He plunged into the opening with a backward glare that made Alberto’s heart stand still. It was no use to run—he was locked in, too. Just to wait to be murdered!
But then the boy leaped forward with a new light in his eyes. A big wooden trough stood there—uptilted upon one face. There was a muffled bellow; but he hunched his shoulder to the mass, and inched it forward, and sank upon it with a queer, sobbing laugh. A fine trap for the big rat!
But he had forgotten the difference between a strong boy’s strength and a powerful man’s. His seat heaved under him; clearly, if his weight were removed, Narigudo could lift it. The fellow had all his mighty back in play, and seemed like to overturn his prison door, jailer and all.
Alberto could not even groan. It was impossible to stay here, as great dangers were to be guarded against elsewhere. But he saw plainly that he could not get far before Narigudo would be out, and——! There was no weight nearer than the ore-sacks, and he dared not desert the trough long enough to go half-way to them. In a nightmare of terror he crouched on the trough, trying to make himself heavy, and praying to all the saints.
Suddenly he gave a wild shout. The whim! There stood the great vertical wheel; its pole, ten feet away, was two feet from the ground. If—! Thank God, there was no ore in its path!
Alberto leaped up, dancing noisily on the trough. He sprang to the floor and back, ran off two strides, and rushed upon the trough again. Now his head was clear as a bell.
In another dash he seized the ponderous pole and wrenched at it with all his force. The mill creaked and gave an inch or two. Back he pounced noisily upon the trough, and back again to the pole for another mighty tug; and again, and a dozen times again. Each time the reluctant wheel groaned a few inches forward upon its circle, and now the end of the pole barely overlapped the end of the trough.
All was quiet below. The prisoner, puzzled by these crazy antics overhead, was waiting for a clew to what it all meant. Now, indeed, he began to heave again; but Alberto, braced backward on the trough, was slowly, surely dragging the pole in. Another fierce jerk, and his task was done. The great horizontal stick overhung the very middle of the trough.
The boy rose with an effort and leaned against the wheel. A wan smile came on his lips as the trough rose with a jerk—just three inches. Then it thumped against the pole and went down with a bang. The trap was locked, and Alberto never stopped till he sank breathless on the office steps.
It was already turning dusk; there was no time to lose. Muskets plenty were in the armory, but Narigudo had the key. However, there was one gun in the office, and Alberto loaded it with nervous fingers. Then he climbed into the loop-holed turret which overhung the gate, and crouched, waiting. But another thought seemed to come, for he chuckled and ran down the court. When he came back to the tower, twenty minutes later, the stables were empty, and so was the office drawer from which Don Ygnacio distributed cohetes on the eve of a feast-day. On the other hand, a hundred sleepy mules were huddled in the entrance, with a rope stretched taut behind them, and back of the rope a great many little heaps of small, red cylinders.