"Yas—in a hurry, too."
"Swear it on this," and Upshur adroitly twitched a small metal crucifix from Chicot's bosom, where it hung by a string. "Swear to keep all secret that I tell you now, and never to betray it until I give you free permission."
Chicot, deeply impressed by Upshur's earnestness, obeyed, though still skeptical. And then, after first carefully assuring himself that there were no eavesdroppers near, Upshur unfolded his secret, telling all. How he had first struck scent of the secret, of his eavesdropping, of how he followed the deserters until he had a fair idea of their destination; of all save his connection with the dastardly blow in the dark, and the attempt to fix the crime upon Burr Wythe, for reasons that may hereafter appear.
"Now you know all," he added, "and it is for you to decide whether we are to slave on like dogs, while those three, not a whit better than we, are making themselves rich for life. What do you say?"
"They'd never 'gree to share 'th us," muttered Paul, reflectively, yet with his eyes glowing and his breath quickening.
"Theymust, if we say so. I, for one, am willing to fight for it. Just think—Duplin said he found nuggets as large as his fist! And hundreds of them, too! Just think, man—why, there's enough to make us the richest men in the United States! They must share—or else we'll take the whole!"
"That'll be the best way," hoarsely added Chicot, now fully yielding to the power of the yellow fiend. "There won't be enough for all—fer we must take another. They're strong men, and will fight fer their—ferourgold. It is ours—itmustbe ours!"
"Good! but the other—who shall we select?"
"Tim Dooley—I know him well. For gold he would pawn his soul to the devil—and then blarney him out of his pay afterward."
And so it was settled. On the succeeding night the three men, who were standing guard, deserted and took up the back-trail, forgetful of the dangers that threatened the wagon-train in being left without a competent guide. Upshur chuckled with devilish glee as he hoped the worst would befall them.
He had proposed to Lottie Mitchell, and she had rejected him. Her father also had forbidden him ever again addressing his child, under penalty of a thrashing. For this reason, seeing that all hope of success in that direction was gone, he hoped that the entire train might be attacked and destroyed by the Indians or mountain outlaws, that infested the Overland Route, almost from end to end.
Caleb Mitchell was at his wit's end when the truly alarming tidings were generally made known on the morning following Chicot's disappearance. And not without good cause for apprehension, for the train was now fairly in among the mountains, where a deviation from the right trail—at times wholly undiscernible—might well result in total destruction.
As wagon-master, head of the train, only second to the regular guide, he was naturally the one to whom all now looked, when in truth he was no more capable than any other member, except from his great coolness and superior judgment. All were equally ignorant of the trail, since this was the first venture across the plains.
Mitchell's first move was to send in pursuit of the deserters, with orders to bring them in at all hazards, if found. That last clause was well put in, for Paul Chicot had an easy task in that wild, broken region, in blinding his trail, so that all pursuit was useless. And, with so many long hours the start, it was like sending a horse to run down the locomotive.
Long after dark, the different bands straggled in, weary and dejected. Not even a foot-trace had been found to indicate the direction in which the deserters had gone: and now, that faint hope gone, the greater portion of the emigrants gave way to despair.
In vain Mitchell strove to cheer them up. He said that it was only a matter of time and patience; that before long some other train must come along which they could join. But the answer came, quick and crushing, because it was the one that was chilling his own heart.
It was late in the season. Their train, drawn wholly by oxen, had been long upon the road, and the halt at the "sick-camp" had still further delayed them. They might be the last train on the road—very probably were, since the mountains of California could not be crossed after winter set in. A train might not come along until the spring—and that would be too late. How many of the party could live through a winter in the mountains? The looked-for train would only find their bones.
Harassed by such arguments and fears as these, Caleb Mitchell resolved upon a bold course, and yet apparently the only one that was left them. He would make the attempt to guide the train through the mountains himself, at least until they could gain a spot more favorable for a winter's residence than here, if worst came to worst.
Fearing to lose more precious time, long before daybreak the next day, the wagon-train was slowly following the lead of Caleb Mitchell, who rode in advance, his heart troubled with fears and doubts, for behind him was the sole remaining tie that made life dear to him, and its fate in a great measure depended upon his skill and prudence.
Several hours later, as he saw the crest of a rocky hill, over which the trail led, he abruptly reined in his horse and gazed keenly across the valley before him. He had distinguished the slowly-moving form of human beings, evidently afoot, and the hope that these were the returning deserters set his heart afire.
But all too soon this delusion was dispelled, for he now could distinguish the flowing drapery ofa woman. Anxiously enough he awaited their approach, but as they paused on discovering his figure outlined against the clear sky, he impatiently rode forward. He could now see that there were only two, and the formation of the trail forbid the supposition of an ambush being possible there.
As he approached them, the man stood before the woman, with drawn and leveled pistol, a look of stern despair imprinted upon his worn but handsome features. His voice rung with the desperation of a hunted fugitive turned at bay, as he spoke:
"Keep your distance—we will not be taken alive."
"What do you mean? Who's trying to take you alive—or dead either, for that matter?" ejaculated Mitchell, surprised at the man's tone and action.
"Then you don't—you're not one of those from whom we escaped? You haven't been chasing us?" doubtfully added the stranger.
"Scarcely—else I would not be coming from this direction," laughed Mitchell. "You have nothing to fear from me, if it is as I surmise. I claim to be a gentleman, though in rather rough guise just now—but that matters little. Yonder comes my train. You are welcome to all it affords, sir. As for the lady, my daughter will be pleased to supply her wants as far as she can."
"Thank God!" murmured the woman, springing forward, and, seizing Mitchell's hardened hand, she moistened it with tears. "You will protect us from that—from those dreadful men?"
"With my life, lady," warmly returned the wagon-master, deeply affected, yet feeling not a little curiosity regarding the strangers, wondering to what he was pledging himself, and who "those dreadful men" could be.
"You are very kind, sir, but my heart is too full of gratitude to thank you now as you deserve. When you hear our sad story, you will not wonder that we are weary and worn out and need rest. Bear up, daughter—we are safe with good friends, at last!"
"But, father—these men—they must have perceived us?" answered the woman, tremblingly.
"Perhaps not, but—"
"If there is any danger, sir, tell me what it is, so that I can put my friends upon their guard. We all know how to handle a rifle, and it must be a strong force to trouble us while on guard," proudly interrupted Mitchell.
"There may be danger, but I hardly think it will come near. We were pursued by a party of mountain outlaws, at least until a short time since. But they don't number over a dozen, at most. They would never dare attack here, unless joined by their comrades at the Retreat."
"We will be on the look-out for them. But you must need refreshments. Such as we can offer is at your command. After that, I should like to hear your story. Naturally, this strange meeting has greatly excited my curiosity."
"I do not need much—only a drink of water, or something stronger, if it is handy. As for my daughter Mabel, here, she is entirely worn out. If you will be so kind—you spoke of a daughter?"
"I will introduce them. Though Lottie is far from well—her poor mother's death has nearly killed the child—she will gladly do all that is in her power to comfort your daughter."
"I too have lost my mother," softly murmured Mabel, her large eyes filling with tears, as she glanced up into the stalwart emigrant's face.
"Poor child!" muttered Mitchell, yielding to a sudden and uncontrollable impulse, and bending low in his saddle, he imprinted a fatherly kiss upon the smooth white forehead of the maiden.
Mabel's face flushed, but she did not appear to take offense at the abrupt action, though she cast a swift glance toward her father. Then, with an effort, Mitchell recovered himself, and soon explained the facts of the strange meeting to the wondering emigrants, the train having caught up during the delay.
Mabel was kindly greeted by Lottie, and then the white-tilted wagons hid them from view. The father was furnished with the beverage he desired, and then, seemingly forgetful of fatigue and weariness in his anxiety for the welfare of the wagon-train, he rode along ahead of the train on Mitchell's horse, while the latter walked.
"You say you have no regular guide?"
"He deserted us night before last," moodily replied Mitchell, his brow lowering.
"Can it be that he is in league with these devils?" mused the other, half to himself. "It looks black—very black!"
Mitchell glanced impatiently at his companion. These vague hints were alarming, when coupled with the still unexplained appearance of the couple in that wild and apparently unsettled region.
"Mr. Mitchell," abruptly uttered the stranger, "I am about to tell you a very strange story, and you would do well to listen to it very closely, as, if I mistake not, it concerns you and yours deeply. First, my name is Guilford; I am a retired officer of the regular army, and Mabel is my only child. Why we left a comfortable home in the East to journey overland to California, does not matter just now—suffice that we did.
"The wagon-train which we joined passed over this spot full two weeks ago. Thus far, all had worked smoothly and agreeably. The company was a strong one, formed of intelligent and agreeable people. The guide was thoroughly capable, and gave perfect satisfaction. And yet—I and my child alone remain to tell the fate of all that company!"
Mitchell could not repress a cry of horror.
"Wait. You must have heard of the devils in human shape that haunt portions of the overland trail? Though they do not often attack full trains, they do much of the mischief that is wrongly attributed to the Indians, disguising themselves as such, the better to carry out their nefarious schemes. Well, we fell into the hands of a company of these demons.
"Our guide betrayed us. As I now know, he belonged to the band of outlaws, and only joined our train to betray it into the clutches of his comrades. All that he done, I learned afterward. No one suspected his fidelity until all was lost.
"He led us from the right trail. None thought of doubting him, and we walked blindly into the trap. I was mostly in company with Mabel, who was just recovering from a fit of illness, else I might have detected the change, for I had once before passed over the route.
"Well, just before dusk, the end came. The foremost wagon was suddenly checked by a rocky barricade, that completely filled the narrow passage. The guide had vanished. Then came the shock, as the teamsters and passengers flocked ahead to see what was wrong.
"From the hillside above us came a deadly storm of rifle and pistol-bullets. On every side was death. Not a foeman was to be seen, and yet the withering storm swept man after man to death. And not alone the men. Women and children, even the toddling babes, were shot down. None were spared. In ten minutes all was over.
"Taken so by surprise what could we do? Nothing. Scarcely one had a weapon at hand. Such as had, were too astounded to think of using them. And even had this been different, what could they have done when not a foeman was visible? The rocks above seemed to be raining down death upon us. Not a form could be seen; not a voice mingled with the din of fire-arms, save from the dying as they fell in heaps. My God! it was terrible!" and Guilford covered his eyes and groaned aloud as one in mental agony.
"Pardon my emotion, Mr. Mitchell. Though an old soldier, never before had I witnessed such a frightful sight. My heart bleeds again at the mere thought." And Guilford shuddered again.
"But you—how did you escape unhurt?" curiously asked Mitchell.
"I can explain that now, though at the time I believed it a proof of Providence. But that was part of the plan. I spoke of our guide. That man was none other than the chief of the outlaws. He had joined us and acted as guide, the better to entrap us. He was a handsome, dashing fellow and it seems now that he took a sudden fancy to my daughter—curse the villain!
"I was with Mabel, in the wagon, and he knew this. He pointed it out to his men, and cautioned them against injuring its inmates. With the first shot, I started to give my aid to our friends, but Mabel, half-crazed, seized me, and I dared not leave her. It would have killed her, in her weak state.
"When the guide came to the wagon and ordered us to dismount, I realized the truth, and fired at him. But in my haste, the bullet that should have bored his treacherous brain, missed its mark, killing a man standing just beyond him. I was seized and bound, though I struggled desperately. Only for the guide—Yellow Jack—I would have been killed on the spot. But he had a purpose for saving me, for that time. Through her love for me, he hoped to bend my daughter to his will.
"We—Mabel and I—were carried away into the mountains, and so were spared the horrible scene that must have followed. Yellow Jack told me of it, afterward. The wounded were put out of their misery, and then tossed down a deep ravine hard by, where the wolves and vultures would soon hide them from mortal sight. The wagons were burned, after being plundered, and the ashes scattered to the winds. All traces of the horrible massacre were obliterated, leaving the trap ready for other victims.
"Well, 'tis an unpleasant subject to dwell upon, and I hasten on as fast as possible, yet telling all that is necessary for you to understand the matter. We—Mabel and I—were taken to the hill retreat of this Yellow Jack, and were, for a time at least, treated reasonably well. Then, however, as Mabel gave no signs of softening her manner toward him, he began to show his devilish nature by torturing her with fears for me. Finally, he gave her two days to decide; either to become his bride or see me murdered before her very eyes.
"But we had a friend that he little suspected, in his wife—a beautiful woman who appeared to fairly worship the monster. The fear that Mabel would entirely supplant her in Yellow Jack's love, gave her the courage to foil his purpose by a daring stroke. In the middle of the night she set us both free and led us beyond the line of guards, then giving us the clue to finding the trail, she bade us begone—to suffer death rather than recapture, for after this her hands would be tied. She gave me these pistols, and a small package of food. Then she left us.
"We journeyed by night, and lay hid among the rocks by day, well knowing that we would be pursued, and that the entire country would be scoured. To-day, for the first time, we ventured forth during daylight. You know the rest—how we found you, and how warmly we were welcomed by all," concluded Guilford, evidently deeply affected.
"Then, if this band is so near, this train is in danger!" uttered Mitchell, in a troubled tone.
"No, I think not. The band is not strong enough to openly attack such a train, and they would scarcely dare to form an ambush along theregulartrail. We only suffered through our traitorous guide. You are safe so long as you keep the main trail and see that your sentinels do not neglect their duty. True, you may chance to lose some stock, and care must be taken that stragglers do not wander far from the train, else the outlaws might wreak their spite upon them."
"But our guide is gone—has deserted. How do we know whether we keep the right trail or not? Indeed, we may be straggling from it this very moment!"
"You are right so far. The only danger of straying will be during the next two or three days. After that the route is plain and broad. But do you mean to say that you areallnew hands—that there are none here who have ever passed over the trail before?"
"That is the fact."
"Well, we must do the best we can. Though I have made one trip before this, I paid comparatively little attention to the trace, and don't suppose my judgment is much, if any, better than yours. Still, between us, I think we can manage to pick out the right course."
Meantime the two maidens, Lottie Mitchell and Mabel Guilford, had already become fast friends, and picturing great enjoyment in each other's company during the remainder of the journey.
CHAPTER V.
WHERE WAS JACK TYRREL?
Over a bed of gold.
The three gold-seekers were indeed in the valley of treasure. A few hours of earnest work in the "pocket" revealed riches beyond account, and so infatuated did all become with the results of their labor that scarcely could the one detailed to the daily service of hunting for food take the time necessary to procure proper supplies.
Nothing had occurred to disturb their intense labors, although more than once the hunter for the day had come across strange tracks in the vicinity of their golden bed, and the soul-sickening dread that assailed Robinson Crusoe, on his desert isle, now found a resting place in their hearts. They fancied this was the track of some malicious-minded enemy who was watching them with the intention of robbing the golden store that had grown daily more and more dear to them.
A sad change had come over the trio. Their friends and loved ones would scarcely have recognized them, even after these few days of success. Pale, haggard, and hollow-eyed, they toiled on almost unceasingly, scarce speaking a word through the livelong day, even seeming suspicious of each other, sleeping fitfully, often awaking with a start as if from some haunting dream to glare at the spot where their treasure was hoarded away. A sad, sad change, and one that was daily growing more and more apparent.
Day by day, hour by hour, the insidiousgold-feverwas gaining in power over them, crushing out all generous thoughts, tightening its grasp upon their heart-strings, until scarce one trace of their former selves was left.
Nearly a week had elapsed since their arrival at the valley of gold. It was night, and though the past day had been one of almost breathless toil, the three adventurers sat awake and sleepless, smoking their pipes in silence beneath the rude, frail shelter of vine-clad brush.
All without was dark and dismal. The air was charged with electricity, and the comrades found it impossible to sleep. All nature seemed feverish and ill at ease.
The moon was obscured; dense sulphurous masses of clouds swirled athwart the horizon in wild confusion. Low, sullen mutterings filled the air. A tempest was brewing.
Silently smoking, the gold-hunters watched the play of the clouds. They seemed to care little for the result. What mattered it though they did get wet? The rain could not injure their golden treasure, and what else had they to care for? Nothing.
Suddenly Paley Duplin sprung half erect, outstretching one hand as the pipe dropped unheeded at his feet. His voice sounded strangely excited, trembling violently.
"My God! look yonder—that light!"
Far up the bed of the one-time water-course, a light seemed slowly moving to and fro. This, of itself, in that lone and desolate spot, was enough to excite wonder. But it was theshapethe light gradually assumed as it drew nearer that caused Duplin agitation.
Speechless the three men glared at the vision as it slowly drew nearer to where they sat. Neither spoke. They seemed petrified with horror.
And well might this be the case. The past week had sadly weakened their nerves. This horrible reserve that had come over them since delving amidst the masses of gold, had rendered them doubly susceptible to superstitious influence.
They could no longer doubt. The shape, glowing with a ghastly light, was now vividly outlined.
Before them, at only a few rods' distance, stood a skeleton of fire!
A skeleton, perfect in the most minute detail. It seemed of gigantic size, as though the relic of some long since extinct race of giants.
The brainless skull, the eyeless sockets, the wide, ghastly-grinning mouth and blazing teeth, the body, the arms and legs, all were glowing with a strangely-weird luster, not unlike that produced by the use of phosphorus. One fleshless arm was slowly lifted until the dangling finger pointed directly at the spot where crouched the gold-hunters, awe-stricken and speechless.
And still the flaming skeleton advanced, more and more, the arm warningly outstretched, the skull wearing that horribly mocking grin.
Suddenly a low, taunting laugh echoed upon the still oppressive air—a laugh that seemed to issue from the fleshless lips.
Duplin shuddered, and bowing his head, covered his face as if to shut out the sickening object. Wythe and Tyrrel remained motionless, their eyes riveted upon the skeleton.
A voice uttering words followed the laugh. Deep yet low, something strangely impressive when coming from that ghastly spectacle, as it appeared.
"Blind fools! ye are trespassing here on holy ground. Depart while yet there is time. You hear—even the spirits of the air warn you. Obey their voice—flee—flee from the wrath to come! Take heed. 'Tis the last warning. Depart—or the morrow's sun shall shine down on your lifeless remains."
A laugh slowly followed this speech, coming from the rude hut of bushes. It was from Jack Tyrrel, sounding strained, yet scornful.
"This mummery has gone far enough," he said, in a tone that told of rising anger. "It's my turn now. Whoever you are,youtake warning. In just one minute, unless you drop that mask, I'll try if you are bullet-proof. Markmywords, now!"
"Don't, Jack—for God's sake don't!" gasped Duplin. "'Tis nothing earthly—it's a warning from the other world!"
"Bah! I've seen a skeleton doctored with phosphorus before now."
"Lift your arm against the dead, and it will drop withered to your side," solemnly added the voice.
"It will, eh? Here's to try it. Man or devil—here's greeting to you!" recklessly cried Tyrrel, as he raised and sighted his revolver.
Again came the laugh, hollow and unearthly. The fleshless face seemed to grin more horribly than before.
Once—twice the pistol spoke spitefully, the flash momentarily lighting up the little brush shanty, then leaving it in still deeper darkness from force of contrast. And yet the skeleton stood there, motionless, save that the arm appeared to move derisively.
The laugh again echoed forth, as the reverberating reports died away. Duplin sunk upon his face, groaning in terror. Wythe knelt as though petrified. Tyrrel turned a shade paler.
"Silly fool! you provoke your fate. When the sun rises you will be dead—dead."
The glowing figure swiftly moved forward, and seemed about to attack the gold-hunters. Jack hastily lifted his pistol and fired, then sprung to his feet as though in readiness for the struggle.
When the smoke-cloud lifted, he rubbed his eyes in amazement. All was black before him. Nothing was to be seen. The apparition had vanished as though swallowed up by the earth.
Only for a moment did he hesitate. Then, still clutching his pistol, he darted from the shanty and glanced around him. All was vacancy.
He leaped upon the sand-bank, and swept his eyes around. The result was the same. No light—nothing save a far-distant flash of lurid lightning.
A disinterested spectator would have laughed outright, could he have seen Tyrrel's face at that moment, so full of blank amazement was it. And yet there was nothing in it of superstitious fear.
Only for the first few moments had Jack yielded to this feeling, and then simply because his comrades had done so. This quickly vanished and anger took its place. He was startled at the new effect of his shots, because he had great confidence in his own skill. Then, too, he marveled greatly at the abrupt disappearance, but that he wisely attributed to clever skill.
Thoughtfully scratching his curly pate, Jack retraced his steps and entered the shanty. In silence he lighted his pipe at the still smoldering embers, and then puffed away vigorously, covertly eying his comrades the while.
"Well, boys," he at length uttered, between puffs, "what d' you think of it, anyhow?"
"It is gone, then?" muttered Duplin, in a husky voice.
"Yes—cleverly, too. A smart chap, whoever it may be," quoth Tyrrel.
"You are wrong—it was nothing mortal. It was a warning," gloomily added Duplin.
"Now don't be a fool, Paley," impatiently. "The days are passed for such melo-dramatic visions as that. We will live to see a great many to-morrows. It is nothing but a very stale trick got up to frighten us from our work. Somebody has got wind of our discovery, and takes this plan to drive us away. But I, for one, don't scare worth a cent! And as first move—before it rains—I'm going to see what sort of track thatghostleft behind him. The sand out yonder is soft, and will retain a footprint. Come—you'll admit that aspirit—even though it assumes the guise of a burning skeleton—can not leave a natural footprint? Very well. If I do not find the tracks of amanout yonder, I'll agree to believe in your view, and at once make my will, provided you promise the same. If the trackisthere you'll give up those superstitious ideas?"
"Yes," was the reply given by both Duplin and Wythe.
Jack said no more, but set about arranging a torch in order to settle the question once for all. Meantime Wythe had directed Duplin's attention to something not far from the shanty, apparently lying upon the ground.
This was a small point of flame, flickering vividly, now larger, now smaller. It was near where the skeleton had stood.
Tyrrel soon emerged, holding the torch before him, but as he advanced, the point of flame grew dim, and then vanished entirely. Bending low down, he began closely scanning the ground, while Duplin and Wythe intently watched his motions.
"You're cornered now, boys," he said aloud, with a laugh, rising erect. "Come out here and own up that you've been silly fools. Here are the tracks as plain and clear as mud."
Beginning to feel ashamed of their exhibition, the two soon joined Tyrrel, and kneeling, slowly scanned the ground. As Jack had said, the sand was soft, and easily retained the imprint of a human foot.
And such an imprint lay before them, plain and unmistakable. Even Duplin could no longer doubt that all this had been the work of a cunning hand, though by no means a spirit.
"And see," laughed Jack, "here's a memento of our ghostly visitor. A finger-joint that one of my bullets has broken."
"That was what we saw lying here. Hold it in the dark, Jack—yes, that is it," muttered Wythe, as the bone again showed the flickering light.
"And there comes the rain—but first, I'm going to have the measure of this foot. I think I owe the rascal that made it a sound thrashing, and if we ever meet, he'll get it, or my name's not Jack Tyrrel!"
As the storm burst, the gold-hunters regained their shelter, and composed themselves as comfortably as circumstances would admit. Knowing that they were in for a drenching, they only cared to keep their weapons and ammunition dry.
It was impossible to sleep while the storm raged with such violence, and Jack continued his good work by lecturing his comrades. He showed them the point toward which they were drifting, and that ruin must follow unless they rallied against the spell that seemed falling upon them.
"Why, in less than a month—if this sort o' thing keeps on—we'll be ready to cut each other's throats. It ishorrible! I'd rather turn my back on the gold altogether and live poor all my life than to pass another week as this one has been."
"I agree with you, Jack," warmly replied Duplin. "There is gold enough for us all. Let's clasp hands, and forget the hard work. Hereafter let's bemen—not savage dogs."
"Amen!"
Through that livelong night the three, comrades once more, conversed earnestly. And when day came, they were ready for work.
It was plain now that their secret was no longertheirsecret—that they had been watched by some one who knew of their rich discovery. And it was likely that this watcher also knew of their "bank"—the spot where their treasure was stowed away.
Before daylight they removed the gold to another spot, the driving rain obliterating all traces as soon as made. This done, they looked to their weapons.
The spy, whoever he might be, must be found, though a week was spent in searching for him. Only for the beating rain, this would have been a comparatively easy matter, since the ground, clear to the hills, was very favorable for trailing.
Day broke clear and beautiful, and Duplin experienced a peculiar thrill of joyous thankfulness as he beheld the brilliant sun roll above the eastern swells. The sight gave him renewed life, and the last lingering trace of superstition vanished.
For hours the three friends sought in vain for some trace of their nocturnal visitor, but it was not until they crossed the first ridge that such rewarded their search. Then, deeply imprinted in the moist sandy loam, they came upon a double trail, though both sets of tracks were evidently made by the same person, probably in going and coming, as they trod different ways.
"It's our man," cried Jack, as he arose from comparing his tally with the tracker. "We must run him to ground, now. He can't be far—these tracks are fresh."
"But which are the latest?"
"That puzzles me. I'm not much on the trail-hunt. Chicot could tell, no doubt, but I can't. We must follow both. You and Wythe take that direction, and I'll look to this."
"But there may be danger to you going alone. We don't know who or what this fellow is. Best keep together."
"And so lose the game, like as not? No. I think I can hold my own, since there's only one man. Go on—and ifyoufind the game, build a fire of grass that will send up a black smoke. I'll do the same. Look out for it."
It was rank folly attempting to reason with Tyrrel, and his comrades, well knew that. So parting—none of the trio dreamed of the time that would elapse before their meeting!—they each bent to their work.
The trail ran lengthwise along the valley, only divided from that where lay the golden bed by a high ridge. Duplin and Wythe were heading south-east; the trail followed by Tyrrel was in an opposite direction.
"I think I can tell just how this will end," muttered Burr, after progressing a mile or more. "I think we will find the stopping-place on yonder point, where we can look down upon our camp. If so, we must hasten back, and join Jack. The hot-headed fellow may get into trouble."
A few minutes more proved their surmise to be correct. The trail doubled at the hill, and then ran back for a ways, side by side.
The friends had no difficulty in retracing their steps, and advanced at a half run. The damp earth had retained deep tracks.
In ten minutes they had regained the point where Tyrrel had left them, and still hastened after him. Then they paused, simultaneously uttering a low cry.
"Too late!" gasped Duplin.
Faint and indistinct came to their ears, borne by the favoring breeze, two quickly succeeding pistol-shots, closely followed by a cry, as of pain or mortal terror. These sounds came from up the valley.
Clutching their weapons, the friends bounded forward at top speed, their faces pale, their teeth tightly clenched. They feared the worst.
"My God! look there!" gasped Wythe, extending one trembling hand.
Before them, close to where the rocks that thickly covered the hillside began, the ground was torn and trampled, as though the scene of a desperate struggle for life. And upon one side of a whitely bleached bowlder was a large crimson stain.
A stain that could only be produced byblood!
Sick and faint the comrades stood there, wildly glancing around, listening anxiously for some sound to guide them. But it came not. All was stilled save their deep, husky breathing.
"Come," cried Duplin, with an effort rousing himself, "this is folly. We must work. Dead or alive, we must find Jack, and either rescue oravengehim."
Dreading lest at every step they should come upon the dead and mangled body of their friend hidden among the rocks, the gold-hunters advanced. Here and there a blood-splash guided their eyes. Drop by drop it led them up the hillside. This alone guided them. The flinty ground retained no trace of footsteps.
A gore-stained rock attracted them. Rushing forward, Duplin uttered a low cry. Then he sunk upon his knees and bent forward.
Burr Wythe turned sick at heart, and staggering, would have fallen but for the friendly support of a jagged bowlder. A cry broke from his lips as he started back and removed his hand. It had entered a tiny pool of fresh blood!
CHAPTER VI.
LOST IN THE LABYRINTH.
With a convulsive shudder, Burr Wythe wiped the clotted blood from his hand. Duplin, startled by the cry of his comrade, quickly turned his head.
"What is it, Wythe?"
"Nothing—I rested my hand in that blood yonder. But what is this—a cave?"
"It must be—and see! There are blood-stains on the inside edges of the rock. Whoever, one or many, have gone in there, taking poor Jack with them, either dead or alive," muttered Paley, as he drew back and carefully looked to his weapons.
"Then out of it they must come," determinedly returned Burr, his eyes glittering.
"But how? If in there, they have the advantage of us in every respect."
"There is only one way. We must enter and do the best we can."
"It looks like suicide, after what we see here; but if you dare risk it, I will not fail you. We can not desert the lad. He would risk as much for either of us."
"Here—let me pass in first. I can get some idea of what is before us, and if they mean mischief, they'll wait to make sure of us both. Do you keep back from the entrance, but ready to assist me if I call."
Pale but resolute, Wythe crawled into the hole, and then glanced quickly around him, as though in hopes of being able to penetrate the dense gloom. That his heart beat quicker than common, is no disparagement to his courage, for there is nothing so trying as facing an unknown dangerin the dark.
Feeling around he found several pebbles, and flung them violently from him. From their faint echoes, he learned what he desired.
"It's a large cave, Paley," he uttered, as he emerged into the open air. "We must not enter without material for torches. We might pass within arm's length of poor Jack, and not know it."
Thoroughly determined to find their missing comrade, and if possible those who had struck this blow, the two men scarcely gave a thought now to the danger they might be incurring, nor how completely they would be at the mercy of any hidden enemy, while they were bearing lighted torches. So, while Wythe guarded the cave entrance, Duplin hastily collected material for torches.
A few minutes sufficed for this, and then both men entered the hole. Thus shielded from the wind, they soon succeeded in kindling a torch, and then, while one held it aloft, the other kept just without the circle of light, with cocked and ready revolver. In this manner one at least would be running less risk. Duplin, as being the best shot, held the latter position.
The two friends curiously glanced around them. But little was to be seen, save the jagged roof of rock, as the torch emitted but a feeble light.
Still, a few moments showed them that the chamber in which they stood was untenanted save by themselves. It was of considerable size, irregular in outline, rough and jagged, with a low roof or ceiling.
"Look! here is a sort of tunnel," muttered Wythe, waving the light before him. "And—yes! here goes the blood-drops. Poor Jack! if it'shisblood, he must be dead."
"Maybe not. A little makes a big show on rock. But let's hasten—I'm eager for the end. Any thing—even the knowledge of his death, is better than this suspense."
"If heisdead, somebody must pay for it!" gritted Wythe, vindictively.
The tunnel was low and narrow, and the explorers had to stoop their heads to avoid the rocky roof. More than once Wythe fancied he could distinguish the trace of tools wielded by human hands upon the soft rock, but other thoughts occupied their minds, though at another time this fact would have excited the deepest curiosity.
The tunnel was winding, now sheering abruptly to the right, then again to the left, and several times Wythe paused in doubt, astwopassages met his gaze. But a close and cautious scrutiny would show a drop of blood upon the floor of one or the other, and thus guided, the adventurers pressed on, further into the labyrinth, without a thought of their own peril—thinking only of their lost comrade. From first to last, of that day, they exhibited a strange lack of prudence.
Their progress, owing to these causes, was slow—far more so than, in their impatience to learn the fate of Jack Tyrrel, they believed—and the winding passage frequently caused them to almost retrace their footsteps.
Suddenly Wythe came to the end of the tunnel, and stepped into what seemed a spacious chamber, though he could only judge from the difference in the atmosphere. The torch was of little service, save within a radius of several yards.
A few minutes' scouting proved this also to be unoccupied by those they sought. At irregular intervals, around the sides, were several tunnels similar to that from which the men had recently emerged.
Exchanging glances, the friends saw that each had begun to despair. After this long and really arduous search, they seemed no nearer the end than at first.
"Come," whispered Duplin, rousing himself, "this is only wasting time, when we should be at work. Cheer up—we must find him soon. I know we will—I feel it!"
"I hope you are a true prophet," sighed Wythe, brushing the cold damp from his forehead. "But I fear the worst."
"Give me the light for awhile, and you take my place. We must search each tunnel until we find the right one."
"I fear that will be difficult. I've not noticed any blood-drops for some time. What if we should be wrong? What will become of poor Jack? And—how are we to find our way back again?"
Duplin started. For the first time he realized the full peril of their situation. Were they not even then lost? Lost in the labyrinth—in the bowels of the earth! And nothing to sustain life—no food, no water! The thought was soul-sickening!
"We must not think of thatnow. We've enough to trouble our minds without that. It may all turn out right. But mark the passage we came through. With that to start from, we can find our way back by the blood-stains. Drop my hat there—or a bit of rag, anything will do."
Wythe advanced a step, then paused and glanced around him. His face shone ghastly pale in the feeble light of the tiny torch. It seemed that of a dead, rather than a living man.
"I—Ithinkthis is the one," he faltered, pointing to a passage.
"My God! don't youknow? Then we are indeed lost!" groaned Duplin, the cold sweat dripping from his brow.
"We have walked in every direction—I am bewildered. We can do nothing, only trust in Providence."
"And so we will! I don't believe we are to perish in this manner. Cheer up—'twill all turn out for the best," cried Duplin, rallying his courage.
"I'm willing enough to hope for the best, but these events follow close after that man's warning of last night. There may have been more in it than we cared to admit."
"Come—no more o' that, Wythe. You only unnerve us both. Mark this tunnel. We will first explore the one next upon its right—remember that. In time we must strike the right one."
Entering the low-arched passage, Duplin led the way, holding the torch so low that it fell full upon the floor. Leaving all other matters to Wythe, he closely and thoroughly scrutinized the passage in search of the blood-drops that had already guided their course so far.
"I'm afraid we're wrong, Burr," muttered Paley, after several minutes. "I can find no traces."
He had just rounded an acute corner in the passage, and thus cast Wythe in the gloom. Stepping forward, Burr abruptly paused.
"My God! look yonder!" he gasped rather than spoke, one hand extended over Duplin's shoulder.
The latter raised his eyes and then started back. Truly a horrible sight was before them.
A dull, ghastly light seemed to fill the space before them. A light that danced and flickered fitfully—now brilliant, now dull.
There, apparently almost within arm's length of the two adventurers, were half a dozen flaming skeletons, not lying prone upon the floor, but seemingly just starting up from their recumbent position to chastise the unhallowed disturbers of their last repose.
Fiery jets of flame seemed to dart forth from the eyeless sockets, from the grinning jaws, from every bone that helped form the skeletons, and all with that peculiar effect produced by the plentiful use of phosphorus.
As if turned to stone, the two friends stood at the turning, glaring wildly upon the weird tableau.
Then there echoed forth a startling sound, that seemed to proceed from the glowing jaws of the blazing skeletons. A laugh, shrill and unearthly, that echoed thrillingly through the long, narrow passage.
"My God! they move—they come!" yelled Duplin, as he dropped the torch and dashed madly back the way he had come, by some rare chance escaping a shattered skull, from collision with the numerous jagged points of rock.
With that horrible laugh still ringing in their ears, Wythe followed after, half-dead with terror. Gasping, nearly suffocated by the wild throbbings of his heart, Duplin gained the chamber, and then sunk down weak and trembling. Though life depended upon the exertion, he could go no further.
"Burr—where are you?" he gasped, agitatedly.
"Here—thank God we are together!" came the low reply, as Wythe crept to his side. "But the light—where is it?"
"I dropped it—I was so astonished. But we can kindle another. I have matches and you have wood."
"I?—no, I must have lost it as I ran. I had two sticks when we entered, but they are gone now," slowly returned Wythe.
Both remained silent. Each realized the full force of this new calamity. Without a light how could they ever hope to find their way out of this labyrinth? With a light, the task would be hard enough—without one, it become simply impossible.
"We must regain them, even though we have to face that horrible sight once more," muttered Duplin, with a resolution that was simply sublime, when his superstitious nature is remembered.
"Didyouhear it, too?"
"The laughter—yes. It was no delusion. Pray God that I may never hear it again!"
"Hark!"
A low, indistinct sound met their ears. It seemed to proceed from the passage they had just left. Its precise nature they could not define, but—perhaps the thought was excited by what had just occurred—they fancied it was the faint echo of that horrible peal of laughter.
"It's coming nearer—what shall we do?" gasped Duplin, tremblingly.
"Remember what Jack showed us. There is some trickery here, I feel sure. If we flee blindly through these passages, we are indeed lost. We must meet what is coming. If really supernatural, we can not run away from it. If human, we can solve the mystery with a pistol-bullet," hurriedly muttered Burr, as his revolver clicked sharply.
His resolution seemed to restore Duplin, and then, in silence they awaited the result, though in painful suspense, for neither was free from a sickening dread. Few men are equally brave in the dark and light.
The suspense was not of long duration. Another shrill, unearthly peal of laughter rung through the rocky chamber, and then, as if by magic, a glowing skeleton with every bone plainly outlined, stood before the two gold-hunters.
Duplin hastily cocked his revolver. It seemed that the sharp metallicclickwas not unheard, for another laugh, low and taunting, came from where the ghastly object stood. Then a voice—the same that had addressed them at their camp, the preceding night—uttered the words:
"Poor silly fools! Do ye think to alarm the dead by such actions? What care I for mortal weapons? You but precipitate your fate by such rashness. You scorned my first warning—and now you see the results. One of your number is dead—you two are doomed! Doomed to wander on through the bowels of the earth unceasingly, until death takes pity upon your sufferings and touches your hearts with his finger of ice. You were warned—why did you throw the chance behind you? You sealed your own fate. You are doomed—doomed! Ha! ha!" and again the chilling peal rung forth.
And yet, strange as it may seem, these words gave Burr Wythe renewed courage. Though a partial believer in spiritualism, he did not believe that disembodied spirits could speak.
The owner of this same voice had, at the camp, left a substantial proof behind it that scarcely befitted a ghost. And nowthisvoice admitted the identity.
"'Tis some trick, Paley," he whispered in Duplin's ear.
"Fire when I do, and we will have the clue in our hands. For poor Jack's sake, courage."
"I will—touch me when you are ready," came the low, cautious response.
"Now!"
As he shouted aloud this word Wythe fired, and almost simultaneously Duplin's pistol spoke. And the effect exceeded their most sanguine expectations.
High above the twin reports, there rose a human voice in a wild yell of pain, then came a rattling crash—then the sound of heavy, repressed footsteps.
Instantly, on firing, Duplin and Wythe sprung aside, and recocked their pistols. But there was no need of a second shot. The victory was theirs.
The glowing skeleton lay upon the ground, shattered to pieces. The skull, like a great ball of fire, was slowly rolling toward Wythe, who eyed it with a shudder of loathing. But all else was motionless and still. The fleeing footsteps that had momentarily caught their ear, was now gone.
"Our spirit was Jack's trickster, after all," at length uttered Wythe.
"We were fools, Burr," laughed Duplin, his natural courage returning. "It's a lesson that will never be forgotten by us; and it was one that I needed, too. I'm becoming a slave to my superstitions. But did you notice which way he went?"
"No. Still, with lights, we can find out, I guess. That cry was one of pain. He must have been wounded."
"He was; perhaps mortally, though I hope not, for that might lose us our hopes of finding Jack. But, come; we must find our torches. There is no time to lose unless we wish to make good that rascal's prediction, and die in here of thirst and starvation. This is the passage—just behind these bones."
Carefully feeling along the passage, they soon succeeded in finding the dried fagots, dropped when they took a hasty flight. One—the torch—was still smoldering, and required but little coaxing before it again blazed up.
By its light, the two friends exchanged glances. They were both thinking of the same thing.
"Yes, we will examine them," exclaimed Duplin, resolutely advancing. "Who knows—we may find some trace ofhimthere."
With far different sensations than those felt when first the weird sight burst upon their vision, the gold-hunters now examined the row of skeletons. They lay side by side, upon a sloping ledge, which, in the first affright, gave them the appearance of raising to their feet. The friends saw that at least two of the skeletons had been removed from the ghastly row.
"They have been placed here with care," muttered Wythe. "See—here are fragments of what was once cloth. The bones look as though covered with skin—as though the flesh had gradually dried away, and the sinews still hold together. That accounts for the perfect skeletons we saw arranged by that rascal—whoever he is."
"This dry, rare air may account for that. But we must not forget the duty we owe poor Jack. He is not here."
"Come, then. We can follow our mummer, if I mistake not. I think he'll leave a plain trail behind him, if there's any virtue in half-ounce bullets."
In a few moments the adventurers were once more in the chamber, and examining the ground round about where the skeleton had fallen. True to their hopes, they found several drops of blood that told plainly their enemy was wounded.
"This is the passage," uttered Duplin. "But it seems to lead back the same way we came."
"We are all turned round. Itmay, of course, but more likely it continues in the direction we first started in. It is our only chance, at any rate."
For half an hour more they crept on, slowly and carefully, knowing that to go astray might result in their destruction. Several branch passages were observed, but close scouting showed them the faint blood-traces, that directed them aright.
But then a circumstance occurred that threatened them with disaster. The second torch had burned nearly down to Wythe's fingers, and he paused to light another. Unfortunately he dropped the splinter, and falling, it became extinguished. Blow as he might the sparks refused to blaze up.
Impatiently he asked Duplin for a match. To his horror, Paley answered that he had none! Whether he had lost them during the flight or not, it was certain that they were then in the labyrinth, without means to kindle a light. Search as they might, not a match was found.
As the significant truth burst upon them in its full force, they seemed like madmen. They raved and cursed until out of breath. Then reason returned. They were only wasting precious strength that might yet be needed to save them from a horrible death.
"Come, Duplin," hoarsely muttered Wythe, "we must be men. We need our senses now, if ever. Wemustfind some way out of this. Come—creep forward with me. Try to keep this passage. Perhaps we may succeed—it is our only hope."
"A slim one," and Duplin smothered back a curse. "I begin to believe that that prediction will come true—that this hole is ourgrave!"
"Don't give way to such thoughts. Hope while we may. The worst, if itmustcome, will come soon enough."
For an hour—a long, weary hour full of agonizing fears and doubts—the comrades crept slowly on, upon their hands and knees, not knowing whether they were nearing or distancing safety. But then Burr Wythe, who was in advance, gave way to a gasping cry—a cry of joyful thanksgiving.
"Thank God! we are saved! This is the first chamber—I can tell it!"
"But—" hesitated Duplin, "then we should see the light.Where is the hole we crept in at?"
All before them was dark and black. They could see nothing. And now Wythe remembered that as they first entered the tunnel, he had glanced back. The hole then shone clear and distinct. It was gone now!
With a cry of apprehension he arose and sprung forward. In a moment he discovered the truth.
This was indeed the outer chamber. And he felt where the entrance had been.It was now blocked up!
They were buried alive!
Both sunk to the ground, heart-sick and despairing.
CHAPTER VII.
NATE UPSHUR'S WORK.
On the night of the storm, Nathan Upshur sat apart from his two comrades, noiselessly smoking his pipe. That he was not in the best of humor was plainly evident.
It was only several hours since they had come on the whereabouts of Wythe and his companions, after an arduous search of several days' duration. But yet, short as was the time, Upshur had proposed a bloody plan to Chicot and Dooley—nothing less than murdering the gold-hunters, and then taking their treasure.
His ill-humor now was caused by their flat refusal to enter into any thing of the sort. They had counted the cost, and were willing to enforce their rights to a portion of the placer, if need be, by an appeal to arms, but it must be in open fight, not midnight assassination. But Upshur objected to this. It savored too much of personal danger, and that he did not greatly fancy. So he sat brooding over the matter, sour and sullen.
"It's jest this," quoth Chicot, settling the ashes in his pipe. "Theymustlet us in on shar's. I'll tell 'em that I knew of it fust—last year, an' that I on'y j'ined the train so's to git to the place. They cain't deny it—or, ef they do, they cain't prove that I lie.Thenef they cut up rusty, let 'em. We kin make 'em sick o' the job, I reckon. But I won't hev no onderhand work—no rubbin' out in the dark—mindthat, Nate Upshur."
They were encamped upon the hillside, in a deep crevice in the rocks that overhung their heads, where the tiny camp-fire was hidden from any one unless within a half-score yards of the spot. And, as he stated his position, Paul Chicot lay down to sleep, unmindful of the coming storm.
But that night was not to pass without disturbance, even with them. Suddenly the clear report of fire-arms broke upon the air, coming, as all knew, from the gold-hunters' camp.
Peering over the rocks, they saw a strange, luminous light moving above the valley, but before they could guess its meaning, the light suddenly vanished. While still gazing down, they heard a rapid footfall just above them, and then a strangely-shaped, dark figure bounded past them, up the rocks. It seemed the form of a man, bearing an unwieldy bundle upon his shoulder, dark, and dimly-outlined.
Little slumber visited their eyes that night, and his curiosity excited, Chicot plunged through the storm on a reconnoitering expedition. He soon returned, saying that the three gold-hunters were still in their shanty.
Then who or what was the dark figure? Were there still other parties in the valley? Others after the golden hoard that lay beneath the sands?
Awaiting other developments, Chicot and his companions, early in the morning, saw the three friends start forth as if with some definite purpose in view. They hastily passed over the rocky ridge, unconscious of the eyes that so closely watched them.
"Now's our time," eagerly muttered Upshur. "We can go and dig up their gold and be off before they get back."
"Not yet," firmly replied Chicot, who seemed to possess a little more conscience than his comrades. "We don't know how soon they may be back, and I don't want to be caught stealin', jest yet. Le's watch and see what they're about, fust."
Grumblingly Upshur submitted, and the trio crept up to the ridge, and peered over it, keeping well screened. From there they saw the others discover the double trail and closely examine it. Then separating, Duplin and Wythe took one course, Jack Tyrrel the other.
"They're trailin' the critter we see'd, most likely," muttered Chicot. "Le's watch until they git out o' sight, then we'll go fer the gold."
Impatiently they watched the tardy progress of the adventurers, for now that a chance seemed open for them to effect their object, they were one and all eager to handle the gold. From their position the valley below them was visible for nearly a mile in either direction, bare and treeless, desolate and dreary-looking.
"My eyes hain't as good as they war once, but, onless I'm mightily mistook, they's trouble waitin' fer Jack, over yon'. I'm 'most sure I sighted a human on them rocks. But it's gone, now. This's gittin' interestin'—seems like we're goin' to hev two separate gangs to deal with."
With curiosity fully aroused, the trio watched Tyrrel's progress, and as he passed round the point of rocks indicated by Chicot, the watchers fairly held their breath with suspense.
Then came the sounds that had so deeply alarmed Duplin and Wythe—two quickly-succeeding pistol-shots, then a cry for help.
"I told ye so," muttered Chicot, excitedly. "Tyrrel's in trouble 'thsomethin'! Down—quick! See, thar comes t'other fellers. Ef they sight us, it's fight, then, shore. They'd thinkwewas at the bottom o' the deviltry. Hunker down, I say!"
"Now's our chance to get hold o' the gold," muttered Nate Upshur, eagerly. "We'll have time."
"No—I'm goin' to see this a'fa'r out fust. It's best that we know jest what an' who we've got to work ag'in', an' we'll never hev a better chaince to find out. Come—keep along behind the ridge. We kin git up opposite the spot where Jack was, afore t'others. Keerful—don't show your head 'bove the ridge."
Though having the longest and by far the roughest road, Chicot and his companions gained the desired point ahead of Duplin and Wythe, owing to the latter having to follow Tyrrel's trail. But, though they closely scrutinized the opposite ridge, nothing in human form was to be seen.
"The boy's gone, an' so's whoever he run ag'inst. Mebbe he's rubbed out, an' the fellers is layin' fer t'others."
"We'll soon see, for there comes Duplin and Wythe," added Upshur.
In silence the trio watched and waited. Every movement of the two comrades was noted. What they were the reader already knows.
For a time the watchers were puzzled, but then as the two men began gathering dried sticks from under the sheltered rocks, the truth gradually became plain. Paul Chicot gave vent to a long, low whistle.
"They've holed the game!"
"Surely the fools ain't going to venture in?"
"Itisfoolish, but they show plenty o' grit. You see now what you wanted to buck ag'inst."
"If they go in there, the game's in our hands!" exultantly muttered Upshur, his eyes glowing wickedly.
"What d'y' mean by that?"
"Can't weblock them in? Then they'll have a good chance to fight it out with those they are hunting, while we can take our time about the gold. In that way we get rid ef them without killing them, and just as effectually too."
"I don't see much difference, if ye l'ave them there to starve," slowly commented Tim Dooley, for the first time for hours giving his opinion, in this respect being very different from the popular idea of an Irishman.
"If you're so cursed tender-hearted, why don't you go an offer to helpthem? Had I known what a milksop you were I'd never have lifted a finger to help you to a fortune."
"Nor would ye, only ye wanted help. But best kape a bridle on yer tongue, my fri'nd. I don't take black words from anybody," quietly added Dooley.
"Dry up—quit yer quarrelin'. Whar's the use? It don't do no good, an' only makes bad blood. We're workin' in harness now, an' each must keep up his eend. Fust work—then pleasure. Fight then as much as ye please. But I think that's a good idea o' your'n, Upshur. We kin block 'em in, s'posin' they give us a chaince, an' then, when we're ready to travel, we kin set 'em free. But mind ye, this we've got to do. I won't take a step in the matter onless this is all onderstood."
"Nayther will I."
"Just as you like about that," impatiently added Upshur. "But we're losing valuable time. That may be but a small den, and we be too late. Then if they see us, itmustcome to blows."
"Ef they begin, why we'll give 'em the best we've got, in course. Come, then, le's travel."
Descending the ridge, the three men ran hastily across the level valley, and soon gained the second hill. As the reader knows, this danger was not suspected by either Duplin or Wythe.
"You and Tim see if you can roll over that big rock above there," muttered Upshur, kneeling down beside a bowlder. "I'll agree that they shall not disturb your work, if they hear you too soon. I can keep them back, I guess."
At that moment, as he covered the entrance to the cave with a revolver in either hand, cocked and ready, Nathan Upshur ardently hoped that the two men he hated with such venomous animosity would appear. A good shot, he felt that the path before him would soon be cleared, and the stain of the midnight murder fairly fixed upon the innocent Burr Wythe.
Exerting their strength to the utmost, the two men at length succeeded in toppling over the bowlder, that must have weighed many tons. Had it not been so nicely poised, their efforts would have been in vain.
As the huge mass settled fairly over the hole, Nate Upshur laughed aloud in diabolical glee. He knew that mortal hands could not remove the rock, without the aid of strong tools. In the excitement of the moment, neither Chicot nor Dooley had thought of this, and they now felt a pang of regret. It seemed as though they had been committing a cowardly murder.
"That's one job done—and well done, too, I call it," and Upshur chuckled. "Now for the other. We alone are the owners of this famous golden bed that Duplin raved about. Come—I am in haste to know the extent of our fortune. Don't look so grum—you should laugh instead, man."
"I feel like a dog that's caught sheep-killin', or aig-suckin'," muttered Chicot. "We've mebbe rubbed out two settlers as is a durned sight better men than either o' us, in a cowardly way, too."
"Bah! I suppose you'll be too conscientious to touch any of the gold they've dug, won't you?" sneered Upshur.
"I don't know—if theybegone, why I s'pose I might as well hev some o' what they left, as foryouto git it all."
"I thought so! But come—the sooner we finish this job, the better. Theremaybe another outlet to the cave, and these fools may stumble upon it, and come back in time to make us trouble. But once let us get clutches on their pile, and I think we can hold it."
With hasty steps, the three men recrossed the little valley, and from the other ridge, carefully reconnoitered the deserted camp. No one appeared to be near it, and their hearts thrilled wildly as they realized that they were now sole masters of the golden secret. Even Chicot forgot his scruples, in the dream of fabulous wealth that filled his mind.
"It's ours—all ours, now!" muttered Upshur, as he darted down the rough hillside at reckless speed, slowly followed by his comrades.
In a few minutes more they stood within the rude brush shanty. Eagerly they gazed around, as though expecting to discover great heaps of the precious metal. Then Upshur laughed—harshly and discordantly.
"Bah! what fools! Of course they've hid it. But what one hides, another can find. They've changed the gold to another place—for there's where it has been."
All could see as much, but the gold was not there. Still, it must be hidden near at hand.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE WILD-MAN AGAIN.
Meanwhile, where was Jack Tyrrel?
We left him at the moment when he turned round the point of rocks, following on the strange trail. A few rods beyond this, and he suddenly paused as a peculiar cry met his ear.
Hastily glancing up, a strange light met his gaze. A flash of recognition lit up his face. He had seen that form once before.
It was, indeed, none other than the occupant of the hill-cave, whom he had beheld fed like a child by the beautiful maiden; the one whom he had, a few hours later, seen shot at by Nate Upshur. The being called by Paul Chicot, the "Mountain Devil."
He stood at the base of a large bowlder, one hand outstretched, clutching his long bow already spoken of. His attitude, his face, his eyes, all told that he was angered.
"Back! rash fool!" he uttered in a deep, stern tone. "I warned you once—this is sacred ground. Back, I say, or you die!"
"Don't be so headstrong, old man," coolly returned Jack, seating himself upon a bowlder. "You have nothing to fear from us. When we finish our work, we intend leaving—and allow me to add that you nor any one else can make us stir one step before we get ready."
The wild-man—or madman, whichever he was, and both titles well suited him—uttered another hoarse, inarticulate cry, and, with lightning-like quickness, fitted an arrow to the string. Jack sprung to his feet, but was too late to avoid the shaft.
It struck him fairly, pinioning his right arm to his side, the flinty head plunging deep into the muscles of his side and back. Stung with pain, and scarcely realizing the extent of his injuries, Jack drew a revolver with his left hand, and fired twice, in succession, at the same time uttering a half-unconscious cry for help.
Then the madman was upon him. With a giant's strength he dashed the young man backward to the ground, and wresting the pistol from his grasp, he dealt Tyrrel a stunning blow upon the head with its brass-bound butt.
With a low moan, Jack lost all consciousness. The events of the next few hours were a blank to him.
Probably urged on by some strange whim, the madman flung the senseless body across his shoulder and then darted back to the cave entrance, through which he plunged. As though gifted with cat-like eyes, he ran swiftly on through the winding passages, never once seemingly at fault, the only trace left being the drops of blood that fell from Tyrrel's wounds.
When, at length, Tyrrel regained his senses, he first became conscious of a gentle hand softly bathing his feverish and painfully throbbing temples. With an effort he opened his eyes and gazed wildly around him, bewildered, confused.
But then, as a pale, sweet face bent over him, anxiety written in every feature, a wondering sigh broke from his lips. He recognized that face—it had more than once come up before him since that first night passed in the mountains after the desertion.
The same glance recalled the place he was in; the hole in the wall where he had first looked upon the face of the madman. But how came he here? Could it be that the madman had relented, bringing him here to be nursed back to life and health by his own daughter?
These thoughts racked his mind, and must have left their imprint upon his face, for the woman—or girl, rather, for she was not more, in years, at least—gently pressed back his head, uttering in a low, soft voice: