before anybody suspects where they are and finds how to get ’em out,” ventured Slade, uneasily. “They’d pretty near starve by that time.”
“Let ’em starve,” snapped Latrobe. “It’ll learn ’em to mind their own business and not gum up somebody else’s game. All right, Miller,” he continued, “let’s get going.”
“Are you going to put out the bridge?” asked Slade.
“Sure,” answered Latrobe. “There’s no good leaving any more tracks than we can help. Let ’em guess how we did the trick. Come on, Miller; you and Slade get it out. We’ve no time to lose.”
From its place in the niche, the roll of dingy canvas was dragged to the opening in the foundation wall and pushed outside. Latrobe and Miller held one end of the cloth on the ground while Slade stepped onto it and walked slowly forward kicking the roll ahead of him. In a very short time he had laid a canvas walk, four feet wide, extending from the wall of the house to the fringe of bushes, among which the truck could be seen backing into position.
“That’s what Fatty and I heard flapping in the wind that night!” gasped Charlie Rogers, as he watched the canvas rise and fall in the breeze.
“Yes, and that big misshapen thing we saw must have been a man walking along that canvas with a case of bottles on his shoulder!” added Tommy. “No wonder we never could find any foot tracks!”
“Nor wheel tracks either!” wheezed Dave. “They worked the same kind of stunt for the truck at the entrance to the old road!”
“Sh! Keep still! They’re coming in again!” warned Ned.
The two men and Slade again crept through the opening into the cellar and approached the door leading down to the mine. “You say there’s five of ’em inside,” remarked Latrobe. “Are any of ’em scrappers?”
“Huh!” grunted Slade. “That fellow Blake is pretty strong and plenty handy with his football stuff, and there’s a fat guy that might knock you cold, if he jumped on you like he did me. The rest ain’t heavy-weights, but I guess maybe they’d fight if you got ’em cornered.”
“Well, you go out and tell Casey to come down as soon as he gets the truck in place,” decided Latrobe. “There’s no good taking chances of one of ’em getting past us.”
Slade left the cellar and soon returned, accompanied by a burly individual who carried a short cudgel in his hand. “What’s the matter?” demanded the newcomer. “Can’t the three of you handle five boys? Open that door,” he continued savagely. “Let me at ’em!”
“Easy there, Casey,” warned Latrobe. “I’m running this show. We don’t want any broken heads unless it’s necessary, but if they try to rush us—well, don’t let any of ’em get past, that’s all.”
As Slade removed the timber and opened the door a cautious crack, Latrobe, with Miller and Casey at his elbow, peered through it into the mine below. For a moment the growl of low-voiced talk came to the ears of the boys where they crouched in their hiding-places; then Latrobe flung the door wide and stepped through it onto the stairs. “Come on out of there now!” he shouted. “Let’s have a look at you!” His shout went echoing down the tunnel, but no other sound broke the stillness.
“They’re here all right,” declared Miller. “Look at that lantern burning. They probably took the other light and went down into the tunnel.”
“The dump-car is gone,” announced Slade. “Look how they hammered this door trying to break it down!”
Latrobe directed his flashlight upon the battered door and examined it carefully; then turning, he played the rays along the pile of boxes and barrels that littered the cellar. Caution was one of Latrobe’s habits, and to the frightened watchers it seemed that their very breathing must be audible to his keen ears; but after a long moment of heart-breaking suspense, he again turned and went clumping down the stairs followed by the other three.
As the last form disappeared through the low doorway, Ned Blake crept silently from his place behind the barrels. Dick Somers was at his elbow and together they stole softly forward. A glance through the door showed Latrobe, Miller, and Slade grouped at the foot of the stairs watching Casey, who club in hand, strode down into the black mouth of the tunnel.
“That’s far enough, Casey,” commanded Latrobe. “Don’t let anybody get past you while we’re lugging out the stuff.”
“Swing the door easy. I’ll handle the timber,” whispered Ned. “Careful. Don’t make a sound!”
Inch by inch the door moved on its noiseless hinges, and when at last it came to a stop, Ned dropped the heavy beam into place without a sound.
“Whew!” gasped Dick, who, now that the crisis was passed, had turned suddenly weak and faint. “Let’s get out of here, Ned! I’m scared plumb to death!”
Dick was not the only victim of this nervous reaction, amounting almost to panic, that came with the sudden breaking of the strain to which the boys had been subjected; and it was a pale-faced group that was revealed, when Tommy Beals had, with trembling fingers, succeeded in relighting his lantern. Following its gleam, the boys made their way to the opening in the wall and emerged into the blinding sunlight of the quiet morning.
For several moments the boys blinked owlishly in the strong light and filling their lungs with sweet, fresh air, that seemed indeed like a breath of new life after their long confinement in the close atmosphere of the mine.
“Hah! This is great!” exhaled Dick, who had regained his nerve and courage with his first breath of freedom. “I never would have believed that simple fresh air could smell so good, and besides,” he continued, “it’s a lot of satisfaction to know that we’re giving Slade a taste of what he made us stand.”
Without unnecessary loss of time, the boys scouted around the house, and among the scrub oaks they came upon the flivver.
“This is how Slade used my car last night,” growled Dave, as he pointed to a crumpled fender. “I guess we’re lucky he didn’t wreck it entirely.”
“Slugger probably had a wild ride getting to a telephone,” remarked Rogers. “He certainly got his gang together in quick time; I’ll say that much for him.”
“We’d better follow Slade’s plan of getting to the nearest telephone,” decided Ned. “We can call the authorities at Cleveland and let them come out here to take charge of things from now on.”
“Sure! That’s the idea! And while we’re waiting for ’em, we’ll have time to rustle some breakfast!” chirped Tommy Beals, his round face suddenly regaining its customary cheerfulness.
“Before we go, let’s roll up this canvas and stow it inside,” suggested Dick. “The secret is ours and maybe we can make some use of it later.”
It required but a few minutes to return the canvas to its niche in the cellar, and after swinging the stone slab into place against the possibility of prying eyes, the boys climbed into the car and set out for Cedar Hollow, whose single gasoline station was adorned with the blue bell of telephone service. While Ned was closeted in the booth, the others, led by the resourceful Beals, foraged for food at a neighboring farmhouse with such success that a plentiful breakfast of homely fare was soon in readiness.
“There’s a squad of plain clothes men on the way,” reported Ned, as he took his place at the table. “The chief didn’t more than half-believe me when I told him we had trapped a gang of rum-runners. He’s from Missouri, but we’re going toshowhim!”