With the passing days, Ross found new strength and new interest. His head was already healed and his shoulder, beyond being stiff, no longer bothered him. While still somewhat weak, he was able to walk about as he pleased.
He found it very pleasant to pass the afternoons away on the long veranda. Here he was often joined by Virginia Carver, and the two spent hours together that were very pleasant. In fact, Ross suddenly became acutely aware that he was taking more than a passing interest in this girl.
Virginia Carver was exceedingly lovely. Moreover, she was of a type and personality that particularly appealed to Stanley Ross. While she was nursing him through his illness he had found her presence very pleasing. Now that he was nearly well, her companionship was becoming even more delightful, and he realized that, as far as he was concerned, friendship was ripening into something more definite. As he continued to improve he knew that the time was fast approaching when they would have to leave this desert oasis.
He found his mind continually recurring to Larson Beebe. How had he managed to disappear so completely that night? Where had he gone? What was he doing now? Ross could not dismiss the idea that they would hear from Beebe again, and that when they did it would mean trouble.
This conviction was the more firmly fixed in his mind by the actions of Virginia Carver. Ross felt sure that the girl was deeply worried over something; she seemed anxious and nervous; she appeared to be continually watching and listening for something. Intuition told Ross that the cause of her perturbation was Beebe.
Intuition again told him that perhaps Wong could throw some light on the situation. The next time that the Chinese appeared on the veranda Ross stopped him.
“Wong,” he said, “Miss Carver seems to be worried about something. Do you know what it is? Is it about Beebe? Do you know where he is?”
Wong’s face betrayed not a single glimmer of comprehension.
“No savvy,” he said.
“Yes, you do savvy, too. What’s wrong here? Where’s Beebe?”
Wong glanced hurriedly up and down the veranda as though he feared some one would overhear him. Then he jerked a meaning finger toward the mouth of the little canon.
“Him there,” he said in a low voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Him hide in canon. Kill all we go out.”
“We don’t have to go out that way.”
“No other way can go,” explained Wong.
“What! You mean to tell me that’s the only way out of this place? Why can’t we go out over the cliffs?”
“No can do,” replied the Chinese, and was gone before Ross could question him further.
So that was it! The canon was the only way out of the basin, and Beebe was hiding down there, waiting to pot them as they came out. Quite a neat little idea! So that was why Virginia Carver was carrying that worried look.
Ross went straight to the girl. He found her in the dining-room.
“Miss Carver,” he asked, “why didn’t you tell me that Beebe was down in that canon?”
“Well, I couldn’t see any use worrying you with that while you were so ill,” she replied, smiling. “And then, too, Mr. Ross, I think you are a little inclined to do impulsive things, and it seems to me you have ran risks enough on my account.”
Ross ignored this last.
“Then he really is there?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Ross, he is, and I am afraid that we are in rather a bad way. He has all the advantage.”
“But isn’t there any way out of this place except through that canon?”
“None at all. Uncle Arthur selected this place for that very reason. There was a trail up the cliff, but he dynamited that away. Unless we develop wings we’ll go out through that canon or not at all.”
Ross pondered for a moment. Finally he asked, “I wonder why he hasn’t tried to kill Wong and me at night?”
“There are at least two reasons, I think,” answered the girl. “The first is that Larson Beebe is a very cautious man. He will not risk a single hair of his head if it is not necessary. If he came up here he might get hurt. If he stays there he is perfectly safe and we haven’t a single chance of getting by.
“Another thing, I think he is deathly afraid of Wong. He came up in the night twice and stole provisions. Since then Wong has been watching. I don’t think he ever sleeps.”
“Well, we can outlast him anyway, Miss Carver.”
“But that’s just what we can’t do, Mr. Ross. Our provisions are very low.” The girl was gravely serious now. “Unless we can find some solution, I’m afraid he is going to starve us out very soon. It looks like we were trapped.”
Ross woke the next morning keenly aware of the seriousness of their predicament. As soon as breakfast was over he set out to examine the walls of the basin.
If he had any hope that there was a means of escape over the cliffs he was soon disillusioned. Nowhere was there a break in the walls. They were as perpendicular as a plumb-line and as smooth as basalt. Nothing but a fly could have scaled those cliffs.
The only way out led through the narrow twisting canon below. And there Larson Beebe lay in wait like a cat at a rat-hole. Ross realized that there was little or no chance for him or Wong to get through the canon alive. Beebe had all the advantage.
Ross returned to the house and sat down on the veranda. He ran over a dozen possible schemes for escape, and in the end he had to conclude that they were all impossible.
In fact, his only conclusion was that he would give what fortune he possessed to have Larson Beebe’s neck within the grasp of his two hands. That, however, seemed to be a remote possibility. If anything, the situation would be reversed.
Ross had about exhausted his whole range of impossible schemes when Wong appeared on the veranda. The Chinese wore an enigmatical smile on his usually inscrutable face. It was patent that he was well pleased with something.
“You come,” he addressed Ross. “Got something show.”
Ross rose and followed Wong, who led the way to one of the ’dobe outbuildings. Opening the door, he motioned Ross to enter.
The room was a work-shop of sorts, but what instantly attracted attention were two enormous kites leaning against the wall.
“You see?” inquired Wong.
“Yes, I see,” said Ross, “only I don’t. What’s the idea, Wong?”
“Mlisha Beebe kill everybody we go down canon. No can climb out. Wong make klite. Klite climb out.”
“Guess I’m pretty thick, Wong. I don’t get it yet.”
“When Wong little bloy China he fly many klites. Not forget how. Fly klite now. Klite lift lope top cliff. We climb lope. Go ’way.”
“By George, Wong, I believe you’ve got it,” cried Ross in admiration. “But will it work?”
“Can do” nodded Wong.
“But how will you fasten the rope at the top of the cliff, Wong?”
“Wong good klite flyer. Two klites lift big loop. Drop loop over tree top side cliff. Two ends hang dlown. Mlake slip knot. Pull one lope. All done.”
“Wong, you’re a wonder! I believe it’ll work. Worth trying anyway.”
“Can do. Try tomollow if wind come.”
Ross hurried away to find Virginia Carver.
“Miss Carver,” he hailed her joyously, “Wong has got a scheme to get us out of here, and I believe it will work. He has constructed two enormous kites down there in the workshop. He claims they will lift a rope, and he says he can drop it over one of those stunted pines at the top of the cliff. We climb the rope and leave friend Beebe down in the canon to hold the bag. Are you game?”
“Of course I am,” replied the girl, surprised that he should even question her gameness.
“I knew you would be. We’re going to try it tomorrow. You had better make two packs of food.”
“Two packs? Don’t I carry anything?” asked the girl.
“Miss Carver,” said Ross gravely, “it’s a long way to civilization, and it is going to be a big tax on your strength to make it without carrying anything.”
“I’ll make it,” said Virginia Carver, as she turned away.
The following morning Ross was eager for the experiment, but it was nearly noon before a breeze came up strong enough to lift the kites.
Virginia Carver came out, clad in flannel shirt, whipcord breeches and high laced boots. It was a costume well suited to the work ahead, but it accentuated the girl’s slimness, made her appear almost frail. There was no frailty there, though. Rather was she supple with the suppleness of a braided cable, and the girl had the grace of a fine Toledo blade. Once again Stanley Ross became acutely aware that Virginia Carver had become an exceedingly important interest in his life.
Wong had instructed Ross in his scheme for escape. Ross saw at once that he had not intended to lift a rope heavy enough to hold a human being. Instead Wong had unearthed from one of the storehouses a very stout light line.
The plan was to lift the bight of the line with the two kites and drop it over a stunted pine growing out at an angle near the top of the north cliff. A heavier rope could then be attached to one end of this and drawn up and over the tree, making it possible to climb out.
Ross saw instantly that the plan was all right if the kites could be manipulated. That was Wong’s job, and he seemed quite confident.
All three knew that they must work quickly. If Larson Beebe discovered their scheme there was no telling what desperate action he might attempt.
Wong and Ross quickly got the first big kite into action. It rose readily, but on attaining a height of fifty feet flopped drunkenly. It did not fall, however—merely dipped and darted. This did not appear to bother Wong at all. He simply gave the kite string to Virginia Carver to hold while he quickly flew the second kite with Ross’s help.
Wong and Ross each took command of a kite now. Slowly paying out cord, they allowed the kites to rise. When the kites had risen to a height of about seventy-five feet the cords attached to the bight of the line suddenly became taut and the line began to rise from the ground.
It was then that Ross saw that as a designer of kites Wong most emphatically knew his business, for the instant the weight of the line was borne by the kites in that instant they ceased their drunken plungings and flew steadily.
Ross’s heart leaped within him, for he knew now that Wong’s scheme would work and that they were going to circumvent Larson Beebe. Up, up, the kites rose. A hundred feet! Two hundred! Five! A thousand!
The two kites were about thirty feet apart, and when it was obvious that the line was higher than the cliff wall Wong and Ross began to walk slowly forward. Their objective was a single low pine growing at an outward angle near the top of the cliff. Aiming carefully at this, Wong and Ross brought the kites to a position where an end of the line dangled on each side of the tree and against the cliff. The bight of the line was slightly above the tree, and the kites were pulling it forward.
“Missee, you grab ropes,” shouted Wong.
Quickly divining what was wanted of her, Virginia Carver grasped the ends of the dangling lines.
“Let glo!” shouted Wong again.
Instantly he and Ross released the kite cords. The kites plunged drunkenly down out of sight over the top of the cliff. The bight of the line dropped neatly over the pine tree and slid down its trunk to the roots. The thing was done!
Ross wanted to shout for pure joy. Elation showed in Virginia Carver’s every feature. As for Wong, the author of this daring scheme, he merely grinned, and went swiftly to work.
Somewhere in one of the buildings Wong had discovered a coil of light rope. It had undoubtedly been brought in to be made up into lariats, for it was very pliable and exceedingly strong—strong enough to support the weight of a heavy man.
One end of this was fastened to a free end of the line over the tree. When Wong pulled sharply on the opposite end of the smaller line it slipped readily over the tree trunk. In a minute or two the end of the rope had been pulled up over the tree trunk and back to the canon floor. Thus was the light line replaced by the heavier one.
There was no place to anchor one of the rope ends so Wong simply tied a loop in one end of the rope, passed the other end through it, making a running noose, and quickly ran it up to the tree. Wong’s kites had proved their worth. The means of escape was provided and ready.
“Wong go first,” said the Chinese. Without argument or permission, the intrepid Wong was assuming the risk of proving the safety of the rope. By way of explanation he added to Ross, “You shoulda no stlong. No can pull Missee up, Wong can do.”
Wong grasped the rope in his hands, and with the agility of a cat, feet on the canon wall, passed himself, hand over hand, up the face of the cliff. It seemed hardly a minute before he was at the top and had scrambled over the edge.
In a moment his head reappeared and he called down to Ross to send up the food packs, canteens, and blankets. This was but the work of a moment, and Wong quickly drew them to the top.
So far everything had gone well, and there was no sign of Beebe. It looked as though they were going to make good their escape.
When Wong let the rope down again Ross fashioned a loop in the end of it, which he passed over Virginia Carver’s head and secured it under her arms.
“Now, Miss Carver, if you will take hold of the rope with both hands I think Wong can pull you up safely,” he said. “If you hit against the cliff push yourself away with your feet.”
The girl did not answer him, but she smiled confidently. She accepted her part in the escape with what appealed to Stanley Ross as being splendid courage.
Slowly but very steadily, Wong began to raise the girl. The little Chinese seemed to be made of steel, for, without stopping once or increasing or decreasing the speed, he drew Virginia Carver to the top of the cliff and helped her over the edge. It was a feat of which a man twice his size might have been justly proud.
When the rope came down again Ross lost no time. A hasty glance toward the mouth of the tiny canon revealed no sight of Beebe. Grasping the rope, Ross began his ascent.
His shoulder bothered him somewhat, but it was not more than two or three minutes before he, too, was at the cliff top.
They were free!
Stanley Ross drew himself over the edge of the cliff, where Virginia Carver and Wong were waiting, and scrambled to his feet. He was exuberant.
“Well, Miss Carver, I guess we’re safe all right, thanks to Wong here,” he exulted. “All that remains now is to make tracks away from this accursed place.”
“So you think you’re safe, eh?” snarled a cold voice.
Ross whirled to find himself facing Larson Beebe. Beebe was covering him steadily with a big automatic, and his deep set, piggish eyes had an insane light in them.
Ross’s heart sank within him. He had expected an attack from Beebe from below, but that he might be waiting forthem on the cliff top never entered his head. He was utterly helpless now. Beebe had the drop on him and could kill him twice over before he could draw his own gun. Moreover, it was certain Beebe intended doing that very thing.
Ross was filled with a sense of futility, impotency. That he was about to die he did not consider. He was merely disgusted with himself for allowing himself to be checkmated when the game was practically won.
“So you thought you could get away?” Beebe was going on. It was obvious that he, too, was nearly insane. “Thought I was asleep, eh? I knew what was up as soon as I saw the kites. I could have got you then, but I figured the easiest and safest way would be to slip up here and wait behind a rock till you were all up. You wouldn’t be looking for me and I could pot you easily. Well, I’m here and you’re due for a long journey.
“Thought you could outwit Larson Beebe, eh? I’m just going to shoot you and your precious Chink friend here now and kick you over the cliff. Then I’m going to take Virginia and——.”
Ross was conscious that Wong’s right hand whipped to the base of his skull just above the collar of his blouse. In the same instant it came away again and now it held a long, thin, slender glittering blade!
There was another movement of Wong’s hand so swift that he could not follow it. Ross only knew that a look of utterably blank amazement had overspread Larson Beebe’s face. It was as though Beebe had seen a miracle performed before his eyes and could not fathom it.
Then, suddenly, Ross saw what had happened. The hilt of the knife that Wong had held was protruding from Larson Beebe’s ribs!
For an instant Beebe wavered on his feet. His fingers relaxed and his gun clattered to the rocks. He pitched forward onto his face.
“Can do,” muttered Wong. “One day kick Wong. Not kick again.”
That night the three camped beside a little water-hole several miles down the main canon. Around the tiny campfire they made their plans for getting out of the desert.
Ross knew the general direction to take, and he felt confident that by taking it easy the girl would be able to make the journey on foot. Virginia Carver was confident.
The following morning Ross was awakened by footsteps on the rocks. He raised up to see two long-eared animals making their way down the trail to the water-hole. It was Archibald and Percy!
Ross let out a shout that instantly roused his companions.
“There’s your ship of the desert that’s going to carry you back to civilization,” he called, as Virginia raised up from her blankets.
The girl did not comprehend. She gazed at the two animals in astonishment for a moment.
“But they’re wild, aren’t they?” she asked.
“Just as wild as two snails,” said Ross. “Those two estimable gentlemen brought me into this desert, and they’re going to take us out.”
When breakfast had been finished Ross noticed that Wong was busily engaged in rearranging the weight of the packs.
“Never mind the packs, Wong. Friend Archibald here can carry Miss Carver and Percy can handle the supplies. You and I will go light, Wong,” Ross explained.
“No can do,” replied Wong. “Me no go you.”
“What do you mean, Wong?”
“Wong go that way,” answered the Chinese, pointing to the south.
“You go that way,” asked Ross, perplexed. “Why? You’re going with Miss Carver and me.”
Wong shook his head. “Wong kill man. Think not stay in ’Nited States. Go Mexiclo.”
“Nonsense, Wong,” said Ross. “Miss Carver and I can easily fix that.”
“Think not. Wong go Mexiclo. Got blother there. Buy li’le res’rant.”
Ross saw that there was no use in trying to dissuade Wong. There was no combating such a nature. After a few moments Ross asked:
“Wong, where you going in Mexico?”
“Go Wa’lz.”
“Going to Juarez, eh? What’s your full name?”
“Name? Wong Chen Chek.”
“All right, Wong. In about two months you go to the postoffice and inquire for a registered package. You’ll find enough money in it to buy the best little restaurant in Juarez.”
Wong grinned. “Thlank you.”
Swinging his pack to his shoulder, he swung down the trail without more ado.
“Goo’ bye. Goo’ bye, Missee,” came back to Ross and Virginia Carver.
A half hour later the Chinese disappeared from view far down the canon. Ross turned to the girl.
Virginia Carver was gazing far out over the jumble of rocks and sand that is the Red Desert to where the mists of the morning were dissolving into the shifting haze of the rising sun.
For a moment Ross watched her without speaking. Fresh and vibrant with youth, she was lovely beyond words.
“I guess we had best be going now,” he said. Then his voice stumbled, “Miss Carver—Virginia—when we get out of here—I’ve—I’ve something to say to you.”
For a long moment the girl continued to look far into the colorful haze of the desert. Then she turned toward Ross. A peculiarly tender little smile wreathed her mouth. Her eyes were swimming pools of unshed tears.
Her voice faltered, “Would—would you mind—saying it now—Stanley?”