After gliding through the thorn brake, Joe lowered himself to the very ground. Fairly creeping, he seemed at a loss, clever as he had shown, himself. But, after thrice scrutinising the ground, he saw something dully gleaming. He crawled up to it. It was a piece of tinfoil, such as is used for enveloping chewing tobacco. It was roughly shaped into the form of a dart, the head pointing in the direction which he immediately took. It led him to another thorny bush, guarding an airhole about a yard square, almost impossible to discover even close by in broad day.
Joe knew that the guide had laid the indicator there, and with joy and confidence he dived into this kind of wild animals' burrow. It was a dry water course, a natural culvert, or drain, six feet wide in the best parts, and sometimes twelve high, ragged with worn rock, but also floored most smoothly with the finest yellow sand. Spite of his haste, he could not help carrying a pinch—spread out artistically on his palm—to his mouth; he tasted it for metallic traces, and grinned as he murmured, "Copper, I guess; silver, dead sure; and some gold. These rocks would pay blasting up some day."
But he was not after gold this time. So far the sand had glowed faintly orange from an unknown light. But soon the tunnel grew perfectly lightless.
"Whew!" muttered the Carcajieu, smiling, "In this place the King of Shades himself would stub his toe!"
As he pushed on he employed the minutest care not to make even the faintest noise that could betray him.
Ten minutes seemed an interminable period thus. Only then, though, did a luminous streaking show that he had actually arrived under the captain's tent.
He stopped, so anxious that he quivered convulsively. He was ashamed at himself for being so unstrung. He breathed long and regularly till he had calmed himself, and being confident, he examined the rocky side of his concealment as far up as possible. There were many fissures, but few went clean through straight. Two or three gave him views of the tent interior, useless to him. One, however, about four or five feet up, offered a capital spy hole. He applied his eye and gazed in. Almost at once he drew himself violently back in surprise, and a grin of delight hard to depict. He turned pale, and large beads of perspiration formed on his brow and slowly trickled down.
"Good heavens!" he thought to himself, "Can it be? I must have seen awry!" But, having another peep, he murmured, "It's the man, and no mistake! Doubt is not allowable. He is not in the grave, then. Hang me!" he went on, clenching his fists mechanically, "But the devil will have to take you, or this time I shall. 'Tis he, the outlaw, the villain who robbed the miners. Oh, you wretch! Are you still in this world? But I have your inmost secret now, and you may well tremble! This is a wide desert, old boy, but on three sides there are railroads now; law officers and courts of justice on all four. You are a goner, this trip, Mr. Harry Brown!"
After having thus given vent to anger and indignation long contained, Corky Joe felt calmness return to his mind. He wiped his forehead dry, smoothed his features, and, this time, it was the serene, steady eye as of an astronomer that he set to the gap.
As far as appearances went, there was nothing to justify the strange wrath which blazed up in the false lieutenant. The tent and cavern formed half a circle, which, if completed, would have spanned over twenty yards from the apex to the base. An iron folding bedstead, on which was a flock mattress, and a quantity of buffalo robes and other furs, was set up at the back, trunks being piled near it. On a folding table in the centre, between a bottle lantern and a candle in a tin dish, a travelling case was opened, more filled with papers than shaving utensils and toilet implements. It was supplied with secret pockets and false bottom, so that, though the captain always carried it on his horse and kept it by him, Joe had never suspected it was a receptacle for documents.