The Golden Quest

CHAPTER XIII. THWARTED RESCUE

UP on the slope, Harry Vincent had paused with his pickax. He had cleared an opening of sufficient size.

That done, he was wondering why Rex Brodford had not returned.

There had been ample time for Rex to get down to the shack and back. Rex had started in a hurry; Harry had expected him to continue the pace. Amid the darkness, Harry stared for some sign of Rex’s lantern.

He saw none.

Harry was trained to scent trouble quickly. When doubt seized him, he acted. Dropping his pick, he started down the path that his companion had taken. Rocks clattered under his hasty stride.

Rounding a clump of bushes, Harry caught a slanted view of the shack door. He saw a swaying glimmer.

Evidently Rex had hung the lantern on a hook; there were several in the shack. But why was he delaying?

The time interval had been a short one. Though puzzled, Harry did not feel that an actual menace existed.

Hence he did not draw his gun as he hurried to the shack. He was totally unprepared for what he saw when he arrived at the opened door.

Crossing the threshold, Harry spied Rex sprawled upon the floor in the far corner. Bending above him was a stoop-shouldered man. Both were beneath the glare of the lantern that now was hanging from the wall. Harry could see that Rex was bound with rope.

As Harry’s footsteps stopped, the stooping man leaped up. There, in the circle of light, Harry saw the bearded visage of Old Absalom. To the hermit, Harry was a figure just beyond the range of light.

A vengeful cry escaped Harry’s lips, The Shadow’s agent stopped short, ready to pull his gun. Old Absalom came twisting with a wild fling. Instinctively, Harry leaped to ward off the attack.

They locked. Harry’s fingers caught the hermit’s throat. Gargling, Old Absalom tried to splutter words.

The attempt only made Harry tighten his clutch. The bearded man fought wildly. As they staggered close beside the gleaming lantern, Harry saw lips moving in the light.

The hermit’s eyes were half closed. They did not see Harry’s face. The man was struggling for life, and Harry’s grip was strong. But as they lunged toward the wall, a break came in the hermit’s favor.

The locked fighters blundered against a cot. Harry lost his footing. He stumbled; his hands yielded. Old Absalom wrested free. Again the man tried to cry out; but his voice was no more than a hoarse gasp.

Harry pounced hard to bear the fellow down. The hermit met him with an unexpected uppercut; one that showed Old Absalom to be no mean fighter with his fists. The pugilistic effort staggered Harry.

In a trice, Old Absalom had the advantage. It was he who caught Harry in a vicious grip.

Harry fought back. Odds against him, he reeled toward the door, dragging the fighting hermit with him.

Old Absalom swung him against the wall, to deliver a blow like the one that had felled Rex Brodford. But Harry resisted; a twist of his head spoiled the hermit’s attempt.

Harry shoved a fist into the bearded face. Knuckles cracked hard against the matted protection of Old Absalom’s chin. The hermit rocked; then caught at Harry’s hand. Struggling in darkness, they fought equally.

BACK and forth, from wall to wall, the combat continued. The shack clattered with the noise of the strife. The swaying bodies thumped the thin board walls with terrific force. Then Harry made a valiant effort to end the fray.

Throwing out a foot; he tripped the hermit. Old Absalom, falling, increased his clutch. They rolled across the floor. Harry wrestled free. He was willing to give this enemy a temporary triumph if it would bring the break he wanted.

As the hermit plunged after him, Harry came to hands and knees. He dodged, clutched the wall and came to his feet. Old Absalom was doing the same. Harry could see the fierce face in the light, although he himself was out of the range of illumination.

Diving away as the hermit came plunging in bull-like fashion, Harry started for the door of the shack. Old Absalom leaped in front to block the move. Twisting, Harry swung back in. Old Absalom turned about and lunged after him.

Again, Harry reversed tactics. He dived toward the door, dropping wide as he did. His leg clipped the hermit’s shins. Old Absalom kept onward, headlong, rolling clear to the corner where Rex lay bound.

Instead of trying to pounce after the fellow, Harry came up in the opposite direction, twisting about as he headed toward the door. Hence the hermit, also coming to his feet, was distant by the full length of the shack.

Old Absalom was groggy, but still determined. He launched himself forward for a tremendous leap, anxious to grapple again. He swayed momentarily before starting forward. It was nerve alone that was holding him together.

Panting, Harry yanked his automatic from his pocket. Though he felt pity for this deluded foe, he could see but one course open. Like Rex, he had begun a vicious attack, knowing that Old Absalom had taken murder money.

Harry’s thought was that Rex’s life, like his own, depended upon the coming deed. He must drop the hermit with a single shot; for Old Absalom, like a ferocious bear, would fight more venomously if merely wounded.

The hermit’s forward plunge was starting. Harry’s finger was steady on the trigger. But no shot left the automatic. Before Harry could fire, a new attack came from another quarter.

A form whirled inward from the opened door. It plunged upon Harry Vincent with the speed of an avalanche. Powerful arms sent Harry headlong toward the floor. A viselike fist plucked the automatic from his clutch.

Sprawling, Harry came up, half facing his antagonist. In one brief instant, he saw the attacker who had downed him. A figure in black, with burning eyes beneath the brim of a slouch hat. A cloaked fighter who had acted with the swiftness of a cyclone.

A strange laugh came from hidden lips. Mirthful, taunting peals gave enigmatic mockery.

As Harry swayed, bewildered, another form came plunging on him. Old Absalom, at last in action, had found his quarry.

HARRY dropped back upon the floor. His head took a thump. He felt the hermit’s fists against his face.

With a gasp, Harry sank exhausted. That swift blow from the doorway; this final thump from Absalom — the two strokes had combined to eliminate him from the fight.

As Harry’s senses faded, the last impression that came to his bewildered mind was that of a throbbing laugh that died to nothingness. The laugh of The Shadow. Harry had heard it peal in times of triumph; but never on such an event as this.

Old Absalom heard the mockery also. But the hermit, still half groggy, did not see the figure that had swung back to the door. With bearded chin upon his chest, Absalom was holding Harry Vincent pinned down while he tried to regain his own strength in case The Shadow’s agent offered new attack.

But Harry was out. As seconds passed, the hermit learned that fact. Old Absalom’s eyes lost their glassiness. His gaze focused upon the white face beneath his hands. For the first time, he was getting a good look at his downed antagonist.

A sudden laugh came from the man’s bearded lips. Old Absalom released his hold, seeing that Harry lay half-stunned. Drawing himself up, the hermit rose to his feet, wabbled for a moment, then steadied. He picked up Harry’s automatic from the floor.

A chuckle. A shake of the head. Old Absalom was again surveying his conquered foe. The battle over, this potential killer seemed to relish it as a huge joke. He looked toward Rex, bound and helpless in the corner; then toward Harry, who lay moving feebly.

Again, Old Absalom laughed as he stood in the focus of the electric lantern. Turning about, the hermit stared in the direction or the door. But he saw no one there. Black was fading into blackness.

The Shadow had witnessed Old Absalom’s recovery. He knew that the hermit stood triumphant. He had watched the expressions that had come over the bearded face. Then The Shadow had departed.

Moving silently through the darkness, The Shadow gave no further token of his presence. He was turning toward the slope, going to the vicinity that he had left — the spot that Rex and Harry had unearthed as the entrance to the forgotten mine shaft.

The Shadow’s action indicated that he was through with those who remained in the shack; that new duty summoned him to the hillside, away from the scene of strife. He seemed to see no further reason why he should remain upon the scene where men had battled.

IN the shack, Old Absalom stood by the lantern, his eyes keen, his lips forming a smile that showed plainly through his matted beard. Though he did not realize how the tide had turned, the hermit did know that he had won. He was chuckling over his double victory.

Harry Vincent heard him dimly. Eyes half opened, The Shadow’s agent was regaining his lost senses.

Again the details of the fight throbbed through his brain. Harry realized how he had been stopped from victory. He knew the identity of the fighter who had hindered him in his struggle against Old Absalom.

Harry closed his eyes with a groan. Dizziness, as well as misery, had gripped him. He did not care what his own fate might be. He could not understand all that had happened. What matter if he lay in the hands of a man who had been bribed to kill?

All through the conflict, Harry had battled with but one thought in mind. That was to save Rex Brodford, the man with whom he had become friends. Now that chance was ended, by the most incongruous turn of events that Harry had ever experienced.

Harry had fought to save a friend. He had failed in the task. Rescue had been thwarted by The Shadow!