CHAPTER XV.
A GATEWAY TO FREEDOM.
It was not for some time after the abrupt removal of Pete and JackMerrill that any one of the little party in the old church spoke. Thenit was the professor who broke the silence.
"I trust that no harm is meant to our young friend and his breezycompanion," he said.
"Harm!" broke out Ralph indignantly, "you seem to take it easy enough.I--oh, well, I beg your pardon, professor, I guess this has got on mynerves. I didn't mean to be so short. But I do wish there was somethingwe could do. Sitting here like this and not knowing what is going tohappen is maddening."
"No use letting it get on your nerves, Ralph," counseled the quiet anddeliberate Walt Phelps, "worriting about it isn't going to help any."
The professor got up and paced about the old chapel, examiningits walls with care. In one or two places were the remnants of oldpaintings, and these he examined with great interest.
"If we should ever get away from here I think that I should have someinteresting discoveries to report to the Hispanic Society," he remarkedamiably.
Walt Phelps nodded. The most interesting discovery he could have madeat that moment would have been a door leading into the open air and agood horse standing outside it.
At noon a Mexican entered with their dinner, a similar meal to thatwhich we have already seen served to the prisoners in the tower. Fewwords were spoken over the meal. Their hearts were too heavy for that.The uncertainty as to what was to be their ultimate fate was almostmaddening. In addition, they had to bear the suspense of speculationover the destiny of Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete. Without the bronchobuster's cheerful face and whimsical manner to cheer them the castawayswere indeed in a gloomy condition.
About the middle of the afternoon they received another visit fromBlack Ramon. This time he brought paper and some ink. The paper wassome odd sheets, half torn and very dirty, which looked as if theymight have been ripped from an old blank book. The ink was a faded,rusty colored composition. Evidently, writing materials were things forwhich the cattle rustlers had little use.
In a few brief words, spoken with brutal incisiveness, Black Ramoninformed Ralph that his offer still held good. The boy had till thenext day to make up his mind to write the letter to his father,demanding the payment of the ransom. A messenger would convey it to thenearest railroad station as soon as it was written. It was for thispurpose that the ink and writing materials had been brought. As Jackhad feared, the Mexican was going to work upon Ralph's sensitive natureby every means in his power, and as a step toward that end he hadremoved Jack and the cheerful cow-puncher.
"I've half a mind to write the letter and have it over with," saidRalph, as the door closed and they were once more alone.
"Don't you do it," said Walt Phelps decisively. "I've heard of fellowsin a worse scrape than ours getting out of it all right. What's the useof your alarming your folks? After all, it may only be a bluff on thepart of Black Ramon."
"I agree with our young Western friend," put in the professor, "thisMexican would hardly dare to commit any offense against the laws, and Ifirmly believe that if we show ourselves to be determined to resist hiswill, that he will ultimately let us go."
Walt Phelps had other ideas about the Mexican's character. The Westernboy knew the man by reputation, and the general character of thewild outlaws who make their homes along the border. He said nothing,however, wisely thinking it best to let the professor encourage Ralphall he could.
As the afternoon waned away, therefore, the paper still lay scatteredin the same spot on the floor where the leader of the cattle rustlershad placed it. By and by, a little ray of sunshine shot in through thewindow as the sun grew toward the west, and illumined the interior ofthe old chapel with a cheerful radiance. The rays played, as if inmockery of their captivity, upon the old sheets of paper, on which thethin, blue lines with which they had been ruled when they were new,were still visible.
"Wonder where Ramon picked up that paper," mused Ralph idly. "Itreminds me of our exercise books at school. Looks like it might havebeen torn out of one of them, too. Heigh ho, I wish I was back at oldStonefell again. Don't you, professor?"
"Eh--oh!" gasped the professor, coming out of a brown study in which hehad had his eyes fixed abstractedly on the paper, "yes, yes, of course.But, young man, your eyes are better than mine, and I want to ask you aquestion--do you notice anything on that paper?"
"Why, yes, a few marks; looks like dirt," said Ralph carelessly. "Thesunlight shows them up. Nice sort of correspondence paper." He laughedmirthlessly.
"No, but," insisted the professor, "it looks to me as if characters ofsome kind were inscribed on them and----"
Ralph had suddenly risen and snatched up one of the sheets. A closerscrutiny had shown him that the papers were indeed covered with somesort of writing which they had not noticed before.
"You're right, professor," he exclaimed, "they are written on. See!the marks are getting clearer. But--but why didn't we see any writingbefore."
"Because," exclaimed the professor, "the papers have been written onwith invisible fluid of some kind. Their exposure to the warm rays ofthe sun has brought out the writing."
"It's getting clearer," said Ralph, eagerly perusing the sheet he held."I can't quite make it out yet, though."
He exposed the sheet he held to the sunlight, while Walt Phelps leanedinterestedly over his shoulder.
"Why-why," the boy stuttered, "it's something about this church. Lookhere, I can see the 'Church of St. Gabriel, the old mission,' as plainas anything, and-and, why, professor," shouted the boy, half wild withexcitement, "I believe that this paper, by some wonderful chance, maybe the means of getting us out of here."
"Let me see," demanded the professor, taking the paper from the boy'strembling hands. Sure enough, it was covered with characters writtenclosely, and seemingly hastily.
"'This record, made the seventeenth day of August, 1909,'" he read out,"'is to be kept in case of accidents. The secret passage lies foursquares from the fifth square from the last window on the right handside toward the altar. The old altar rail pulls back, exposing thetrapdoor. Treasure in passage, one hundred paces from north of tunnelin wall, to right.' Give me that other page, Ralph, quick!"
The professor's voice shook strangely, and his dim eyes shone behindhis spectacles. Rapidly he warmed the page Ralph handed him in thesunlight, and more writing leaped into view.
"'Written by me with onion juice on above date. Jim Hicks, prospector,formerly of Preston Hollow, N. Y. State. This to be an instrument formy heirs, if any, and if this is ever found.' And here is somethingthat seems to be a postscript," gasped the professor, amazedly.
"'Will have to leave this in church and trust to luck. Place notdeserted as I had thought, but in possession of Mexicans. If chanceshould bring this to an American's notice, let them search outJim Hicks, the prospector, rightful owner of treasure by rightof discovery, and legacy of Don Manuel Serro y Fornero, the lastdescendant of the old monk, Brother Hilarito.'"
"Good gracious, does that mean this church?" breathed Walt Phelps, hiseyes as round as two marbles.
"Evidently," said the professor, who seemed strangely excited, "asnearly as I can make out, Jim Hicks was, or is, a miner or prospectorwho in some way was willed this missing treasure, whatever it is,by the last heir of one of the old monks who formerly lived in themission. He must have come here to dig up the treasure and beensurprised by the Mexicans. Fearing discovery when he would have beensearched, he wrote this record in some old book he had with him andthen stuffed it in a recess in the wall or other hiding place. In someway the Mexicans found it, and not knowing what it was tore some leavesout, which providentially happened to be these, and gave them to Ralphto write his last message on."
"I guess you must be right, professor," agreed Ralph, "I've oftenheard that the old monks, when their Indians were giving trouble, hidtheir treasure in secret places. And this Brother Hila--whatever hisname was--must have been t
he last survivor of the monastery. He willedthe secret to his heirs, who, in turn, gave it to this old miner, JimHicks."
"This is the strangest thing I ever heard of," exclaimed Walt Phelps,"but now that we have found it, what good does it do us?"
"Why, why," blurted out Ralph, "don't you see, Walt, what the invisiblewriting has done? It has pointed out to us a way to escape."
"How?" asked the blunt Walt.
"How--why, through the tunnel."
"Yes, if this is the right church, and if the tunnel has an exit at theother end," rejoined the practical Walt. "I don't want to throw coldwater on your hopes, Ralph, but this looks to me as if it might be atrick of Black Ramon's."
"I hardly think so," said the professor. "At any rate, it is worthtrying. We will make a test as soon as possible."
They did not dare, however, to try to test the secret of the old booktill they could be sure they were not watched from without by one ofRamon's spies. Not till after dusk did they feel perfectly securefrom observation. Then, with the professor leading, they sought outin the tesselated floor the designated square. It was easily found,and following the directions which had been memorized, for, of course,the invisible writing had disappeared with the fading of the warmththat brought it into being, the eager seekers went over the prescribedground.
There was a moment of painful suspense as the professor laid hold of amoldering altar rail, followed by a moan of disappointment.
The rail did not yield. It was anchored solidly in its base.
"Sold!" ejaculated Ralph. Walt Phelps did not speak, but hisdisappointment was keen.
The professor said nothing, but thought deeply, for a few minutes. Thenhe spoke.
"I have it," he exclaimed suddenly, "it's we that have been wrong, andnot the book."
"What do you mean?" asked Ralph, "we followed directions. I memorizedthem carefully myself."
"Yes, my boy, we did, but if you recollect the book said nothing aboutthe color of the squares. We counted on the black ones, assuming thatto be correct. Now might it not just as well have been the white onesthat the directions meant?"
"That's so," agreed Ralph eagerly, with new hope; "let's try it thatway."
"We'll have to be quick. It will be dark as pitch in a few minutes,"said Walt.
Once more the three bent over the floor and counted carefully, thistime using the white tiles as counters. Their enumeration brought themto another old brass rail, standing upright in what had once been thechancel of the old church.
Not one of that party drew a breath, as in the dying light theprofessor laid his hand on the upright pillar and pulled.
"Fooled again," burst out Ralph; but suddenly the professor, who hadput his utmost strength into the task, went toppling backward, wavinghis arms like a scarecrow in a high gale. He fell on the marble floorwith a crash, but was up again like a jack-in-the-box.
"Hooray! hooray! the old miner's writing was true!" burst out Ralph.
"Hush!" exclaimed Walt, "you'll have Ramon and his men in here in amoment."
As he spoke there came a sudden trampling of feet outside and shoutsechoed.
"They've found us out!" gasped Ralph, with blanched cheeks.
"No, they're running past the door," exclaimed Walt. "Listen, somethingelse is the matter."
"What can it be?" wondered Jack.
"No time for speculation now, my boy," warned the professor, who hadrecovered himself. "It's now or never. Are we going to chance thesecret tunnel?"
"Yes," chorused both boys, gazing without hesitation into the blacksquare which the swinging back of the rail had revealed. From themouth of the dark pit a fetid, foul-smelling air rushed upward. It wasthe breath of the dead centuries.
"One moment," said the professor, staying Ralph as he was about toplunge forward undismayed into the abyss; "let some of that deadly gasout."
In apprehension of momentary discovery, the adventurers waited,starting at every sound. Outside the disturbance still went on. Feetcould be heard rushing hither and thither. What could be happening?
"Now!" said the professor, after a few breathless minutes had passed.
Led by Ralph, they plunged downward, their feet encountering a flightof steps.
As they vanished into the unknown, the trap-door, actuated by somehidden machinery, which must have acted as their weight came on thelong disused steps, swung silently back into place.
At the same instant there were several loud shouts from without,followed by a fusillade of rifles.
The escape of Jack and Pete from the tower had just been discovered,and while the ranch boy and the cow-puncher were surrounded by theperils through which we have followed them, the other members of thebeleaguered party made their way forward into a blackness so utter asto feel almost solid.
The Border Boys on the Trail Page 15