Very carefully, I stepped back, then turned and retreated into the dim light of the entrance cave.
Was that where the treasure was? Or was it a deathtrap deliberately planned for the curious or the searcher after gold?
Enough for now. Somewhere Lucinda might need us, and her life was more precious than whatever gold there might be. I walked swiftly along the passage until I saw a glow of light ahead.
Isaac and Cusbe waited, both with lighted pine knots. Taking another from the goodly pile, I lighted it also and we started along the tunnel at a good clip. A hundred feet of slowly enlarging tunnel, then a vast room. But an opening was directly opposite and we crossed the room, seeing the scar of a footprint in the dripping from the rocks above.
When we had gone some distance, we saw light ahead. We smothered our torches, and stepping into the lead, I walked on.
We found ourselves in a roomy, pleasant cave. There were several bearskins about, one of them on a bench with other furs. And the first thing we saw was Van Runkle. He was seated on a skincovered seat of some sort, with a shotgun in his hands, and he was watching us. Lucinda sat on the bearskin against the wall.
"Thank you for taking care of Miss Falvey," I said quietly. "It was good of you, sir." His shrewd eyes appraised us.
"Ain't said as I was," he replied. "Mebbe I'm a-holdin' her. Right nice filly, that one. Better'n a squaw." "I agree. She's a handsome lass. And we, my friends and I, have taken it upon ourselves to find what she came here to get, and then to escort her to a place in civilization where she can live as a young lady should." "Nice of you." He took his pipe from his mouth with his left hand. "Right nice. If'n I decide to let her go." "And as one gentleman to another, I know you will.
The young lady is far from home and relatives.
Naturally she's frightened--was "I am not!" She held her head proudly, her chin lifted a little. "I'm not afraid of him.
He brought me here when I was cold and tired, and he's been very kind." "Of course. Mr. Van Runkle and I have met before, and he is kind, and a gentleman, as I suggested.
"Now, sir, I think we had better think of getting out of here and continuing on our way. We must round up our horses, as we have far to go." "You just stand right there where you be. You ain't goin' to cut much figger with a belly full of buckshot, and I got it to give you. Hayl bullets, some calls 'em. Well, whatever they call 'em, they're just as good at tearin' a man up." "You might shoot," I said, "but we'd kill you. I have a rifle, as have these gentlemen with me.
And no matter how much buckshot you throw my way, I'll still manage a shot. Believe me, I will.
"The mind is a powerful thing, my friend, and the will can complete a movement even when a man's dying.
If you shoot, I'll kill you as well." "Mebbe. An' mebbe you ain't got the guts for it." I smiled at him. "Mr. Van Runkle, you may wonder why a man of my attainments has come west. I came west to die, sir. My wife and my child died back there in a fire. There are many fires in a land where candlelight and open fireplaces exist, and I lost all I loved.
"So you see, Mr. Van Runkle, I have the edge. I just don't give a damn!" Lucinda was staring at me as if she had never seen me before.
Van Runkle scowled. There was a difference between facing a man who might be controlled by fear and one who was utterly careless, and my story had just enough truth in it for him to believe me. He had no wish to die, but you cannot bluff a man who simply does not care... and he was not prepared to gamble on the fact that I might be lying.
"Put the gun down, Van Runkle," I said quietly, "or shoot, but when your finger tightens on that trigger, you're going to take a slug right through the belly!" Ebitt, who had entered the room with his gun muzzle lowered, now tilted his, as did Isaac Heath.
"Hell," Van Runkle said with disgust, "you just ain't got no humor! I didn't mean to shoot nobody! I got as much reason for stoppin' that Falvey feller as you uns have!" He put his shotgun down and stood up.
His gaze leveled at me. "You got nerve, young feller." "It's not hard to be brave," I said, "when you just don't care." Lucinda came over to us. I gestured with my gun muzzle. "Lead us out of here, Van Runkle, and you walk ahead." He started to pick up the shotgun. "No... we've guns enough. You walk on." I picked up the shotgun. I still did not believe him a bad man. A dangerous one, yes. A man who might seek to take advantage of an opportunity that seemed to offer itself, but not a genuinely bad man. Nevertheless, while believing that, I was quite sure I was going to keep my eyes open and my gun handy so that no such opportunity should come upon him again. It was my job to see that he was not tempted.
The mountain was honeycombed with caves, as was the scarp where we now were. A thought occurred to me, and I mentioned it.
"Are the caves connected under the valley?" "I figure so," he admitted, "although I never found a way. Mebbe it's under water.
More'n likely it's all one big cave.
Miles of passages nobody ever looked into, not even me, and I seen more of these caves than even them old-time Injuns." We emerged on a ledge, higher up on the mountain and among some cedars, wind-barbered spruce, and the like. Just above us was the shelf of the plateau of which the escarpment was the edge, and below the country was laid out as on a map, a clear view of a magnificent stretch of country.
How to locate our people? Neither Ebitt nor Heath had any suggestions. All we could do was explore, carefully, and hope we came upon them.
"The key to the situation is Rafen Falvey," I commented, to no one in particular. "If he was out of the way, I think the rest of them would break up and scatter out." "You're dead right," Heath said grimly, "but how do you figure to be rid of him?" "If he were whipped, decisively whipped, I think he'd lose most of his men. I propose to challenge him." They stared at me, and I am quite sure they thought whatever good sense I'd had had abandoned me.
Isaac Heath cleared his throat. "Now see here," he spoke reasonably, "you've been doing well out here. For a scholar, you're an almighty good rifle shot, and you've stood up well to the life, but have you ever really looked at Rafen Falvey?" "That's quite a man," Cusbe commented. "He'll outweigh you forty pounds, he's a couple of inches taller, and I figure he's a whole lot meaner than you be." Lucinda was watching me, and it irritated me to be considered less than Falvey before her. She was nothing to me... simply a girl I was helping through a bad time... nonetheless I liked not the belittling.
"He's somewhat taller, but I'm more solid than I look, and I doubt if he's more than twenty pounds heavier. As for being meaner.
I'm not at all sure about that." "Lay off him," Cusbe advised. "He'll kill you. The man moves like a cat. You've seen him in action. He's swift, sure, and never at a loss. He's a dead shot and good with a knife. How do you figure you could match him?" "Knives, pistols, or fists," I said.
"He can choose the weapons." I touched the knife at my side. "This is the finest steel ever made." The fact that I was a bookish man led them to believe I might be less physical than they, but as a matter of fact I have always been uncommonly strong and agile. Strength of body was an inherited quality in my family, and my life had been an active one since boyhood. In Europe I had hiked, fenced, wrestled, and boxed, and had been considered an unusually skillful swordsman.
It was true that I had had few fights of any kind, but I came of a fighting stock, professional soldiers and fighting men, adventurers and seafaring men. If one is to judge from racehorses and hunting dogs, breeding counts for much.