CHAPTER XVTRAPPED
The day following his locating of the mother-lode, Pant worked feverishly. Hardly four hours had passed when he found himself digging away the heart of the snowbank that blocked the entrance to his cave and melting it that he might wash the pans of rich gold that were now being thawed from the cavity beneath the one-time river falls.
“Going to be a rich haul,” he whispered to his dog, “richer than Mine No. 2, not so rich as No. 1, but rich enough all right. And if we can make our getaway, Oh, boy!”
Only one thing troubled him as he worked. Not having been outside at the time the blizzard was piling snow about the entrance to the cave, he could not tell the exact depth of the snowbank; could not be sure that he was not removingtoo much of the snow and leaving too thin a crust above.
This did not worry him greatly, however. The hard-packed snow would not crumble in easily. So he cut away at it until there was a hollow space at the mine’s entrance twenty feet long and half as wide.
Meanwhile, he was panning the pay dirt and putting it away in carefully sewed, split walrus-skin sacks. At times, he paused to rub his hands together like Midas, as he stowed away another sack on the top of a small sled which was hidden in a corner. On this sled were a sleeping-bag and a little food. When their work was completed and the gold all loaded on, he and the dog would harness themselves to this sled and steal out into the night. If they were successful in evading the Bolsheviki, the natives, and the little yellow men, they would hurry on to the south where there was a reindeer station. There he would barter his watch and other valuables for two sled deer. He would hate parting with the dog, but he could not take him with the reindeer.
The mine had been fairly stripped of its wealth and the sled loaded down with gold, when, as he drank his coffee, munched his hard biscuit, and thought things through, he was startled by a growl from the dog. The next instant there came the dull thud of falling snow-crust, followed by the jarring thump of a heavy body. A startled expression uttered in Russian brought Pant to his feet with his hand on his automatic.
Realizing that one of the Russians had blundered upon the snow above the entrance, that it had caved in with him, and that the only chance of safety was in “getting” that Russian before he made his escape, he dashed down the mine. An unfortunate step threw him to the floor. This lost him the race. On reaching the spot, he found the Russian had vanished.
“Well, old pal,” he said, addressing the dog, “that means we gotta get out, and mighty quick, too. That fellow’s not coming back alone. Bolsheviki’ll be swarming up here like bees in less time than it takes to tell it.”
He stood silent for a moment. Then he sprang into action.
“I’ve got an idea!”
Seizing the long knife from a shelving rock at the side of the entrance, he began cutting cubes of snow from the bank. Working along the edge of the rocky cliff, where the bank was thickest, he soon had a side tunnel well started. He worked with feverish haste. It was only a matter of moments until the whole Bolshevik band would be upon him. To come out into the open was to invite death. To hide away in the side cavity in the snow with his gold, to wait until they had all entered the mine, then to burrow his way out and make his escape, seemed his only hope.
When he had tunneled into the bank ten or twelve feet and hurriedly arranged some blocks for closing the opening, he raced to the back of the mine for his sled. He had just made a grab for the draw-strap, when there came a sound from the entrance.
He was trapped. They had come. His heartskipped a few beats. How many there were, he could not tell, but more than enough. He must act and act quickly, and, even so, all seemed lost. On one thing he was determined; he would not abandon the gold save as a last resort.
The dog, exercising an almost human sagacity, uttered not a single growl, but hung close to his master’s side.
Exerting all his strength, the boy threw the heavily laden sled upon his back; then, in a crouching posture, he began making his way toward the entrance. There was no light, yet he made his way without a second’s hesitation, round little piles of frozen earth and over heaps of stone and gravel. Not a rock was loosed, not a sound made by his soft, padded footsteps, as he moved swiftly along the passage.
Now he was a quarter way to the entrance, now half. No definite plan of action had entered his mind. He knew only that, in some way, he must make good his escape.
Suddenly a light flared. A match had been struck. A bearded face flickered behind it inthe shadows, then another and another. There followed a steadier gleam of light.
“A candle!” the boy whispered in despair.
He shrank back into the deeper shadows. The procession of grizzled giants moved forward with caution. Soon they were twenty feet from him and then only ten. It seemed inevitable that he should be seen.
The moment for action had arrived. In his right hand was a heavy lump of frozen pay dirt. With a sure twist of the wrist he sent this crashing into the candle. Amid the curses of the men, the candle snuffed out. The next instant, there came a thundering crash. Pant had overturned a whole tier of pay dirt cubes.
In the midst of the confusion that followed, he made his escape. Scorning his snow-den, in which he was to have hidden, he scrambled out of the main entrance and, with the sled shooting on before him down the steep incline, headed straight toward the ice-blocked ocean.
It was but a matter of moments until he found himself effectually lost in the labyrinthof ice piles and up-ended cakes on that endless expanse of ice that lined the shore.
Breathing more easily, he sat down upon his sled, and, after digging into his scant food supply, opened a can of frozen beans. These he shared with his dog. Having eaten, he took up his tireless march to Vladivostok.
These things had been happening to him while his former companion, Johnny Thompson, was threading his way through the ice floes to Vladivostok. While Johnny was completing his journey and making his trading trip to the wandering city of Mongols, Pant was hurrying southward. This passage was uneventful. It so happened that, the very day on which Johnny Thompson was about to re-enter this Russian city of many dangers and mysteries after his visit to the Mongols, Pant, coming from an opposite direction, was also entering.
It will not, I am sure, seem strange that Johnny at this very time found himself longing for this companion and his protection. And, of course, since Johnny was known to have goneto Vladivostok, it will not seem strange that Pant was wondering if he would be able to locate him there.
You will observe that the “clan is gathering.” The little band for a time so widely and strangely separated are moving toward a common center, Vladivostok. Pant and Johnny are at the city gates. But Dave and Jarvis, far in the north, are only hoping. If they can get the balloon afloat and can manage the engine, Vladivostok is to be the air-port of their dreams.
CHAPTER XVITHE CITY OF GOLD
The head lettuce, strawberries, and the cream which Dave Tower and Jarvis saw before them on the wooden tray in the cabin of the mysterious Russian were part of no dream, but a glorious reality. Their palates testified to that fact in prompt order.
“But where’d they come from?” inquired Dave, smacking his lips.
“Don’t ask,” grumbled Jarvis. “It’s enough they’re ’ere.”
Dave did ask and he did receive a reply. They had hardly finished their meal, when the friendly stranger was at hand, ready to show them the village.
The cabins they had seen were ordinary affairs, built of driftwood. But as they rounded a corner of rock, they were confronted by a verydifferent scene. Beyond them stretched the broad, low roof of what appeared to be a vast greenhouse. And indeed that was exactly what it was. That another such greenhouse did not exist anywhere in the world, they were soon to learn.
“The Golden City,” murmured Jarvis.
“But the glass?” exclaimed Dave. “Where did you get it?”
“Not a square inch of glass in it,” smiled their host. “Come inside.”
Soon they breathed the peculiar, tropical dampness that fills every greenhouse. All about them were green things growing. To the right of them, prodigious potato plants thrived in beds of rich earth; to the left were beds of radishes, head lettuce and onions. Over their heads, suspended in cleverly woven baskets of leather, huge cucumbers swung aloft, their vines casting a greenish light over all. Far down the narrow aisle, numerous varieties of plants and small fruits were growing. Close beside them ran a wall of stone, which, strangely enough, gave offa mellow heat. Along the wall to the right ran a stone trough, and, in this, a murmuring stream of water went glittering by.
“Tell us the answer to this fable,” whispered Dave. “We are all ears, oh Wise One!”
“There’s not much story to tell,” said the host. “A political exile in northern Russia, having been farmed out as a slave to a trader, was carried with his master, against their wishes, on the angry waters of the great Lena River to the shores of the Arctic Sea. They struggled along the seashore until they came to this place, and here, for a time, they tarried.
“The exile was learned in many sciences. He perceived at once the vast possibilities of this place as a hostage for escaped exiles. A warm spring, flowing winter and summer, sprang from the rocky hillside; a ten-foot vein of coal cropped out from that same hill. Limestone rock promised material for plaster; an extraordinary deposit of rock rich in mica promised windows. Put your hand on the window beside you.”
“Mica,” murmured Dave, as he took his hand away.
“Mica,” repeated his host. “All our windows are double and made of mica.”
“Well, after facing many dangers, this exile and his master made their way back to the land in which the Czar and his nobles have condemned many honest and good people to live as slaves because of their beliefs. He went back to dream and to tell of his dreams to his friends. At first these doubted, but one by one they too began to dream. From that they took to planning and preparing. All manner of seeds were gathered and hoarded. Clothing and food were saved. One night, twenty-eight of them disappeared. They have never returned; they are here. This is the work of their hands. We live, as you see, with all the material needs supplied. We have a reindeer herd which supplies us clothing, milk and meat. This greenhouse gives us the rest.”
“You are Communists?” said Dave.
“We were Communists in theory, back inold Russia. Here we are Communists in practice.”
“Why do you not go back to old Russia now?”
“What? Leave this for exile?” The man’s face showed his astonishment.
It was Dave’s turn to be surprised. Could it be that this man and his companions did not know that, for more than two years, the Communists had been in power over the greater part of old Russia?
“Don’t you know,” he said slowly, “that the Czar is dead, that his government has been overthrown, that the Communists hold sway in your land and all exiles have been called home?”
“What?” The man sank weakly to a seat, covering his face with his hands.
“Why!” exclaimed Dave in astonishment. “Why don’t you leap and shout for joy? Your Communist theory has been put into practice.”
“And Russia? She must be in ruins!” He groaned miserably.
“Not quite that bad,” smiled Dave, “though God knows it has been bad enough.”
“Communism!” exclaimed the man springing up. “Communism will never do. It drives men to dry-rot. Here we have had Communism at its very best, a group of friends, each doing the best for the whole group at all times, but we have not been happy. We have been of all men the most miserable. Each one of us would give a year of this for one week spent in honest competition for a livelihood with other men.
“Competition! Competition! I cannot tell how it is, but I know it to be a truth now; honest competition is not only the life of trade, it is the life of man and without it man will die of inactivity which comes when interest dies.
“But my country, my poor Russia, my brave Russia! She will yet see her error and build up a government like your own, a free government of the people, a government not without its faults, but ever striving toward perfection. She must do it!”
He sank back exhausted by this impassionedutterance. For some time he did not move nor speak. At last he roused himself.
“And now, my friend,” he said, “you in your great balloon will take us somewhere, I am sure.”
“If we can get our engine started,” said Dave.
“We will help you.”
At that moment Jarvis, who had wandered down the aisle, came storming back.
“’Oo’s the two ’eathen that just went out the door?” he demanded.
“Just some natives that came here and wished to stay,” smiled the Russian. “When they came, they had been pretty badly torn up by a polar bear. We nursed them back to life and they have been so grateful for it that they have never left.”
“Good reason!” stormed Jarvis. “Gold! Gold! The City of Gold.”
“We have a little gold here,” smiled the Russian, “but precious little good it’s ever been to us.”
“Now mind y’. I’m a tellin’ y’,” stormed Jarvis, striking his fists together, “them’s no natural ’eathen. Them’s two spies from far down the coast. A polar bear me eye! An ice anchor it was that cut ’alf a ear off’n the little one. Them’s the lads that Dave and me ’ad the tussle with on the submarine more’n a year ago. I tell you they’re no natural ’eathen an’ I ’ates to think what’ll ’appen to ’em if I meets up with ’em again.”
Dave sprang to the door through which the men had just passed. They were not to be seen. The incident was disturbing. There could be little doubt but that Jarvis had identified the men as the same pair that had locked them in a prison made of walrus tusks the year before, and had fought with them later on the submarine. Now if they had recognized Jarvis, what might they not do? He continued to think of this while the Russian showed them through the most wonderful greenhouse in all the world.
“You see,” said their host, “we built thisagainst the side of the cliff, at the point where the soft coal mine cropped out. We cut away enough of the coal to make room for a great stone furnace. From this furnace we ran heat tunnels of stone through the entire greenhouse. The work is all very simple. Coal is mined and loaded on trucks of wood, run on wooden tracks. From there it is shoveled into the furnace. We ran stone troughs through the greenhouse connecting them to the warm spring. This furnishes water for use in our homes, and for irrigating the rich soil we have brought from the tundra. At the same time, it keeps the air here sufficiently moist.”
“What a garden of Eden!” exclaimed Dave. “And you would leave all its safety and comfort to take a chance in the great disturbed world? Why will you be so foolish?”
The man turned a look of compassion upon him. “You will never know why, because you have never known what it is to live without the push and pull of many human beings striving for mastery all about you. In a well-populatedland, this would all be very wonderful. Here it is nothing. Nothing!”
As he spoke, the man bent over and opened a small box made of heavy driftwood.
Having peered into its depth for a second, he uttered a sharp cry:
“The gold! It is gone!”
“Was there much?” asked Dave.
“Around a hundredweight. Who could have taken it? Yesterday we would have given it away for a song. To-day, with hopes of deliverance at hand, it is indispensable. Who could the robbers be?”
“The ’eathen, the unnatural, bloody, bloomin’ ’eathen,” exclaimed Jarvis. “Find them and you find the gold.”
The “unnatural ’eathen” were not to be found. Had the earth opened up and swallowed them, they could not have more completely vanished from the region of the City of Gold.
When a search far and wide had been made for them, with no results, attention was turned to the problem of a journey to other lands, for,even robbed of their gold as they were, these former exiles were eager to escape and to try their hand at making a living in more populated lands.
Three days were spent in futile attempts to start that oriental engine. When this was given up, it was decided that they should inflate the balloon, await a favorable wind and try their fortunes at drifting back to the land whence they came.
Not one of them but knew the perils of such an undertaking. Should the wind shift, they might be carried out over the sea. On the other hand, they might be forced to make a landing in the heart of the vast, barren lands, and in that case, they must surely starve. The balloon cabin would carry them all, but there would be little room left for provisions.
Not one of them hesitated. Boldest of them all was the beautiful girl who stuck close to Dave’s side, watching his every move with big admiring eyes, and, at spare times, learning to speak bits of his language.
The balloon was at last inflated. Provisionswere loaded. The wind was beginning to shift. They would be off in a few hours. All were expectant. A tense nervousness gripped them, a sensation composed half of hope and half of despair. They were eating the evening meal in the common mess hall by the cliff when a sound utterly strange to the Russian’s ears smote the silent air. It was a thundering pop-pop-pop.
Dave turned white. Jarvis sprang to his feet with a wild howl on his lips.
“The ’eathen! The bloody, bloomin’ ’eathen. It’s the engine.”
He was right. It was the engine. It was thundering out its wild song of power and speed, and its voice was growing more distant.
As they crowded from the mess cabin, they saw the balloon hanging in midair. Watching they saw it move slowly southward. On the bridge by the cabin stood two small figures.
“The ’eathen! The bloody, bloomin’ ’eathen!” cried Jarvis.
“We might have known,” groaned Dave. “They’re oriental and so is the engine.”
CHAPTER XVIIKIDNAPPED
On entering the city, after leaving his cattle in safe keeping at the farmyard, Johnny Thompson went directly to Red Cross headquarters to inquire for Mazie.
“Mazie!” exclaimed the matron in amazement, “we thought she went with you. We have not seen her since you left.”
Johnny sank weakly into a chair. His head whirled. Mazie gone for five days! What must be her fate? In this city of opposing factions, with its dens of radicals, thieves and murderers, and, above all, the gang of “yellow men” from the north, what chance could there be of ever seeing her? Yet he would! At least he would give his life in a search for her!
Hurriedly sketching to the nurse his plans for the refuge for homeless ones and informingher of the whereabouts of the cattle and the remaining gold, he dashed from the room. Armed with his automatic, he went at once to the heart of the most treachery-ridden city in the world. Where was he to search for her? He had not the remotest notion. Suddenly, thinking of the telegrams she meant to send to Hong Kong ordering rice and sweet potatoes and of the visit she had meant to make to the owner of the unoccupied hotel, he decided to attempt to trace her steps at these places.
At the telephone station, the agent, referring to his reports, established the fact that she had sent the telegrams. At the office of the owner of the hotel she was unknown. No American woman had been to him to rent the hotel. That much then was settled; somewhere between the telegraph office and the hotel owner’s place of business she had been spirited away.
Johnny began tracing out the course she would probably have taken. A narrow side street offered a short cut. Being familiar with the city and in a hurry, she would take that.Half way down this street, Johnny came upon a familiar door. It was that of Wo Cheng, the Chinese costumer. He had had dealings with Wo Cheng during his sojourn in this city as a soldier. Here was a man he could trust. He paused by the door and gave the accustomed signal of those other days.
In answer to his rap, the door opened a crack.
“Oo-we! Johnny!” grunted the Chinaman, opening the door, then closed it quickly as Johnny entered.
“You come buy?” he rubbed his hands together.
“No come buy?”
“Wanchee cum-show?”
“No wanchee cum show. No wanchee money.”
“Oo-we!” grunted the Chinaman again.
Johnny’s eyes were restlessly roving over the array of garments that hung on either side of a narrow aisle. Suddenly he uttered a low exclamation and sprang to a corner and examined a woman’s dress.
“Wo Cheng,” he demanded almost fiercely, “where you come buy this?”
“Oo-we!” squealed the Chinaman. “Can’t tell mine, not savvy mine.”
“You woncha savvy!” Johnny hissed between tight set teeth.
“Mebby can do,” murmured the Chinaman hurriedly. “No see. Mebby now see. See Jap man, this one, velly small Jap man. This one think mine.”
“Good,” said Johnny. “Now perhaps you can tell me what kind of a dress he took away?”
“Mebby can do.” The man, fumbling among his garments, came upon a plain, Russian, peasant type of dress.
“Take look, see,” he murmured. “One, two, three, allesame.”
“All right, you no speak see mine, savvy.”
“No speak,” murmured Wo Cheng.
“Good-bye,” said Johnny bolting out of the door.
“Mazie’s dress,” he mumbled to himself. “They have transformed her into a Russianpeasant girl for their safety, but where have they taken her?”
As he rounded the corner, an old familiar sound smote his ear. The rat-tat-tat of a machine gun. It was accompanied almost at once by another and yet another.
“An uprising and a battle!” he muttered savagely. “Worse and worse. What chance has a fellow got? Do well enough if I escape the firing squad.”
The two oriental spies in the balloon they had stolen from Dave Tower and Jarvis were not as fortunate as in the first instance they seemed to be. There was practically no wind. The engine was slow in getting the bulky sausage under way.
Suddenly as the watchers, with despair written on their faces, gazed skyward, they saw something slip from the cabin deck and drop like a plummet. A silvery thread appeared to follow it.
“The anchor and the cable!” exclaimed Dave.“It’s got away from them. If it catches—C’mon.”
He was away like a rocket. Uneven surface, slippery hills of snow meant nothing to him. He was racing for freedom from threatening years of exile.
Jarvis, followed by the Russians, came on more slowly. As they mounted a low hill they saw the cabin of the balloon give a sudden lunge.
“She’s caught!” panted Jarvis. “’Ere’s ‘opin’ she ’olds.”
In another second, a groan of despair escaped his lips. It was true that the anchor had caught in a frozen bank of earth and was holding fast, but the men were bending over the rail working with the upper end of the steel cable. If they could loosen it or file it, causing it to snap, no human power could bring them back. And if they got away with the balloon—.
But after despair, came hope. There sounded the pop of an automatic. Six shots came in quick succession.
“Dave’s a wonder with an automatic!” exclaimed Jarvis.
The men worked on. Would they accomplish their task? Every person in the little group of watchers held his breath.
Crack-crack-crack. The automatic spoke again. Doubtless Dave had moved to a position more directly under the cabin.
“’E’s got ’em! ’E’s got ’em!” exulted Jarvis, throwing his cap in air.
One of the Orientals was seen to waver, then to fall backward. The other instantly dropped from sight.
“The windlass,” commanded Jarvis. “Some of you bring it up. We’ll pull ’em down alright, alright! We’ll get the bloody, bloomin’ ’eathen yet.”
A wooden windlass, made for bringing the balloon to earth in case of storm, was brought forward, while Dave and Jarvis watched for any indication of further activity on the part of the robbers.
Once the windlass was fastened to the bankby means of ice anchors, the task of bringing down the balloon was a matter of moments.
Two cowering wretches were found in one corner of the cabin.
“I’m for ’aving an end to ’em at once and immediately,” stormed Jarvis.
“No! No!” smiled Dave. “They’re just the boys we want. They are going to tell us why the engine won’t go for us.”
“And if they do?”
“If they do, we’ll leave them the greenhouse, coal mine, heating plant and all in exchange for that bit of information.”
Jarvis seemed quite content with any arrangement which promised to put a few thousand miles between him and the “bloody, bloomin’ ’eathen.”
After the wound of the one who had been winged by Dave’s automatic had been dressed, Dave locked himself in the cabin with the yellow men.
It took him three hours to secure the desired information, but in the end it came.
The wounded Oriental showed him a secret eccentric bearing through which the crank shaft operated. When this bearing was properly adjusted the engine worked perfectly, when it was out of adjustment, it would not work at all.
When Dave had operated the engine for an hour, he sent the prisoners back to the greenhouse, where they were released. The gold they had stolen was found hidden away in a locker of the balloon cabin.
In another hour, the balloon, with all on board, gently urged on by the wind, ably assisted by the now perfect engine, was making good time toward Vladivostok.
As Johnny Thompson hesitated at the head of the street, listening to the rat-tat-tat of machine guns, uncertain which way to turn, he heard the distant thunder of an engine in midair. Gazing away to the north, he saw a dirigible balloon circling in search of a likely lighting place.
“I wonder which faction that bird belongs to?” he murmured.
If he had but known the truth, a little ray of hope would have pierced the gloom of his leaden sky, for this balloon was none other than the one he had seen carry his good friends, Dave and Jarvis, away from the mines, some weeks before. They had made the journey in safety. Twice they had been obliged to land to escape the fury of a storm. Wild reindeer had made up for the scantiness of their food supply. Now they were about to alight and enter the city of many mysteries.
Pant had already entered. The clan was gathering, gathering for stirring events, for the development of new mysteries and the solving of old ones. Soon, all unknown to one another, Dave and Jarvis, Pant, Johnny Thompson, Cio-Cio-San, and Mazie would be in the same city—a city seething in the tumult of revolt.
CHAPTER XVIIIUNDER MACHINE-GUN FIRE
By the time Johnny had left the den of Wo Cheng, night had come down upon the city. It was by the light of a golden moon that he saw the balloon hanging in the sky. The balloon, however, interested him little. He was thinking only of Mazie. He had decided to make his way to a corner of the city occupied by Japanese people of doubtful character. To do this he must leave the street he was in and, after turning to his right, go straight ahead for ten blocks.
He was not long in discovering that the carrying out of his plans would put him in the greatest danger. The cross-street was jammed with Russians who fled from the raking fire of machine guns set somewhere at the head of that street. Johnny could still hear their rat-tat andthe sing of bullets. Men, women and children ran through the street. An aged peasant woman, her face streaming with blood, toppled toward him, then fell. He sprang to assist her, but two of her own people came to her aid.
“What’s the rumpus?” He hazarded the question in English.
“Nobody knows,” said a clean-faced young Russian. “It’s the Japs shooting. Can’t tell why. Probably just nervous. Nothing was done against them, though St. Christopher knows it’s plenty we’d like to do. They want this peninsula, and if keeping us fighting among ourselves will give it to them, they’ll win it.”
“I’ve seen their spies two thousand miles from the last sign of civilization.”
“They are everywhere, like fleas.”
“I’ve got to get at some of them. Think they kidnapped a friend of mine,” said Johnny. “But how can I get past this?”
“I know a closed private alley. Want to try that?”
“I’ll try anything.”
“Come.”
The man led the way half the distance back to Wo Cheng’s door, then suddenly opened a door in a wall.
“See. Through there.”
He closed the door behind Johnny. Johnny looked about. Straight on before him lay a path, to the right of which was a garden. At the end of the path was another door.
“Must open on another street,” he muttered to himself. “Touchy sort of business this prowling through a strange city at night with a big row on foot. Can’t be helped though.”
He reached the door only to find it locked. The wall was not high. A gnarled pear tree offered him a lift to the top. He had soon scaled it, and was looking up and down the narrow street that ran on the other side.
“Not a soul in sight,” he whispered.
He listened for a second. The rattle of machine-gun fire had ceased. Now and again there came the crack of a rifle or automatic.
Johnny slipped off the wall. His feet hadhardly touched ground when a shot rang out and a bullet sang past him. Dodging into the deep-set doorway, he whipped out his automatic and waited. Footsteps were approaching.
“Jig’s up,” he muttered. “Worse luck for it!”
His hands fumbled at the door. In a second there came a dull thud on the other side of it. He had pushed his automatic through a latch-string opening.
“No use getting caught armed,” was his mental comment.
In another moment the Japanese military police were upon him. In vain he told them that he was an American, in vain presented his papers. They had seen him climb over the wall; that was enough. Many Russian radicals spoke English very well, and, as for papers, they could be forged. Besides, were there not many American radicals, soldiers of fortune, here assisting in the attempt to overthrow their rule. He should go to prison at once, and “To-morrow!” There was something so sinister about the waythey said that “to-morrow” that it sent the cold chills racing down his spine.
Down one narrow street, then another and another they went until, eventually, they came to a frowning stone-wall with an iron-grating set deep in an arched ante-room. Through this doorway he was thrust and the lock clanged behind him.
He was not alone. He had hardly taken a step before he stumbled upon a prone form. Many men and some women were sprawled about on the stone floor.
“Amerikaner,” came in a shrill whisper. “Lie down here.”
Johnny obeyed.
“Got you, did they,” said the voice with a Russian accent.
“Yes, and for what?” said Johnny.
“In this land we do not ask for what. It is enough that we are got.”
“What’s to-morrow?” asked Johnny suddenly.
“To-morrow we will be shot.”
“That’s cheerful,” said Johnny. “What time?”
“Before dawn.”
“That’s rotten soon,” said Johnny. “I don’t think I’ll stay to see it.”
“I guess you will,” said the stranger.
There seemed nothing more to be said, so the two new-found friends lay there in silence. Each was busy with his own thoughts. Johnny’s were mostly of Mazie and of the thousands of starving children they had hoped to aid.
“It’s sure rotten luck,” he ejaculated at last.
Just at that moment the great iron gate was heard to creak on its hinges. Other wretches were being pitched inside to await their doom.
The door was so deeply set in the wall that nothing could be seen of the newly arrived prisoners.
As Johnny lay wondering what they were like, he heard a shrill whisper:
“Johnny! Johnny Thompson!”
“Here!” he whispered back.
There were sounds of a person crawlingtoward him, the curse of a Russian who had been disturbed in what was probably his last sleep; then Johnny’s lips uttered a low exclamation. He had caught the dull gleam of a golden ball of fire.
“Pant,” he murmured.
“It’s me, Johnny.” The boy’s hand touched him.
Johnny was dumfounded. “How’d they get you?”
“Beaned one of them cops, I did. Saw ’em glom onto you. Wanted t’ horn in with you.”
“Guess you horned in once too often,” said Johnny huskily. “This is a death-watch we’re keeping, and it’s for ourselves.”
“We better blow the coop then.”
“If we can.”
“We can.” Pant’s tone was decided and convincing.
For some time after that the two boys spoke of their experiences since last they met.
“You see, I got it cached out yonder three hills and a hike outside this burg. She’ll tip thebeam at a century weight and a half, maybe more. All pure gold, you bet. And it’s all for the little Russian kids, every bit. I ain’t held back a copper.”
Johnny, knowing that Pant was speaking of the gold he had taken from Mine No. 3 and had sledded nearly three thousand miles to Vladivostok at risk of his life, could only grip his hand and swallow hard.
“Gee!” said Pant, when Johnny had finished his story. “We’ll have to find that Mazie of yours, and quick. But we’ve got to get out of here first.”
He was ready with his plans after a moment’s thought. Prisoners were being brought in every ten or fifteen minutes. There were no lights in the prison and the military police carried none. The place was pitch dark. He did not say that he could see well enough, but, from past experiences, Johnny knew that he could. They would creep close to the iron gate and, when it was opened to admit others, they would crawl out on hands and knees.
“And if luck’s bad, then this,” said Pant, slipping a small dagger into Johnny’s hand.
“You got one, too?”
“Sure.”
“All right.”
They crept close to the gate and waited. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes of dreadful silence went by with never an approaching footstep. Johnny’s heart beat painfully. What if the last poor victim had been brought to await his doom? Dawn would be breaking, and then the firing squad. Cold perspiration beaded his forehead.
But hold! there came again the shuffle of feet. A lone prisoner was being brought in.
“Now!” came in a faint whisper. A steady hand gripped his arm. He felt himself led forward. A foot scraped his knee. It was the incoming prisoner. He uttered no sound.
They were now on the outside of the gate. Flattening themselves against the wall, not daring to breathe, they waited.
Turning, the police clicked their heels and marched away. Outside, before the open anteway,marched a solitary guard. Once they were past him, they were safe.
Fortune favored them. The man hazarded a moment off duty to step into a door for a cup of coffee. In that moment, they were away.
“Easy,” said Pant. “Should have brought your friend, the Roosian.”
“He wouldn’t come,” said Johnny sorrowfully. “Said it wasn’t any use.”
“All we got to do’s keep hid till mornin’.”
They escaped from the alley through a gate into a garden, and there, in a shed against the side of a brick building, they waited for the morning.
As they lay there half awake, there came to Johnny’s ears the words of a ridiculous popular song of other days:
“Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! How you come on,
Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! How you come on!”
“Sounds like Mazie,” whispered Johnny, starting to his feet. “ItisMazie. They’ve got her hid up there!”
Pant pulled him back to earth. “If it’sMazie, they’ve got men watchin’. No good to spill the beans. To-morrow night we’ll make up a bunch an’ git ’em.”
Realizing the wisdom of these words, Johnny quieted his mad desire to rush the place at once, and sat down.
Just as the first red streaks striped the sky, there came a loud volley of shots.
Johnny plugged his ears and shivered. Perhaps they were executing the prisoners. Who could tell?