It might easily be possible that Sackett, in some of his other dishonest games, had taken someone else prisoner and the man was trying to break through to him. In that case it behooved the professor to try and help whoever was coming through the wall of his dungeon. He took the cigar lighter from his pocket, made it flash and then looked at his watch by its brief blue flame. It was now one o’clock in the morning.
Continuing to make flashes the teacher watched the wall and after a time found the rock upon which the unknown man was working. It was a large block in the very center of the south wall, and under the soft blows of the man on the other side it was already slightly loose. The professor could see it move. He took out a knife which he had and began to pick at the edges on his side, chipping carefully and as noiselessly as possible. It was evident that the person on the other side knew that he was helping for the scraping stopped abruptly but after a moment it was resumed.
They worked on in silence, the professor listening for sounds from upstairs, but none came. The men were evidently asleep or they had left the place altogether, for he heard no movement and he was not interrupted in his labors. He found that the soft and rotted material between the stones was easy to dislodge, and his mysterious helper was pushing as he worked, so that the huge stone was beginning to move toward the cell of the professor. Only a fraction of an inch at a time, but it was enough to give the teacher hope, and finally it was far enough out to allow him to get the tips of his fingers under the rough edge of the stone.
By working it back and forth the professor at length got it loose. It came out with a rush, nearly bending him double with the unexpected weight. At the same time a light flared in his eyes and he hastily deposited the stone on the floor of his dungeon. When this was completed he straightened up and confronted his companion.
It was Yappi, the mestizo. He held a torch of pitch wood in his one hand and a keen knife in the other. He had evidently worked hard at the stone, for his hands were dirty and so was his mouth and forehead, showing that he had stopped more than once to wipe them with his dirty hands. The professor was glad to see the man but more than astonished at what he saw back of him. The ranchman was standing in a vaulted underground passage, which ran back a distance that the professor could not make out.
“Yappi!” cried the professor, in a low voice. “How did you get here?”
“I followed you, senor,” said the old man, simply. “It was somewhat hard work, for my feet are not so swift to run as they once were. But when I knew that they had carried you off to this castle I laughed inside, for I knew this castle very well.”
In one sense Yappi was a mystery. He was an ordinary mixture of Spanish and Indian, and yet not ordinary in other ways. He possessed a dignity and his English was perfect. Ned Scott could never learn where he got it. Except for rare periods when he became sulky or falsely sensitive he was always steady and reliable. The professor had greatly misjudged him when he had thought him a coward, and later on apologized, an apology which was very graciously accepted.
“What is this underground passage?” whispered the professor eagerly, forgetting his situation in his interest.
“It is as old as the castle, senor, and I have known of it since I was a child. Many times I have played around these ruins. But come, we waste time and must be going.”