The Golden Quest

CHAPTER XII. MOVES AT DUSK

IT was late the next afternoon. Harry Vincent and Rex Brodford were seated in a clearing half a mile from the shack on the slope. Rex was lighting a pipe in disgruntled fashion.

“I’m for going back to the lodge tonight,” he announced. “This has been a tough day, prowling through these hillocks. Lucky we had sense enough to put on leather puttees.”

“When will you come back?” inquired Harry, puffing casually at his pipe.

“Tomorrow,” returned Rex, “or the day after. I’ve kept my determination, Harry. I’m going to scour every inch of this land. But the job won’t be done in a week — or month.”

“Or a year, perhaps.”

Rex laughed at Harry’s rejoinder.

“Maybe you’re right,” he decided. “But our only bet is to keep on. No one’s going to give us a tip-off. Not even Old Absalom.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t think he knows anything about the Quest mine. I think Jubal knows he doesn’t. Jubal didn’t talk to him about it.”

“Maybe Jubal is waiting until we’re out of the picture.”

Harry’s tone was significant. Rex looked gloomy. He was deep in thought. Harry was meditating also.

For The Shadow’s agent had an idea that a break was coming.

Last night, at the shack, Harry had inscribed a coded note that he had later tucked under the door. In the morning, the envelope was missing. The Shadow had most certainly come for it.

Thus had Harry acquainted The Shadow with the events that he and Rex had observed in Old Absalom’s cabin. Until a reply came from The Shadow, Harry was content to continue an aimless search about the vicinity. Harry had a profound impression that The Shadow was already accomplishing some result.

HARRY was right. While he and Rex were smoking in the clearing, a figure was approaching the shack that formed their temporary headquarters. The sun had set over a hill just westward of the shack. Deep gloom was shading the tiny, one-room building.

Spectral in the dusk, the approaching form revealed itself. The Shadow was again at work, this time on the surface of the ground. Settling night was to be his mysterious habitat.

Stopping near the shack, The Shadow saw that it was empty. He turned. Pale light showed a flash of crimson, the lining of the black cloak. From folds of cloth, The Shadow drew the contour map that showed the surface of this terrain.

Moving up the slope, he picked his course with care. The Shadow was guiding his steps with the same accuracy that he had used the night before. Passing a jagged rock, The Shadow slowed his pace. He stopped beside matted ground where loose stones showed through the turf.

The trees hereabout were scrawny. Large timber was lacking on the slope.

Few persons would have noticed anything from the foliage; but The Shadow picked out a significant fact.

One spot — the very point indicated on his map — could well have been a clearing years before.

It had scrubby trees at present, but only a few maples had grown to considerable height. Evergreens looked younger than others near by. Stones, too, looked loosely imbedded. Among the trees was one that seemed alone. It showed white in the dusk. A birch tree.

The Shadow laughed. As his light mirth faded, he turned and retraced his steps toward the shack.

Stopping there, he brought out paper and pen. He inscribed a brief note; folded it in an envelope and thrust the packet under the door.

Footsteps were approaching. The Shadow faded quickly toward the trees. Harry Vincent came into view. He was arriving well ahead of Rex Brodford.

There was purpose in Harry’s advance from the clearing. His eyes were looking toward the door the moment that he arrived.

Harry spied the envelope. He grasped it, tore it open and scanned blue-inked lines. The fading daylight was just sufficient for him to read The Shadow’s message. Dried ink disappeared as Harry completed his reading. The agent thrust paper and envelope into his pocket.

Swinging about, Harry saw Rex coming from the corner of the cabin. In casual fashion, Harry motioned toward the hill. He had a suggestion.

“It’s getting dark,” he remarked. “Let’s climb up the hill before the sunset. Get a look at your domain.”

“All right,” laughed Rex. He was carrying a pickax. “Wait until I drop this piece of junk.”

“Bring it along,” said Harry. “Be prepared.”

Rex laughed again, in agreement. Shouldering the pickax, he followed Harry along the hill. They had gone about fifty yards when Harry stopped.

“That’s odd,” remarked Harry, pointing.

“What is?” queried Rex.

“A birch tree,” answered Harry. “A young one. First I’ve seen right around here.”

“Maybe someone planted it.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask me.”

They started on. Harry paused.

“Wait a moment,” he suggested. “You’ve given me an idea. Maybe someone did plant that birch tree; and maybe there’s a reason for it. It might be a marker, for instance.”

“To locate the mine shaft?”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

Rex sprang forward with the pickax. He began to chop at the ground about the birch tree. Harry pointed to a spot where rocks projected loosely. Rex drove at the turf. Stones rolled free at every stroke.

Then the pick hit wood. Battering away loose earth, Rex uncovered a buried beam. More strokes revealed a second log. The two looked like railroad ties, with rocks and earth imbedded between them.

Harry took the pick. His strokes added new discovery. Chunks of rock jounced free. Old timbers cracked. One split. Stony fragments fell loose and dropped through a hole. The workers heard them crash below.

“It’s the mine shaft!” cried Rex. “The buried entrance to the old Quest mine! My turn at the pick, Harry.”

IN five minutes, Rex cleared a sizable opening. Timbers recoiled with his blows; stones gave way, and clattered through the crevice. Portions of the covering surface gave from their own weight. Rex stopped working while he and Harry peered down into a yawning cavity.

The entrance was large enough to enter. But the work had taken time. Both men were exhausted; meanwhile, dusk had settled, and it was almost as dark as night.

“Clear away some more, Harry,” said Rex. “I’m going down to the shack. I’ll bring back the lantern and a lot of rope. By that time, we’ll be ready to explore this hole.”

Harry took the pick as Rex hurried away. His strokes began again.

Eyes were watching from the darkness. The Shadow had remained. But now, with the job under way, The Shadow saw no cause for lingering. As Rex’s footfalls ended in the distance, The Shadow moved slowly away from the vicinity.

Rex was eager in his haste. He felt that chance had aided his cause. With the mine shaft actually uncovered, the heir wanted to lose no time in its exploration.

He reached the shack, found the lantern and lighted it. He placed it upon a cot; then began to dig into the luggage that he and Harry had brought.

Rex found a rope. He coiled it and placed it beside the lantern. He found another pick; then decided to take a spade also. He went to a corner beyond a cot, pulled a tool into view, and shouldered it. He turned to get the pick and the rope.

It was then that a sound startled him. Rex looked toward the door. Spade in hand, he stood glaring at a man who had stepped into view. For a moment, Rex had expected to see Harry Vincent.

Instead, he was face to face with Old Absalom!

THE hermit was grinning through his beard. There was something friendly in the manner of the recluse.

Under ordinary circumstances, Rex would have taken the man for a friend.

But Rex had not forgotten last night’s episode. Old Absalom had taken blood money. He had been paid to murder; and Rex and Harry were to be his victims. In a second, Rex had sized the situation.

The hermit, eager for more coin, had grown impatient of waiting. Knowing that his victims were living in this shack, he had decided to venture from his isle and trick them to their doom.

Unwitting of the fact that Rex and Harry had listened in on Jubal’s sales talk, the bearded man had no reason to believe that a trap would be suspected. To Rex, this friendliness on the part of the recluse was nothing more than an assassin’s ruse.

As Old Absalom stepped into the shack, hands forward, Rex decided upon quick action. Leaping to meet the advancing hermit, the young man swung the spade and started a fierce stroke to beat down the bearded man.

Rex made a swift spring, calculating that the recluse would dodge. It was that belief that proved his undoing. For Old Absalom acted in a manner that was both swift and effective. Instead of diving backward toward the door, the hermit leaped forward with surprising agility, coming in under the sweeping blade of the spade.

It was the handle, not the spade edge, that staggered the bearded man. The blow missed Absalom’s head, thanks to a shift that the hermit made. It was Old Absalom’s shoulder that took the stroke; and though the force spun him about, it did not cripple him.

Before Rex could recoil from the blow he himself had delivered, Old Absalom made a new pounce forward. The hermit’s big hands found the young man’s throat. With a swift surge, Old Absalom hurled his quarry back into the corner.

Rex’s head struck the wall. The young man slumped. The spade clattered useless to the floor. Panting as he stood above his half-stunned foe, Old Absalom grinned in triumph. Picking up the rope that lay upon the cot, he began to bind his enemy to prevent further battle.

Swift seconds had brought a startling turn of affairs. Rex Brodford, elated by the discovery of the lost mine shaft, was now a prisoner. He was in the hands of Old Absalom, the man who had been hired to slay him!