A FAILURE IN CALCULATION
“What shall we do now?” asked Ruth finally, and in a whisper.
“Let’s go down to that place where we saw the boat land the other morning,” returned her companion. “I’d like to look about there a bit.”
“Do you think it is wise?”
“I don’t know about the wisdom of it,” chuckled Chessleigh. “But I do know that I’m not at all satisfied. Some people are here on the island, and I’d like to know where they are.”
“I am afraid we will get into trouble.”
“If it is only that old man——”
“We don’t know that it is. He must be talking to somebody—if that is his voice we hear.”
“Maybe he is only talking to himself. I don’t hear anybody else,” replied the young fellow. “Come on. Let’s see the thing through, now we have started.”
Indeed Ruth wanted to see it through. She was quite as curious as her companion. So she made no further objection.
Pushing through the brush, they climbed carefully down the slope on the outer side of the island. The landing where they had fastened their own boat was on the inner side of the island, while this side fronted the broad expanse of the river.
They could see the hurrying current, glinted here and there by the soft starlight. Everything looked ghostly about them. The dim silvery light made it possible for them to pick their way without stumbling. They made little noise in reaching the shore.
There was a little indention here—a tiny cove. The shore was shelving, and of sand and gravel. Chess pointed silently to the unmistakable marks of a boat’s bow in several places.
“That boat has been here more than once,” he whispered.
Ruth breathed “Yes,” but said no more.
Up-stream of the cove was a great mass of rock—not one rock, but several huddled together and the cracks between overgrown with brush and vines. Chess brought into use the electric torch again.
He shot the spotlight into the crannies. Was there a path there between two of the big boulders? He drew Ruth’s attention to it with a touch on her arm. She saw that some of the bushes were broken—the vines torn away and dead.
“Somebody has been here,” she murmured.
“Of course. That is what we came to find,” said the young man. “We are on the verge of a discovery, Ruth.”
“I hope we are not on the verge of trouble,” she returned, in the same low tone.
“Don’t have a bit of fear,” he told her, in a louder voice.
He was about to mention the loaded pistol in his pocket; then thought better of it. But he went ahead, venturing into the narrow passage between the two boulders.
The ray of the torch showed the way. It played on the ground at their feet and upon the rocky sides of the passage. Was that an abrupt end to the passage ahead of them, or a sharp turn in it? Chess pressed on, Ruth trying to peer over his shoulder, although to do this she had to stand on tiptoe.
“By jove!” uttered the young man in surprise, “I believe it is a cavern. It’s the entrance to a cave.”
“Then those voices did come from a cavern. Be careful, Chess—do!”
He had reached the turn in the passage. A jutting shelf of rock roofed them over. The young man shut off the lamp and they were in darkness. He thrust forward his head to peer around the corner.
As he did so, without the least warning, something swished through the air and Ruth heard the sound of a dull blow. Chess pitched forward, with a groan of pain, falling to his knees.
Ruth uttered a scream. She did not try to retreat, but seized the young man by the shoulders and dragged him back.
Her brave act saved the young fellow from receiving a second and heavier blow. A club was being wielded in the hands of a powerful man who had met them in the passage!
Chess was speechless and apparently in a confused state of mind. The electric torch had fallen from his hand. He seemed struggling to get something out of his jacket pocket, but before he could accomplish this a light flashed up in the tunnel ahead.
The same sing-song, chattering voice they had heard so faintly on the summit of the island broke out close at hand. In the red, flickering light of a burning pine torch the frightened girl saw a man in a broad-brimmed hat and loose, flapping upper garment bending over Chess with a club again raised to strike.
“Don’t hurt him! Don’t hit him again!” she cried.
Other voices—all speaking in that strange, sing-song tongue—broke out, and Ruth suddenly realized that these enemies that confronted them were Chinese.
In the red light she saw clearly now, under the round, broad-brimmed hat, the yellow face and slanting eyes of the man. Ruth did not understand it—she could not imagine why these Orientals should be here on the island. But she realized fully that the calculations of Copley and herself had gone astray. They were in peril—serious peril.
The leading Chinaman glared into Ruth’s frightened face and his thin lips curled back from his yellow teeth in a snarl like that of a rabid dog. His very look was enough to turn the girl cold. She trembled, still striving to drag the half-senseless Chessleigh back.
The Chinaman uttered a long, jabbering howl, turning his face over his shoulder as though speaking to those who crowded behind him in the passage. Ruth might still have escaped, but she would not desert her injured companion.
Suddenly there was a stir in the passage and the big Chinaman was thrust aside. Another figure pushed forward—a ragged, bushy-haired figure. It was the King of the Pipes!
“Hush!” he commanded in his old way.
He waved the Chinaman back. He seemed to have some authority, for the burly Chinaman obeyed. The old man thrust his face forward and peered with his wild eyes into Ruth’s countenance.
“Hush!” he whispered. “What did I tell you? I know you, of course. I told you that I could not divide my kingdom with any one. It was quite useless for you to come here again.
“And see what has come of it,” he added. “The Pipes have seen you. They know your intentions. They will never in this world stand for a divided kingdom. I shall have to cut off your head. Too bad! Too bad!”
He seized Ruth’s wrist. She tried to draw away from him, but he was much more powerful than she had supposed. One quick jerk and she was fairly dragged over the crouching figure of Copley and around the corner of the narrow passage.
The head Chinaman darted forward and seized Chess. He likewise was dragged into the place. Amid the chattering of several high, sing-song voices, and only half seeing what was being done because of the flickering torchlight, Ruth knew that she was being hurried into a tunnel of some size that ran back into the island.
It was rocky all about her—on both sides as well as under foot and overhead. It was a natural tunnel, not one made by man. The figures flitting before her were gnomelike. She saw clearly only the old man who led her, holding her tightly by the arm. She knew that the Chinaman was dragging Chess behind them, as though that unfortunate young man was a sack of potatoes.
This outcome of their innocent adventure was entirely different from anything Ruth had dreamed of. If she did not exactly fear the queer old man who called himself the King of the Pipes, she certainly did fear the men who were with him in this cavern.