CHAPTER XVII.
IN COLONEL MORELLO'S FORTRESS.
Directly ahead of them the gorge terminated abruptly in a blank wallof rock, in precisely the same manner that a blind alley in a citycomes to a full stop. But "blank" in this case is a misnomer. Therocky rampart, which towered fully a hundred feet above the trail, waspierced with several small openings, which appeared to be windows. Alarger opening was approached by a flight of steps, hewn out of therock. Although Nat did not know it, the spot had once been a habitationof the mysterious aborigines of the Sierras. The colonel, stumblingupon it some years before, had at once recognized its possibilitiesas a fortress and a gathering place for his band, and had hastened to"move in." Stabling for the horses was found in a rocky chamber openingdirectly off the trail.
But Nat's wonderment was excited by another circumstance besides thesudden appearance of the rock fort. This was the strange manner inwhich the abyss terminated at the pierced cliff. As they came along,the boy had heard the sound of roaring waters at the bottom of therift, and coupling this with the fact that the gorge emerged into thecliff at this point, he concluded that a subterranean river must windits way beneath the colonel's unique dwelling place.
Small time, however, did he have for looking about him. About a hundredyards along the trail from the pierced cliff there was a strangecontrivance extending outward from the face of the precipice alongwhich the trail was cut. This was a sort of platform of pine trunksof great weight and thickness, on the top of which were piled severallarge boulders to add to the weight. This affair was suspended bychains and was an additional safeguard to the outlaws' hiding place.In the event of a sudden attack the chains were so arranged that theycould be instantly cast loose. This allowed the platform to crashdown, crushing whatever happened to be beneath it, as well as blockingthe trail.
The colonel paused before they reached this, and whistled three times.
"Who is it?" came a voice, apparently issuing from a hole pierced inthe rock at their left hand.
"Two Eagles of the Pass," came the reply from the colonel as he gaveutterance to what was evidently a password.
"Go ahead, two Eagles of the Pass," came from the invisible rockaperture, and the party proceeded.
A few paces brought them from under the shadow of the weighted platformand to the foot of the flight of stone steps. A shaggy-headed manemerged from the stable door as they rode up, and took the horsesof the new arrivals. He gazed curiously at Nat, but said nothing.Evidently, thought the lad, the colonel is a strict disciplinarian.
This was indeed the case. Col. Morello exacted implicit obediencefrom his band, which at this time numbered some twenty men of variousnationalities. On more than one occasion prompt death had been theresult of even a suspicion of a mutinous spirit.
With Manuello still leading him along, as if he were a calf or a sheep,Nat was conducted up the stone staircase and into the rock dwellingitself. The contrast inside the place with the heated air outside wasextraordinary. It was like entering a cool cellar on a hot summer's day.
The passage which opened from the door in the cliff was in much thesame condition as it had been when the vanished race occupied theplace. In the floor were numerous holes where spears had been sharpenedor corn ground. Rude carvings of men on horseback, or warring withstrange beasts covered the walls. Light filtered in from a hole in therock ceiling, fully twenty feet above the floor of the place. Severalsmall doors opened off the main passage, and into one of these thecolonel, who was in the lead, presently turned, followed by Manuelloleading the captive lad.
Nat found himself in a chamber which, if it had not been for the roughwalls of the same flame-tinted rock as the abyss, might have been theliving room of any well-to-do rancher. Skins and heads of variouswild beasts ornamented the walls. On the floor bright rugs of sharplycontrasting hues were laid. In a polished oak gun-case in one cornerwere several firearms of the very latest pattern and design. A roughbookshelf held some volumes which showed evidences of having beenwell thumbed. From the ceiling hung a shaded silver lamp, of courseunlighted, as plenty of light streamed into the place from the windowin the cliff face.
The three chairs and the massive table which occupied the centre of theplace were of rough-hewn wood, showing the marks of the axe, but ofskilled and substantial workmanship, nevertheless. The upholstery wasof deerskin, carefully affixed with brass-headed nails.
The colonel threw himself into one of the chairs and rolled a freshcigarette, before he spoke a word. When he did, Nat was astonished, butnot so much as to be startled out of his composure.
"I've heard about you from Hale Bradford," said the outlaw, "and I havealways been curious to see you."
"Hale Bradford! Could it be possible," thought Nat, "that the rascallymillionaire who had appropriated his father's mine was also associatedwith Col. Morello, the Mexican outlaw?"
Nat suddenly recalled, however, that it was entirely likely thatBradford, in his early days on the peninsula, had met Morello, who, atthat time, was a border marauder in that part of the country. Perhapsthey had met since Bradford's abrupt departure from Lower California.Or perhaps, as was more probable, it was Dayton who had told thecolonel all about the Motor Rangers, and this reference to Bradford wassimply a bluff.
"Yes, I knew Hale Bradford," was all that Nat felt called upon to say.
"Hum," observed the colonel, carefully regarding his yellow paper roll,"and he had good reason to know you, too."
"I hope so," replied Nat, "if you mean by that, that we drove theunprincipled rascal out of Lower California."
"That does not interest me," retorted Morello, "what directly concernsyou is this: one of my men, an old acquaintance of mine, who hasrecently joined me, was done a great injury by you down there. He wantsrevenge."
"And this is the way he takes it," said Nat bitterly, gazing about him.
"I don't know how he means to take it," was the quiet reply. "That mustbe left to him. Where is Dayton?" he asked, turning to Manuello.
"Off hunting. The camp is out of meat," was the reply.
"Well, I expect Mr. Trevor will stay here till he returns," remarkedthe colonel with grim irony, "take him to the west cell, Manuello. Seethat he has food and water, and when Dayton gets back we will see whatshall be done with him."
He turned away and picked up a book, with a gesture signifying that hehad finished.
Nat's lips moved. He was about to speak, but in the extremity of hisperil his tongue fairly clove to the roof of his mouth. To be left tothe tender mercies of Dayton! That was indeed a fate that might havemade a more experienced adventurer than Nat tremble. The boy quicklyovercame his passing alarm, however, and the next moment Manuello wasconducting him down the passage toward what Nat supposed must be thewest cell.
Before a stout oaken door, studded with iron bolts, the evil-visagedMexican paused, and diving into his pocket produced a key. Insertingthis in a well-oiled lock, he swung back the portal and disclosed arock-walled room about twelve feet square. This, then, was the westcell. Any hope that Nat might have cherished of escaping, vanished ashe saw the place. It was, apparently, cut out of solid rock. It wouldhave taken a gang of men armed with dynamite and tools many years tohave worked their way out. The door, too, now that it was open, wasseen to be a massive affair, formed of several layers of oak boltedtogether till it was a foot thick. Great steel hinges, driven firmlyinto the wall, held it in place and on the outside, as an additionalsecurity to the lock, was a heavy sliding bolt of steel.
Manuello gave Nat a shove and the boy half stumbled forward into theplace.
The next minute the door closed with a harsh clamor, and he was alone.So utterly stunned was he by his fate that for some minutes Nat simplystood still in the centre of the place, not moving an inch. Butpresently he collected his faculties, and his first care was to casthimself loose from the rawhide rope the Mexican had enveloped him in.This done, he felt easier, and was about to begin an inspection of theplace when a small wicket, not
more than six inches square, in theupper part of the door opened, and a hand holding a tin jug of waterwas poked through. Nat seized the receptacle eagerly, and while he wasdraining it the same hand once more appeared, this time with a loaf ofbread and a hunk of dried deer meat.
Nat's hunger was as keen as his thirst, and wisely deciding thatbetter thinking can be done on a full stomach than on an empty one, hespeedily demolished the provender. So utterly hopeless did the outlookseem that many a boy in Nat's position would have thrown himself onthe cell floor and awaited the coming of his fate. Not so with Nat. Hehad taken for his motto, "While there is life there is hope," althoughit must be confessed that even he felt a sinking of the heart as hethought over his position. Guided by the light that came into the cellthrough the small wicket, the boy began groping about him and beatingon the wall. For an hour or more he kept this up, till his hands wereraw and bleeding from his exertions. It appeared to him that he hadpounded every foot of rock in the place, in the hope of finding somehollow spot, but to no avail. The place was as solid as a safety vault.
Giving way to real despair at last, even the gritty boy owned himselfbeaten. Sinking his face in his hands he collapsed upon the cell floor.As he did so voices sounded in the corridor. One of them Nat recognizedwith a thrill of apprehension, as Dayton's.
The Motor Rangers Through the Sierras Page 17