The Glass Mountain

CHAPTER XVII Fifteen Million Dollars

Benson’s flash, stood on end, was a ghostly white lantern in the somber little death cell. Benson paced slowly back and forth, colorless eyes like chips of polar ice in his dead face. He had taken the disguising eye-shells from his eyeballs, because they were apt to break and injure his eyes if struck. Otherwise, he was still the old Indian, in faded overalls but moving with bewildering youth and agility when you looked at the ancient face.

Like most criminals, the gang here was too stupid to learn very fast. They had preconceived ideas about tying people up, and it was hard for them to unlearn those ideas.

They had tied Benson once, and he had gotten free. They’d thought merely that the man who tied him had been careless, so with childlike trust they had tied him again.

And again, of course, he had slipped his bonds over those unusual hands of his the moment he was left alone. Then he had freed the rest. They sat around the tiny space now, looking at him. Their freedom didn’t mean much. There were many men in the other cave if they tried to roll the slab back from the cell opening and make a dash for it.

The old Indian — the genuine article — was conscious now, and sitting up with the rest. He must have had a devil of a headache, from the gash on the top of his skull. But with the stoicism of his race, he didn’t show it.

He looked at the man who so eerily resembled himself, save for the pale, icy eyes.

“I do not understand,” he said, in slow but good English. “For many days I have been held here by one who looks as I do — and yet not by you, who also look as I do.”

Ethel Masterson stared at him quickly.

“Then it hasn’t been you who has been telling me — the things about my father’s death?”

The old man stared at her with hurt in his eyes if not in his face.

“Your father is dead? I did not know. That is bad. He was a good man. No, it has not been me.”

“Then the man masquerading as you—” Ethel burst out.

“You have been misled from the start,” Benson said quietly. “The men who wanted to kill me and my friends saw in you a possible tool. So they used you as a dupe.”

“And you stole my clothes—” Nellie Gray began indignantly. She was still dressed in the cowgirl’s costume, switched when Ethel took Nellie’s things during the blond girl’s unconsciousness.

But Nellie stopped at the look on Ethel’s face. No accusations could make the cowgirl feel worse than she already did. That was evident.

“Your father,” said Benson, “was investigating Cloud Lake. The water level was fluctuating in the little lake. It had never done that before, and he was curious to know why it should now.”

“That’s right,” said Ethel. “But how did you know?”

“When I was at your ranch, I saw evidence of the changing level on the piling of your little dock. Also, your boat was half out of water, stranded when the water went down. I knew it was beached by the accident, and not on purpose, because it is the type of boat that should never be taken out of water; the seams dry and open if that is done.”

Ethel was staring at him with a new respect. Also with an increase of disillusion and contrition in her pretty face as she realized even more fully how absurd she had been in allowing herself to be set against this man.

“Because your father was getting curious about the changing level of Cloud Lake, he had to be killed before he discovered too much. The killer knew that I was to be called here soon. So, with a white wig, he impersonated me roughly when he shot your father, for the benefit of possible witnesses. When I arrived, I stepped into a complete murder frame.”

Ethel shook her head. She looked puzzled, as did the rest.

“Why should Masterson’s curiosity be so dangerous to this gang, Chief?” said Smitty. “And why did the level of the lake shift?”

“The lake level shifted when the water was diverted to run through a channel not far from here and power an electric generator. It shifted again when the tunnel bore was ‘accidentally’ flooded.”

“Whoosh!” said MacMurdie, staring. “Ye can’t mean that. Cloud Lake is full eight miles from here!”

Benson nodded, icy eyes flaring.

“I know. The distance is what kept people from thinking of it in connection with the flooding. But there is a rift going from the heart of this mountain clear to the lower level of the crater lake. Furthermore, there is a very modern and efficient gate-valve set into the rift so that the bore could be flooded any time desired.”

The Avenger paced the little cell, seeming to flow rather than walk, such was the smooth litheness of his movements.

“It’s all very elaborate and complicated, and yet the stake was high enough to justify it.”

Josh thought back to the report on Joe Bass’ death. Bass had been a prospector, after copper.

“You mean,” he said hesitantly, “there is copper here, and someone knew it and tried to keep the tunnel from being started because it would hit into the vein and—”

“No,” said Benson, “it’s not quite that indirect. I managed to orientate myself pretty thoroughly in the big cave outside, get all my directions down accurately, and those directions told the story.

“The Central Construction Co., along with others, bid on this Mt. Rainod tunnel job. The estimates were based on laborious drilling through a great, solid mass of stuff literally as hard and stubborn as glass. Central Construction got the job at a figure slightly over twenty million dollars. What they did not know was that straight through the heart of the mountain, so close to the line laid out for the tunnel that it is easily usable, there is a natural tunnel, or rift, that only needs a little widening in spots to accommodate a double-track roadbed.

“This means that instead of having all the glass mountain to drill through, it is only necessary to drill through a short space at either end, to open up the natural rift. Probably ninety percent of the tunnel has been done for them by nature, countless ages ago. And this means that out of the twenty-million-dollar bid, at least fifteen million will be clear profit.”

The pale, all-seeing eyes stared in the direction of the tunnel bore.

“Somebody knew that, secretly. So he set out to bankrupt the Central Construction Co. and take over the valuable contract. First he tried to get drilling operations started in the wrong place by shifting the surveyors’ marks. In that way the bore wouldn’t strike the fissure even if it did get far enough into the mountain. Then he upset the crew and drove them away by the mumbo-jumbo about the vengeance of the Rain God. Also, through the great valve, the waters of Cloud Lake were diverted into the bore, stopping all work. All to break the company.”

Nellie Gray’s lovely eyes were reflecting doubt.

“That green pillar of fog the Rain God walks in,” she said, “and the lightning bolts that killed people — they looked like more than mumbo-jumbo!”

The Avenger’s icily flaring eyes glittered.

“The green cloud was quite simple. With water available, a little of it was atomized through a hose under pressure. In this hot, dry air of Idaho, the moisture instantly formed into a mist. The greenish color was the key to the riddle. Cloud Lake, unlike most crater lakes, is not crystal-clear. Its water is greenish from water growth and algae. Hence the color of the cloud formed to hide whoever wanted to kill from it.”

“And the lightning?” said Ethel breathlessly.

“Simply a high-tension wire carried by the killer in rubber-gloved hands. There’s an excellent generator in here. It could easily deliver a lethal shock through wire cable trailed off from it. And the presence of the electric cable was indicated clearly when I fired into the cloud and twice there were blue arcs in answer: the bullets struck the wire.”

“Mon, ’tis incrrredible,” burred the Scot. “And yet, it all ties together. For instance, when I got away from the Rain God in his cloud by simply climbin’ the dead tree.”

The Avenger nodded.

“The man playing god in the cloud couldn’t see in it any better than anyone else. He could simply grope till he touched his enemy with the bared end of the cable. You were up out of his reach; so the man didn’t find you.”

“The man who walks in the green cloud, and the man who is made up as our friend, Yellow Moccasins, is the same?” said Josh slowly.

“Yes,” said Benson.

“He is the murderer of my father?” asked Ethel.

“In all probability.”

“And he is the one behind the flooded bore and the installation of generators, and the trick with the atomized water, and the rest?” demanded Smitty.

“Whoosh!” said Mac hotly. “If I ever get my hands on the skurlie—”

“He’s mine,” said Josh quickly. “He killed me, didn’t he? At least for half an hour till the chief brought me back.”

“I’ll take him,” rasped Smitty, giant hands clenching. “Just one crack at him—”

Ethel Masterson’s laugh rang out. It was cracked, hysterical.

“How you all talk,” she half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Here you face hopeless death — and you talk of dealing justice to this murderer! Why, you don’t even know who he is — who’s hiding under the Indian disguise!”

Benson’s voice was a quiet dam in the swirling path of her hysteria.

“But we do know,” he said. “I suspected it from the first — the moment I heard the successful bid of the Central Construction Co. was a full four million dollars lower than the next lowest price—”

The slab at the cell opening was rolled back. A harsh spotlight, not a flashlight but a regular reflector with an electric cable trailing back from it, stabbed within.

“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” gasped a man. “They’re loose. The white-headed guy untied himself, again!”

“It don’t matter,” said another, indifferently. He raised his voice. “Come out, you apes in there. Out into the Rain God’s cave.”

Smitty’s enormous shoulders bulged with a resolve to smash out of the cell like a tank and take as many men as he could with him to the death that was so certain for all.

Benson’s steely, slim hand touched his shoulder in a restraining gesture. There was a calmness in the hand that was incredible under the circumstances.

“Come out, I said!” the man repeated insolently. “And come one at a time, with your hands up. This is the last act for you all. You can take it now, with slugs, or you can live a little longer by doing as you’re told.”