Cast Upon the Breakers
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“Yes.”
“That is well, for you will have to make your trip in that way. There are no railroads in that direction, nor any other way of travel except on foot or on horseback. A long ride like that with hours daily in the open air, will do you good. What do you say to it?”
“I should like nothing better,” replied Rodney, with his eyes sparkling. “Only, how will you get along without me?”
“I have a man in my employ at the mines who will do part of your work, and I will have a general oversight of things. So you need not borrow any trouble on that account. Do you think you can find your way?”
“Give me the general direction, and I will guarantee to do so. When shall I start?”
“Day after tomorrow. That will give me one day for making arrangements.”
At nine the appointed morning Mr. Pettigrew’s own horse stood saddled at the door, and Rodney in traveling costume with a small satchel in his hand, mounted and rode away, waving a smiling farewell to his friend and employer.
Rodney did not hurry, and so consumed two days and a half in reaching Babcock. Here he was cordially received by the superintendent whom Jefferson Pettigrew had placed in charge of the mine. Every facility was afforded him to examine into the management of things and he found all satisfactory.
This part of his journey, therefore, may be passed over. But his return trip was destined to be more exciting.
Riding at an easy jog Rodney had got within fifteen miles of Oreville, when there was an unexpected interruption. Two men started out from the roadside, or rather from one side of the bridle path for there was no road, and advanced to meet him with drawn revolvers.
“Halt there!” one of them exclaimed in a commanding tone.
Rodney drew bridle, and gazed at the two men in surprise.
“What do you want of me?” he asked.
“Dismount instantly!”
“Why should I? What right have you to interfere with my journey?”
“Might gives right,” said one of the men sententiously. “It will be best for you to do as we bid you without too much back talk.”
“What are you—highwaymen?” asked Rodney.
“You’d better not talk too much. Get off that horse!”
Rodney saw that remonstrance was useless, and obeyed the order.
One of the men seized the horse by the bridle, and led him.
“Walk in front!” he said.
“Where are you going to take me?” asked Rodney.
“You will know in due time.”
“I hope you will let me go,” urged Rodney, beginning to be uneasy. “I am expected home this evening, or at all event I want to get there.”
“No doubt you do, but the Miners’ Rest will have to get along without you for a while.”
“Do you know me then?”
“Yes; you are the boy clerk at the Miners’ Rest.”
“You both put up there about two weeks since,” said Rodney, examining closely the faces of the two men.
“Right you are, kid!”
“What can you possibly want of me?”
“Don’t be too curious. You will know in good time.”
Rodney remembered that the two men had remained at the hotel for a day and night. They spent the day in wandering around Oreville.
He had supposed when they came that they were in search of employment, but they had not applied for work and only seemed actuated by curiosity. What could be their object in stopping him now he could not understand.
It would have been natural to suppose they wanted money, but they had not asked for any as yet. He had about fifty dollars in his pocketbook and he would gladly have given them this if it would have insured his release. But not a word had been said about money.
They kept on their journey. Montana is a mountainous State, and they were now in the hilly regions. They kept on for perhaps half an hour, gradually getting upon higher ground, until they reached a precipitous hill composed largely of rock.
Here the two men stopped as if they had reached their journey’s end.
One of them advanced to the side of the hill and unlocked a thick wooden door which at first had failed to attract Rodney’s attention. The door swung open, revealing a dark passage, cut partly through stone and partly through earth. Inside on the floor was a bell of good size.
One of the men lifted the bell and rang it loudly.
“What does that mean?” thought Rodney, who felt more curious than apprehensive.
He soon learned.
A curious looking negro, stunted in growth, for he was no taller than a boy of ten, came out from the interior and stood at the entrance of the cave, if such it was. His face was large and hideous, there was a hump on his back, and his legs were not a match, one being shorter than the other, so that as he walked, his motion was a curious one. He bent a scrutinizing glance on Rodney.
“Well, Caesar, is dinner ready?” asked one of the men.
“No, massa, not yet.”
“Let it be ready then as soon as possible. But first lead the way. We are coming in.”
He started ahead, leading the horse, for the entrance was high enough to admit the passage of the animal.
“Push on!” said the other, signing to Rodney to precede him.
Rodney did so, knowing remonstrance to be useless. His curiosity was excited. He wondered how long the passage was and whither it led.
The way was dark, but here and there in niches was a kerosene lamp that faintly relieved the otherwise intense blackness.
“I have read about such places,” thought Rodney, “but I never expected to get into one. The wonder is, that they should bring me here. I can’t understand their object.”
Rodney followed his guide for perhaps two hundred and fifty feet when they emerged into a large chamber of irregular shape, lighted by four large lamps set on a square wooden table. There were two rude cots in one corner, and it was here apparently that his guides made their home.
There was a large cooking stove in one part of the room, and an appetizing odor showed that Caesar had the dinner under way.
Rodney looked about him in curiosity. He could not decide whether the cave was natural or artificial. Probably it was a natural cave which had been enlarged by the hand of man.
“Now hurry up the dinner, Caesar,” said one of the guides. “We are all hungry.”
“Yes, massa,” responded the obedient black.
Rodney felt hungry also, and hoped that he would have a share of the dinner. Later he trusted to find out the object of his new acquaintances in kidnaping him.
Dinner was soon ready. It was simple, but Rodney thoroughly enjoyed it.
During the meal silence prevailed. After it his new acquaintances produced pipes and began to smoke. They offered Rodney a cigarette, but he declined it.
“I don’t smoke,” he said.
“Are you a Sunday school kid?” asked one in a sneering tone.
“Well, perhaps so.”
“How long have you lived at Oreville?”
“About four months.”
“Who is the head of the settlement there?”
“Jefferson Pettigrew.”
“He is the moneyed man, is he?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“He is my best friend,” answered Rodney warmly.
“He thinks a good deal of you, then?”
“I think he does.”
“Where have you been—on a journey?”
“Yes, to the town of Babcock.”
“Did he send you?”
“Yes.”
“What interest has he there?”
“He is chief owner of a mine there.”
“Humph! I suppose you would like to know why we brought you here.”
“I would very much.”
“We propose to hold you for ransom.”
“But why should you? I am only a poor boy.”
“You are the friend of Jefferson Pettigrew. He is a rich man. If he wants you back he must pay a round sum.”
It was all out now! These men were emulating a class of outlaws to be found in large numbers in Italy and Sicily, and were trading upon human sympathy and levying a tax upon human friendship.
CHAPTER XXXIII
UNDERGROUND
Rodney realized his position. The alternative was not a pleasant one. Either he must remain in the power of these men, or cost his friend Mr. Pettigrew a large sum as ransom. There was little hope of changing the determination of his captors, but he resolved to try what he could do.
“Mr. Pettigrew is under no obligations to pay money out for me,” he said. “I am not related to him, and have not yet known him six months.”
“That makes no difference. You are his friend, and he likes you.”
“That is the very reason why I should not wish him to lose money on my account.”
“Oh, very well! It will be bad for you is he doesn’t come to your help.”
“Why? What do you propose to do to me?” asked Rodney boldly.
“Better not ask!” was the significant reply.
“But I want to know. I want to realize my position.”
“The least that will happen to you is imprisonment in this cave for a term of years.”
“I don’t think I should like it but you would get tired of standing guard over me.”
“We might, and in that case there is the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“If we get tired of keeping you here, we shall make short work with you.”
“Would you murder me?” asked Rodney, horror struck, as he might well be, for death seems terrible to a boy just on the threshold of life.
“We might be obliged to do so.”
Rodney looked in the faces of his captors, and he saw nothing to encourage him. They looked like desperate men, who would stick at nothing to carry out their designs.
“I don’t see why you should get hold of me,” he said. “If you had captured Mr. Pettigrew himself you would stand a better chance of making it pay.”
“There is no chance of capturing Pettigrew. If there were we would prefer him to you. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
“How much ransom do you propose to ask?”
This Rodney said, thinking that if it were a thousand dollars he might be able to make it good to his friend Jefferson. But he was destined to be disappointed.
“Five thousand dollars,” answered the chief speaker.
“Five thousand dollars!” ejaculated Rodney in dismay. “Five thousand dollars for a boy like me!”
“That is the sum we want.”
“If it were one thousand I think you might get it.”
“One thousand!” repeated the other scornfully. “That wouldn’t half pay us.”
“Then suppose you call it two thousand?”
“It won’t do.”
“Then I suppose I must make up my mind to remain a prisoner.”
“Five thousand dollars wouldn’t be much to a rich man like Pettigrew. We have inquired, and found out that he is worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. Five thousand is only a twentieth part of this sum.”
“You can do as you please, but you had better ask a reasonable amount if you expect to get it.”
“We don’t want advice. We shall manage things in our own way.”
Convinced that further discussion would be unavailing, Rodney relapsed into silence, but now his captors proceeded to unfold their plans.
One of them procured a bottle of ink, some paper and a pen, and set them on the table.
“Come up here, boy, and write to Mr. Pettigrew,” he said in a tone of authority.
“What shall I write?”
“Tell him that you are a prisoner, and that you will not be released unless he pays five thousand dollars.”
“I don’t want to write that. It will be the same as asking him to pay it for me.”
“That is what we mean him to understand.”
“I won’t write it.”
Rodney knew his danger, but he looked resolutely into the eyes of the men who held his life in their hands. His voice did not waver, for he was a manly and courageous boy.
“The boy’s got grit!” said one of the men to the other.
“Yes, but it won’t save him. Boy, are you going to write what I told you?”
“No.”
“Are you not afraid that we will kill you?”
“You have power to do it.”
“Don’t you want to live?”
“Yes. Life is sweet to a boy of sixteen.”
“Then why don’t you write?”
“Because I think it would be taking a mean advantage of Mr. Pettigrew.”
“You are a fool. Roderick, what shall we do with him?”
“Tell him simply to write that he is in our hands.”
“Well thought of. Boy, will you do that?”
“Yes.”
Rodney gave his consent for he was anxious that Mr. Pettigrew should know what had prevented him from coming home when he was expected.
“Very well, write! You will know what to say.”
Rodney drew the paper to him, and wrote as follows:
DEAR MR. PETTIGREW,
On my way home I was stopped by two men who have confined me in a cave, and won’t let me go unless a sum of money is paid for my ransom. I don’t know what to do. You will know better than I. RODNEY ROPES.
His chief captor took the note and read it aloud.
“That will do,” he said. “Now he will believe us when we say that you are in our hands.”
He signed to Rodney to rise from the table and took his place. Drawing a pile of paper to him, he penned the following note:
Rodney Ropes is in our hands. He wants his liberty and we want money. Send us five thousand dollars, or arrange a meeting at which it can be delivered to us, and he shall go free. Otherwise his death be on your hands. HIS CAPTORS.
Rodney noticed that this missive was written in a handsome business hand.
“You write a handsome hand,” he said.
“I ought to,” was the reply. “I was once bookkeeper in a large business house.”
“And what—” here Rodney hesitated.
“What made me an outlaw you mean to ask?”
“Yes.”
“My nature, I suppose. I wasn’t cut out for sober, humdrum life.”
“Don’t you think you would have been happier?”
“No preaching, kid! I had enough of that when I used to go to church in my old home in Missouri. Here, Caesar!”
“Yes, massa.”
“You know Oreville?”
“Yes, massa.”
“Go over there and take this letter with you. Ask for Jefferson Pettigrew, and mind you don’t tell him where we live. Only if he asks about me and my pal say we are desperate men, have each killed a round dozen of fellows that stood in our way and will stick at nothing.”
“All right, massa,” said Caesar with an appreciative grin. “How shall I go, massa?”
“You can take the kid’s horse. Ride to within a mile of Oreville, then tether the horse where he won’t easily be found, and walk over to the mines. Do you understand?”
“Yes, massa.”
“He won’t probably give you any money, but he may give you a letter. Bring it safely to me.”
Caesar nodded and vanished.
For an hour the two men smoked their pipes and chatted. Then they rose, and the elder said: “We are going out, kid, for a couple of hours. Are you afraid to stay alone?”
“Why should I be?”
“That’s the way to talk. I won’t caution you not to escape, for it would take a smarter lad then you to do it. If you are tired you can lie down on the bed and rest.”
“All right!”
“I am sorry we haven’t got the morning paper for you to look over,” said his captor with a smile. “The carrier didn’t leave it this morning.”
“I can get along without it. I don’t feel much like reading.”
“You needn’t feel worried. You’ll be out of this tomorrow if Jefferson Pettigrew is as much your friend as you think he is.”
“The only thing that troubles me is the big price you charge at your hotel.”
“Good! The kid has a good wit of his own. After all, we wouldn’t mind keeping you with us. It might pay you better than working for Pettigrew.”
“I hope you’ll excuse my saying it, but I don’t like the business.”
“You may change your mind. At your age we wouldn’t either of us like the sort of life we are leading. Come, John.”
The two men went out but did not allow Rodney to accompany them to the place of exit.
Left to himself, Rodney could think soberly of his plight. He could not foresee whether his captivity would be brief or prolonged.
After a time the spirit of curiosity seized him. He felt tempted to explore the cavern in which he was confined. He took a lamp, and followed in a direction opposite to that taken by his captors.
The cave he found was divided into several irregularly shaped chambers. He walked slowly, holding up the lamp to examine the walls of the cavern. In one passage he stopped short, for something attracted his attention—something the sight of which made his heart beat quicker and filled him with excitement.
CHAPTER XXXIV
RODNEY’S DISCOVERY
There was a good reason for Rodney’s excitement. The walls of the subterranean passage revealed distinct and rich indications of gold. There was a time, and that not long before, when they would have revealed nothing to Rodney, but since his residence at Oreville he had more than once visited the mines and made himself familiar with surface indications of mineral deposit.
He stopped short and scanned attentively the walls of the passage.
“If I am not mistaken,” he said to himself, “this will make one of the richest mines in Montana. But after all what good will it do me? Here am I a prisoner, unable to leave the cave, or communicate with my friends. If Mr. Pettigrew knew what I do he would feel justified in paying the ransom these men want.”
Rodney wondered how these rich deposits had failed to attract the attention of his captors, but he soon settled upon the conclusion that they had no knowledge of mines or mining, and were ignorant of the riches that were almost in their grasp.
“Shall I enlighten them?” he asked himself.
It was a question which he could not immediately answer. He resolved to be guided by circumstances.
In order not to excite suspicion he retraced his steps to the apartment used by his captors as a common sitting room—carefully fixing in his mind the location of the gold ore.
We must now follow the messenger who had gone to Oreville with a letter from Rodney’s captors.
As instructed, he left his horse, or rather Rodney’s, tethered at some distance from the settlement and proceeded on foot to the Miners’ Rest. His strange appearance excited attention and curiosity. Both these feelings would have been magnified had it been known on what errand he came.
“Where can I find Mr. Jefferson Pettigrew?” he asked of a man whom he saw on the veranda.
“At the Griffin Mine,” answered the other, removing the pipe from his mouth.
“Where is that?”
“Over yonder. Are you a miner?”
“No. I know nothing about mines.”
“Then why do you want to see Jefferson? I thought you might want a chance to work in the mine.”
“No; I have other business with him—business of importance,” added the black dwarf emphatically.
“If that is the case I’ll take you to him. I am always glad to be of service to Jefferson.”
“Thank you. He will thank you, too.”
The man walked along with a long, swinging gait which made it difficult for Caesar to keep up with him.
“So you have business with Jefferson?” said the man with the pipe, whose curiosity had been excited.
“Yes.”
“Of what sort?”
“I will tell him,” answered Caesar shortly.
“So its private, is it?”
“Yes. If he wants to tell you he will.”
“That’s fair. Well, come along! Am I walking too fast for you?”
“Your legs are much longer than mine.”
“That’s so. You are a little shrimp. I declare.”
A walk of twenty minutes brought them to the Griffin Mine. Jefferson Pettigrew was standing near, giving directions to a party of miners.
“Jefferson,” said the man with the pipe, “here’s a chap that wants to see you on business of importance. That is, he says it is.”
Jefferson Pettigrew wheeled round and looked at Caesar.
“Well,” he said, “what is it?”
“I have a letter for you, massa.”
“Give it to me.”
Jefferson took the letter and cast his eye over it. As he read it his countenance changed and became stern and severe.
“Do you know what is in this letter?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
He led Caesar to a place out of earshot.
“What fiend’s game is this?” he demanded sternly.
“I can’t tell you, massa; I’m not in it.”
“Who are those men that have written to me?”
“I don’t know their right names. I calls ‘em Massa John and Massa Dick.”
“It seems they have trapped a boy friend of mine, Rodney Ropes. Did you see him?”
“Yes; I gave him a good dinner.”
“That is well. If they should harm a hair of his head I wouldn’t rest till I had called them to account. Where have they got the boy concealed?”
“I couldn’t tell you, massa.”
“You mean, you won’t tell me.”
“Yes. It would be as much as my life is worth.”
“Humph, well! I suppose you must be faithful to your employer. Do you know that these men want me to pay five thousand dollars for the return of the boy?”
“Yes, I heard them talking about it.”
“That is a new kind of rascality. Do they expect you to bring back an answer?”
“Yes, massa.”
“I must think. What will they do to the boy if I don’t give them the money?”
“They might kill him.”
“If they do—but I must have time to think the matter over. Are you expected to go back this afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get back? It must be a good distance.”
“I can get back.”
“Stay here. I will consult some of my friends and see if I can raise the money.”
“Very well, massa.” One of those whom Jefferson called into consultation was the person who had guided Caesar to the Griffin Mine.
Quickly the proprietor of the Miners’ Rest unfolded the situation.
“Now,” he said, “I want two of you to follow this misshapen dwarf, and find out where he comes from. I want to get hold of the scoundrels who sent him to me.”
“I will be one,” said the man with the pipe.
“Very well, Fred.”
“And I will go with Fred,” said a long limbed fellow who had been a Kansas cowboy.
“I accept you, Otto. Go armed, and don’t lose sight of him.”
“Shall you send the money?”
“Not I. I will send a letter that will encourage them to hope for it. I want to gain time.”
“Any instructions, Jefferson?”
“Only this, if you see these men, capture or kill them.”
“All right.”
CHAPTER XXXV
A BLOODY CONFLICT
This was the letter that was handed to Caesar:
I have received your note. I must have time to think, and time perhaps to get hold of the gold. Don’t harm a hair of the boy’s head. If so, I will hunt you to death.
JEFFERSON PETTIGREW.
P.S.—Meet me tomorrow morning at the rocky gorge at the foot of Black Mountain. Ten o’clock.
Caesar took the letter, and bent his steps in the direction of the place where he had tethered his horse. He did not observe that he was followed by two men, who carefully kept him in sight, without attracting attention to themselves.
When Caesar reached the place where he had tethered the horse, he was grievously disappointed at not finding him. One of the miners in roaming about had come upon the animal, and knowing him to be Jefferson Pettigrew’s property, untied him and rode him back to Oreville.
The dwarf threw up his hands in dismay.
“The horse is gone!” he said in his deep bass voice, “and now I must walk back, ten long miles, and get a flogging at the end for losing time. It’s hard luck,” he groaned.
The loss was fortunate for Fred and Otto who would otherwise have found it hard to keep up with the dwarf.
Caesar breathed a deep sigh, and then started on his wearisome journey. Had the ground been even it would have troubled him less, but there was a steep upward grade, and his short legs were soon weary. Not so with his pursuers, both of whom were long limbed and athletic.
We will go back now to the cave and the captors of Rodney. They waited long and impatiently for the return of their messenger. Having no knowledge of the loss of the horse, they could not understand what detained Caesar.
“Do you think the rascal has played us false?” said Roderick.
“He would be afraid to.”
“This man Pettigrew might try to bribe him. It would be cheaper than to pay five thousand dollars.”
“He wouldn’t dare. He knows what would happen to him,” said John grimly.
“Then why should he be so long?”
“That I can’t tell.”
“Suppose we go out to meet him. I begin to feel anxious lest we have trusted him too far.”
“I am with you!”
The two outlaws took the path which led to Oreville, and walked two miles before they discovered Caesar coming towards them at a slow and melancholy gait.
“There he is, and on foot! What does it mean?”