In the very next moment, the boys were given their first opportunity to look directly into the eyes of Toma, and were rewarded with a sly wink. Pretending to brush the perspiration from his face, Toma’s finger stole to his lips.
Either Dick or Sandy would have given a good deal just then to have been able to speak to their guide. But they realized that this was impossible. Baptiste’s duty it was to see that the work progressed rapidly and Henderson had given strict orders that there was to be no talking. To disobey this ironclad rule would result in swift punishment, either at the hands of La Lond or some other person equally as brutal.
It did not take the boys long to discover that Baptiste was a hard taskmaster. He was continually among them, exhorting them to redouble their efforts and speed up the work, bullying and tormenting them in every way possible. On one occasion he jabbed Toma in the ribs with the muzzle of his revolver and threatened to throw him down the shaft if he didn’t step more lively.
Toma blinked, but held his peace. In a few minutes his face was as inscrutable as ever.
The work party at the new shaft consisted of four persons besides Dick, Toma and Sandy. These four were Indians recruited for the purpose from the tribe with whom Scar-Face had aligned himself. They were all tall, swarthy young men of about Dick’s own age. They had entered upon their duties with a good deal of enthusiasm, but at the end of an hour or two, the uninteresting, monotonous work palled upon them. Shortly after Dick’s and Sandy’s arrival, they had begun to regret their promises to Scar-Face and slackened down on the job.
This action on their part placed Baptiste in a rather peculiar position. Neither could he speak their language, nor dare to employ the brutal methods he did not hesitate to use in the case of the three prisoners. Time and time again, he strode forward with grim purpose in his eyes, only to check himself, growl out a burning oath and return sullenly to his seat on the rock. A climax was reached finally when Henderson, on his regular round of inspection, paused to peep down in the shaft.
His sudden, violent verbal explosive caused every member of the work party, including Baptiste, to jump.
“This water ain’t goin’ down a danged inch,” he snarled. “What’s wrong?”
“Ah, monsieur——” La Lond wrung his hands in desperation. “Ah, monsieur, zer ees a veree great trouble. Ze Indians, ze Indians, monsieur!”
“Well, what about ’em?”