Part 24 (1/2)

”I'll tell you that tomorrow,” he answered, ”after James Dean tells me.”

”If de yell com' from de hole, den de _tamahnawus_ mak' um,” imparted the Indian, fearfully. ”An' if he can't get out dat better we let um stay in dere. Ain' no man kin git in dat hole. I ain' know nuttin' 'bout no James Dean.”

A half-hour before sunrise the following morning Connie started up the slope, closely followed by 'Merican Joe, who mumbled gruesome forebodings as he crowded so close that he had to keep a sharp lookout against treading upon the tails of Connie's rackets. When they had covered half the distance a black fox broke from a nearby patch of scrub and dashed for the hole in the rock-ledge, and as they approached the place another fox emerged from the thicket, paused abruptly, and circled widely to the shelter of another thicket.

Arriving at the ledge, Connie took up his position squarely in front of the hole, while 'Merican Joe, grimly grasping the helve of his belt ax, sank down beside him, and with trembling fingers untied the thongs of one of his snowshoes.

”What are you doing that for?” asked Connie, in a low voice.

”Me--I'm so scare w'en dat yell com', I'm 'fraid I runaway. If I ain'

got jus' wan snowshoe, I can't run.”

”You're all right,” smiled the boy, as he reached out and laid a rea.s.suring hand upon the Indian's arm, and hardly had the words left his lips than from the mouth of the hole came the wild cry that mounted higher and higher, and then died away in a quavering tremolo. Instantly, Connie thrust his face close to the hole. ”h.e.l.lo!” he cried at the top of his lungs, and again: ”h.e.l.lo, in there!”

A moment of tense silence followed, and then from the hole came the sound of a voice. ”h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo! Don't go 'way--for G.o.d's sake! h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo----”

”We're not going away,” answered the boy, ”we've come to get you out--James Dean!”

”James Dean! James Dean!” repeated the voice from the ground. ”Get James Dean out!”

”We'll get you out, all right,” rea.s.sured the boy. ”But tell us how you got in, and why you can't get out the same way?”

”There's no way out!” wailed a voice of despair, ”I'm buried alive, an'

there's no way out!”

”How did you get in?” insisted the boy. ”Come, think, because it'll help us to get you out.”

”Get in--a long time ago--years and years ago--James Dean is very old.

The whole hill is hollow and James Dean is buried alive.”

Connie gave up trying to obtain information from the unfortunate man whose inconsistent remarks were of no help. ”I'll see if these rocks are loose,” he called, as he sc.r.a.ped the snow away from the edges of the hole and tapped at the rock with the back of his belt ax.

”It ain't loose!” came the voice. ”It's solid rock--a hundred ton of it caved in my tunnel. The whole hill is quartz inside and I shot a face and the hill caved in.”

A hurried examination confirmed the man's statement. Connie found, under the snow, evidences of the mouth of a tunnel, and then he saw that the whole face of the ledge had fallen forward, blocking the tunnel at the mouth. The small triangular opening used by the foxes, had originally been a notch in the old face of the ledge. The boy stared at the ma.s.s of rock in dismay. Fully twelve feet of solid rock separated the man from the outside world! Once more he placed his mouth to the hole. ”h.e.l.lo, James Dean!”

”h.e.l.lo!”

”Isn't there any other opening to the cave?” he asked.

”Opening to the cave? Another opening? No--no--only my window, an'

that's too high.”

”Window,” cried Connie. ”Where is your window?”

”'Way up high--a hundred feet high. I've carried forty ton of rock--but I never can reach it--because I've run out of rock--and my powder and drills was buried in the cave-in.”

”I'm going to find that window!” cried the boy. ”You go back and get as close to the window as you can, and yell and I'll find it, and when I do, we'll pull you out in a jiffy.”

”It's too high,” wailed the man, ”and my rock run out!”