“Weren’t you trying to hear what I was saying—the night of the fire—aren’t you in the employ of Robert Hayward?” demanded the man, asking his questions too quickly to permit of any answer.
“I’m not employed by Mr. Hayward, though I know him, and he is a friend of mine,” declared Fenn. “I wasn’t intentionally listening to what you were saying that night, but, when I found you were an enemy of Mr. Hayward, I wanted to know more about you.”
“How do you know I am his enemy?” asked the man.
“From the way you talked. Besides, why did you chase after me, and try to catch us on the Modoc?”
“That’s something for me to know, and for you to find out,” replied the man, with an unpleasant laugh. “You’re too wise, you are.”
“Maybe I’ll find out more than you want me to,” retorted Fenn.
“No danger. I’m going to put you where you can’t do anything for a while, and, after you’ve cooled down a bit, I’ll think of what to do next. Tom, come here,” he called.
A big man approached, and, at a nod from the fellow of the sinister countenance, gathered Fenn up in his arms, in spite of the resistance the lad made. Fenn soon found it was useless to struggle, so he remained quietly in the grip of the burly chap.
“Take him to the inner cave,” directed the man, whom the others addressed as Dirkfell, “and then come back. We need you in getting this last load out. After that we’ll take a rest.”
Fenn tried to see where he was being carried, but it was almost impossible in the darkness. There were several flickering torches, stuck in the earthen walls of the cavern, here and there, and, by the glimmers of them, the youth could see men hurrying to and fro. Some carried picks and others shovels, while some bore boxes that seemed to be very heavy.