“Easy money for Carter Boswick, eh? Letting Cousin Drew in on the wealth, perhaps. Well, it’s all off now, my boys. You and your helper made a lot of trouble; but we’ve got you where we want you—and we’ll leave you here!”
Another face appeared beside the lawyer’s. Hub Rowley was stepping forward to add his malicious approval. Drew Westling was the only one who recognized the big shot.
“Don’t blame Cousin Drew,” jeered Tracy, addressing Carter Boswick. “It was your father’s folly that brought you here—although Drew was partly responsible. I knew all about you father’s clever secret—all except where the hiding place could be found. It looked like you were never coming back; and Drew was kind enough to get himself into trouble—with this gentleman who stands beside me.
“A gambling debt. Money owed to Mr. Rowley. So I called on Mr. Rowley—with kindly intentions at first. But when I learned that Mr. Rowley deliberately intended to bleed Drew Westling, I decided it would be a good idea. I made a deal with Mr. Rowley, involving Houston Boswick’s hidden wealth.
“We decided to find it for ourselves. We knew that we could take care of little Drew Westling. When we couldn’t find it at the old mansion, we decided we would pump Drew after the legacy became his. The old man didn’t have so long to live.
“But when you popped up, Carter Boswick, we decided to put you nicely out of the way. I learned that you were coming from Montevideo. I called Mr. Rowley, and he sent a man to meet you. Somehow, you were fortunate enough to get home.”
Carter Boswick clenched his teeth. He thought of Havana—of the Southern Star. Then, again, he was listening to the sarcastic tones of Farland Tracy’s voice.
“We didn’t get you,” announced the lawyer, “but we did get the message that you found. We had a very able agent planted in your house. Step forward, Headley.”
Houston Boswick’s former servant stepped into the light. The malicious grin upon his face betrayed his treacherous nature. He, like Farland Tracy, had worn a mask in the past.
“You see,” purred the lawyer, “I had long had dealings with Mr. Rowley. He is a gentleman who delights in evading the law; hence he frequently calls on capable legal counsel. He has a way of dealing with people—and our friend Headley chanced to be one with whom he had dealt in the past.
“Headley was very useful. He took the message. He was watching when it was discovered. He signaled for a messenger, who was waiting patiently outside. Mr. Rowley and I went into conference that very evening.”
The lawyer’s cold tones ended.
HE needed to say no more. All was plain to Carter Boswick and Drew Westling. Harry Vincent understood also.
Big brains had formed an alliance. A crooked lawyer, thinking more of millions than the trust that was his to keep, had called in a supermind of crime to aid him in the purloining of vast wealth.
Now came a new statement—one that showed a reason for Farland Tracy’s restraining action. The lawyer had more than a merely malicious purpose in withholding death.
“It would be most unfortunate,” declared Tracy, “if you had managed, somehow, to remove the fortune that Houston Boswick deposited in this place. There is that possibility, however, since we have discovered you at the probable spot.
“So to mollify your previous endeavors, we shall investigate before we pay our final respects to you. Mr. Rowley and myself have agreed that such should be the best procedure. We may find it necessary to question you before you die. Previously, your instant death would have been preferable. Now we can afford to grant you a brief respite.”
With that, Farland Tracy advanced along the side of the shaft. Hub Rowley and Headley followed him. All three were armed, but their revolvers were lowered. The mobsmen in the shaft, Stacks Lodi in command, were the ones who covered Harry Vincent and his comrades.
The advance merely increased the hopelessness of the situation. It was bringing three deadly enemies to closer range. Harry Vincent was longing for a break. He and his companions were only a few yards from the corridor that ended in the treasure vault.
With a loaded automatic still in his pocket, with Carter Boswick similarly equipped, Harry knew that they could put up a short struggle if they could gain the pit. It would be better to die fighting in the face of odds, than be mercilessly butchered. But the threatening revolvers up ahead were held by men whose aim would surely be fatal, unless some unexpected surprise might intervene.
Somehow, these villains had kept watch. Harry realized that he and Carter had failed to use the proper precaution. The Shadow had given them their opportunity. The meeting with Drew Westling had added to their strength.
But in the meanwhile, the enemy had gained by strategy. Where mass attacks had failed, cunning had succeeded.
The position now was one that would tax The Shadow, even should he appear upon the scene.
Harry groaned inwardly as he realized his own stupidity had brought this finish. Had he and his companions remained at the end of the side corridor, they would have been in a stronghold. His foolish desire to investigate had brought himself and two others face to face with an overpowering force.
THESE thoughts swept through Harry’s brain with the rapidity of lightning. A man who faces grim death thinks of all neglected possibilities. Harry was no exception. His mind turned over the entire situation during the interval of a scant few seconds.
A break! If it would only come!
Anything—a stumble on the part of one of the three approaching men—an argument among the covering mobsters—anything that would grant the opportunity for a dive into the corridor where Harry and Carter had found Drew Westling!
Harry’s fists tightened.
Shots of death! Let them come! He would make the break himself and take the consequences. He felt no qualms at sacrificing his companions. They were surely doomed—the sooner the end came, the better.
Harry spoke; but his lips did not move in the effort. The undertone was heard only by Carter Boswick and Drew Westling, for Farland Tracy and Hub Rowley were still twenty feet away.
“When I say, Go! “—these were Harry’s words—“jump for the corridor. It’s our only chance. Ready—”
Before Harry could pronounce the next word, a terrific roar came through the sloping shaft. Some one had opened fire from the section beyond the spot where the side entrance converged within the mine. The heavy booming of automatics sounded like a cannonade.
One of the covering gangsters staggered. The others, with one, accord, dropped to the ground, and turned in the direction of the fire. Farland Tracy and Hub Rowley turned in alarm.
Amid the thundering echoes came Harry’s hoarse command:
“Go!”
The break had come—and the word was timed with it! With Carter Boswick and Drew Westling, Harry scrambled for the side corridor. Only one man sought to stop them.
Headley, alone, had not yielded to the momentary surprise that had gripped the others of the invading crew. He saw the doomed men escaping. He fired quick shots in their direction. Fortunately, his aim was hasty.
A bullet skimmed Drew Westling’s shoulder. Drew staggered head-foremost into the side corridor. Harry and Carter caught him as he fell and dragged him with them. A few moments later they were in the pit.
Suddenly a terrific tumult sounded through the mine shaft. Mobsters were firing up the slope toward their hidden foe. The roar of automatics was responding.
Harry Vincent knew the answer, as he grimly drew forth his automatic. The Shadow, alone, had brought this timely rescue. The master of darkness had opened fire upon the mob, to save the three whose doom had seemed so certain.
Bullets of death! The Shadow had loosed them. But The Shadow, like Harry Vincent and his comrades, was trapped by a merciless mob!
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE LAST FIGHT.
VOLLEYS thundered through the sloping shaft of the forgotten mine. Gangsters, prone upon the rusted track, were blazing furiously at an unseen target. Bullets ri
cocheted from jagged walls. Answering shots responded from above.
Flashlights, glimmering intermittently so that they would not reveal the men who held them, were the advantage which the mobsmen possessed. Those flashes of light showed a wavering form in black, retreating up the shaft.
The Shadow was retiring in the face of formidable odds. The cover of darkness was his no longer. The walls of the shaft afforded no spot from which he could thrust a pistoled hand while his form remained in safety.
Those shots with which The Shadow had begun the fray had been distant ones. For The Shadow had realized the danger of close approach. Even now he was in the utmost danger; for although the range was long, the gunmen had a veritable shooting gallery along which to aim.
Bullets that ricocheted could prove as deadly as those which were discharged with perfect aim. Had The Shadow not taken all factors into consideration, he would have fallen with the first volley sent in his direction.
Retreat was the only game; and in that retreat, The Shadow gave high encouragement to the men who opposed him. Stacks Lodi had shouted out the identity of the antagonist.
The Shadow was on the run!
Evil mobsters spat oaths as they fired. All the venom of the underworld was loosed tonight. The Shadow trapped! Death to The Shadow! He would never escape this trap alive!
Two of the mobsmen had fallen. Two others had received wounds, but were still in action.
As Stacks Lodi urged his men forward, they passed the spot where the secret entrance joined the shaft and there they were reinforced by the two gunmen who had been left to guard the outer opening.
The Shadow’s retreat had increased in speed. His form was hidden by the increasing slope of the shaft. Stacks Lodi shouted for prompt pursuit.
Why not? The range was long. The advantage was equal for every shooter. The horde outnumbered The Shadow more than eight to one. If they could catch a glimpse of that retreating form within the glare of their flickering lights, death would stalk The Shadow
Into Stacks Lodi’s cunning brain came the realization that the opening of this shaft must be blocked. There, The Shadow would be at bay. When he was backed against the final wall, lights would no longer glimmer. A barrage sweeping through the darkness would surely spell The Shadows doom!
Below, Farland Tracy and Hub Rowley were keeping the three trapped men from escaping. Headley was with them. Stacks could hear the echoing sound of shots. He surmised what was going on.
Peering from the edge of the wall, into the short corridor that led to the right, the lawyer and the big shot were sniping at Harry Vincent and Carter Boswick. Harry and Carter were wisely withholding their fire as they lay within the shelter of the pit. Every shot counted how. They waited for the enemy to appear in the corridor itself.
Stacks Lodi still urged his men up the shaft. The slope was one which increased as they proceeded. This accounted for The Shadow’s disappearance. The ceiling formed a curve that covered his retreat.
Suddenly, as a flashlight illuminated the rising cavern, a gangster emitted a cry of exultation.
“There he is! There he is!”
As the light went out, Stacks Lodi caught sight of a stooping figure up ahead.
The Shadow!
Stacks had seen the flowing cloak and the lowered head, buried beneath the slouch hat.
BEFORE the gangsters could fire, four quick shots came down the shaft. Bullets glanced from the ground, and one gangster coughed out his life amid the darkness.
What was one man now? Stacks aimed and fired into the blackness. The range was closer than before. They had neared the end of the shaft.
The mobsters followed the example. The darkness showed repeated spurts of flame; the air reeked with powder fumes.
“Hold it! Hold it!”
Stacks Lodi’s command was heard. Echoes of the final shots rolled dimly down the shaft. Silence followed. A hiss of exultation came from Stacks Lodi’s evil lips.
The Shadow was no longer returning the fire. Perhaps he lay wounded or dead!
On the contrary, he might be resting for the final moment, seeking to trap his enemies by some ruse. If so, it would be futile. One more revelation of that black-garbed form, and The Shadow’s end would be at hand!
“Ready!” growled Stacks. “Get set, and we’ll give him all the light he wants. Keep it on this time. Bust loose when I shoot the big light.”
As Stacks pressed the switch of a bull’s-eye lantern, a strange sound manifested itself from above. A low rumble occurred in the darkness. The light came on. A snarl burst from Stacks an instant before the gangsters opened fire.
From a hundred feet up the shaft, a mining car was slowly starting down the slope. Its sides of metal, its interior brimming with a huge load of glistening rock, this carrier was the first car of an entire train!
Gangster bullets spattered against the steel front of the car. They did no harm. The Shadow was behind—beyond—in safety.
Stacks Lodi cried out in terror. He understood now why The Shadow had been stooping when they last had seen him. The lone fighter had released a mighty Juggernaut upon his enemies!
The ore train of the abandoned mine! Still loaded with its last burden of rock that had never been taken away. Rusted wheels were responding under the impetus of the great weight. Cars with bulging sides were about to sweep cleanly through the deserted shaft!
Before Stacks Lodi could cry an order to his men, the terrorized gangsters were on their feet, turning to dash along the shaft. Only one remained with Stacks. He, like the leader, had seen the only chance for safety; to leap upon the foremost car before it gathered dangerous speed.
That moment was approaching now. The rumble had become a roar. The cars were coming steadily down the slope. Stacks Lodi and his single companion rose grimly to meet them. Then came loud, bursting shots from the stack of ore atop the foremost car.
THE SHADOW was clearing the way! He wanted no riders upon his train of destruction. With the cars in motion, he had sprung aboard and come to the mound that topped the leading carrier.
Stacks Lodi staggered and fell against the side of the shaft. His companion collapsed at his feet. The crushing cars came on; when they arrived, the head of the train threw the two bodies between the tracks and the wall, crushing them to mangled forms.
Neither Stacks nor the gangster was alive to feel that fate. The Shadow’s clearing bullets had silenced them forever. Even as the train gained speed along the slope, the black-garbed figure was following another purpose. It was crawling rapidly back along the cars.
Fleeing gangsters had gained a precious lead in their dash down the slope. But the uneven footing of the trackage stayed their progress. The descending train was gathering impetus. Faster by thrice than a man could run, it hurtled down upon these maddened underlings of crime.
As the heavy cars surged toward the mid-point of the shaft, The Shadow dropped from the rear car. The only token of his presence was the sinister laugh that now echoed through the man-made cavern. The Shadow had reserved that mockery for the moment when his terrible avalanche of death would strike.
The plunging cars brooked no interference. A screaming gangster was thrown forward a dozen feet when the head of the train overtook him. He was crushed to death while the cars swept on.
Another victim came a second later— then a third. Still the train roared on, as it passed the only spot of safety between the top and the bottom of the shaft—the entrance to the natural passage that led from the mine.
A pair of mobsters cowered there—the last of Stacks Lodi’s pursuing crew. They had reached the safety point just in time. They, alone of those who had cried death to The Shadow, remained to see the death that he had delivered to his trappers.
As the train thundered onward, a gleam of light appeared from up the shaft. It signified the presence of a living being—one who had escaped the grinding death. Behind that light was The Shadow, the avenger who had loosed the train of destruction.
The light spotted the gangsters. They knew who held it. With vengeful snarls, they raised their revolvers to fire at the unseen being.
As the revolvers spoke, quick bursts of flame came from below the gleaming light. The Shadow, crouching, had drawn the mobsmen’s aim upward.
The gangsters fell while firing. They sprawled forward into the shaft, across the rails, as dead as their mangled fellows.
Quick had been that action. As The Shadow rose to stride down the slope, the roar of the hurtling cars was still in progress. The Juggernaut of doom had not yet come to its stopping place.
BELOW, other men of crime now knew the menace. Hub Rowley had been the first to hear the rumble of the cars. He had spoken tensely to his companions. They had stayed their fire to await the outcome.
Now, in the light that Headley shot up along the shaft, they could see the terrible approach. The train, surging on at terrific speed, was an irresistible menace that they could not stop.
With one accord, the three invaders turned to safety. They did not seek the corridor where Harry Vincent and Carter Boswick were located. Instead, they sprang for the cover of the opposite passage.
A flashlight glared as they leaped. With one accord, Harry and Carter fired at the fleeing men. Headley went down in the passage. The following shots would have found their marks, but for the intervention of the train, which suddenly arrived to protect the men whom it had threatened.
A mighty crash shattered the end wall of the slope. The heavy cars piled up amid a deluge of flying ore that spread in all directions. The burden of broken rock alone prevented the train from telescoping.
Twisted, battered, the cars sagged back on the rebound, and lay, a mass of wreckage, along the bottom of the mine slope.
As the continued echoes died away, Harry and Carter sprang from their pit. They had fired futilely as the cars arrived; then they had ducked to escape chunks of hurtling ore. They still had enemies with whom to deal; and they knew where the others had gone.
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