CONTRARY TO HIS expectations, Eggers was not enjoying himself. He had proceeded with the expectation that everything would be under control, once he had Montana Abbott and the others as hostages. The planning had been simple, and apparently sure.
Reality was not so manageable. That a plan of such careful proportions might be ruined with a few careless words, and his connection with crime established, was a possibility that he had overlooked. But it had happened, and now there was only one way out.
Endlessly, wearily, he went over the possibilities, but they refused to change. Too many powerful figures were involved, from the Governor on down. Even more dangerous would be the outrage of the general public, should the details ever come to light. Many a man had been lynched for lesser cause. They would hardly make an exception in his case.
Grimly he closed his mind to the unpleasant aspects. They had allowed themselves to get into such a fix, and now it was not alone the success of a business venture; it was his life, or theirs.
At that point, argument stopped.
Daylight disclosed snow to the depth of a foot, with more falling. The towering mountains up-thrusting almost at hand were lost and smothered in the storm, and panic of another sort stabbed at Eggers. This might well be the beginning of winter. Trapped far from supplies, a man might perish—
On the other hand, it was a solution to his problem.
“I’m heading back for town,” he informed Hoag. “And from the looks of things, you’d better do the same.”
“You mean now?” Hoag demanded incredulously. “What about Abbott—and the women? You don’t mean—”
“Last I knew of them, they was camped snug and warm, so why should we worry about them?” Eggers returned with elaborate carelessness. “Stay away from where we were,” he added pointedly. “That way there’ll be no tracks, no sign.” To his astonishment, the gunman was both shocked and disapproving.
“Kind of a mean way of doing. A bullet would be a lot easier, as well as quicker.”
“And a lot riskier. This way, we’ve nothing to worry about. And if it’s your pay you’re worrying about, it’s all right. Once the toll road starts to pay off, you can grow a set of whiskers and handle the job, as respectable as a carpet-bagger Yankee, and rakin’ in money just about as fast.” Such a prospect had its appeal, as he had counted on. There came a time when even a wolf tired of skulking.
Hoag, however, lingered after his companion had departed. The storm held no terrors for him, certain as he was that more good weather would follow. And while the snow continued to fall, it afforded a perfect cover. With Eggers gone, he could follow his orders, or not, as he pleased.
A fixed purpose was taking shape in his mind. Working for Ham Eggers had been largely unrewarding. There had been plenty of promise but not much cash. Even worse, old grudges had gone unresolved, again at Eggers insistence.
This time, things would be different. Before heading back, he’d settle with Abbott, one way or another. Either way, of course, he’d leave him in that hole, so no one would know the difference.
And there was no reason why he shouldn’t rescue the ladies. Eggers might not like that, but the hell with him.
They had made their camp at some distance from the old mine. Now, approaching the foot of the hill, Hoag paused for a look at the pool. The temperature was a few degrees above freezing, the snow wet and clinging, so that evergreens were cone-like and feathery. The overflow stream led away, lost presently in a denser growth of trees. The water of the pool showed dark and cold, and that was no misnomer. Coming from deep underground, it was cold even on a hot day in summer.
It gushed torrent-like, from its ancient channel, emerging near the bottom of the pool, boiling and surging, the waters eternally troubled. The pool was some ten feet deep, twice as wide at the top, before the overflow lapped greedily across the rocky rim of the cup, then joined to form the creek. At one side, a heavy overhang of rock shadowed rather them roofed.
Hoag had spent a couple of days here, weeks before, helping build the door which now closed the entrance to the old mine. Several times each day he had been drawn to the pool, awed and fascinated by the surge of hidden waters.
Again he looked, trying to penetrate those uneasy depths, even as he shivered uneasily. All at once he blinked, leaning forward, then grabbed frantically for his revolver. There was something, a monster, in the pool—
Montana awoke, sore and unrefreshed, momentarily confused by the enduring quality of the darkness, lamed by the unyielding hardness of the rock on which he lay. Sitting up stiffly, he remembered, hearing the boil and surge of the water.
Stifling a groan, he got to his feet. He was growing soft, he decided. He had worked hard all summer and fall, putting up hay, building fences, looking after cattle, but during that prolonged period he had slept in a good bed, instead of rolled in a blanket wherever night overtook him. Such ease had helped to spoil him for the hardships of the trail.
He heard vague stirrings against the endless sound of the water, then a murmur of voices told him that the girls were awake also. He guessed that they would be even more tired and stiff than he was, so he essayed as cheerful a good-morning as he could manage.
Human voices were welcome. This darkness suggested eternal night. Melissa’s response was on an imploring note.
“Can you light the lantern, Montana? I’ve no idea what time it may be, but it’s been an endless night.”
Instinct for direction had become a sure guide across the years, whether he threaded a maze of hills, traversed an endless prairie, or was cooped-up in such close confines. He lit the lantern, and its glow pushed back the dark.
Both girls had watches, and from the time they gave Montana judged that it would be daylight outside, though no trace of light seeped into this man-made cavern. The door was well fitted, and with the storm, snow would have laid a heavy blanket over and around the cracks.
He set about building a fire, while his companions sliced bacon and stirred up flapjacks. The aroma of coffee as it came to a boil belied the grimness of this camp-site. Smoke from the fire curled toward the ceiling, presenting no problem.
Montana was never troubled by a lack of appetite, and they made the occasion almost enjoyable, each shying away from the question as to prospects for the future.
Lying sleepless much of the night, Montana had pondered their chances, always to the same cheerless conclusion. Dead, they would serve their enemies’ purpose. Alive, under any circumstances, they would be an enduring menace.
The guide was negligible, but for Hoag and Eggers, self-preservation would dictate their course. Lefty had boasted of murdering Thomas Meagher, the former acting governor. Such a claim might well be brag rather than fact, yet he had certainly been set to bushwhack Ashley; later he had slugged Sam Partridge and toppled him into the creek, under the impression that he was settling accounts with Montana.
Eggers might not kill directly, but he had ridden the stage over the pass, loosening the nut on the wheel, then re-entering to alleviate suspicion, knowing that when the wheel came off, horses, driver and his fellow-passengers must plunge to their deaths. Given a choice, Montana preferred the directness of Hoag.
It added up to an inescapable conclusion. If they were to get out of here, it was up to him to attempt something. That the range of choice was discouragingly narrow made it even more imperative.
Shining the lantern light on to the black waters, he made a detailed examination of their prison. It did not take long. Nothing useful had been left for them.
“There’s just a chance that the door is only fitted into place, and that we can force it open,” he pointed out. “If one of you will stand on my shoulders, you can reach it and try.”
Melissa agreed, balancing, while he steadied her with hands on her ankles. She had no luck, but, at her suggestion, Montana took his place on the shoulders of both and heaved in turn. It refused to budge.
Montana had watched them in an amateur theatrical, only a week before. Both were good actresses, but they could not entirely hide their despair now. Melissa glanced at her watch.
“Daylight would come a couple of hours ago,” Montana observed thoughtfully. “If anybody intends to palaver, they should be showing up.”
“What is there to talk about?” Serene countered. “Their plan went wrong, and if we get out of here alive, that spells ruin for everything. But if we don’t—they’ll be a lot better off. We might as well face what we all know. They’ll never let us out.”
“I have to agree,” Montana admitted. “So that seems to leave it up to do what we can for ourselves. And we’ve nothing to lose by trying.”
Hope lightened their faces at his words.
“Is there something, anything, that we can do?” Melissa demanded. “I didn’t think—”
“That there was?” Montana completed the thought, as she hesitated. “That’s about the way they must have figured, too, that there’s no way out. If they had any notion that there might be, they’d probably open the door and shoot me. So it’s lucky for us that they’ve overlooked the obvious.”
“Then I seem to have missed it, too,” Serena confessed.
Montana indicated the pond which filled the rear of the room.
“The water gets out,” he reminded. “Just as it has done for ages. It must empty into that pool at the foot of the hill. Notice where the water comes bursting in here, running full, a gusher a couple of feet across. And where it sucks down again the channel is still about that same size. So that has to mean that there are no obstructions between here and where it empties below. So what’s to hinder me getting out that way, too, then opening the door for you ladies?”
They watched his face, their own between hope and incredulity. As with Hoag and Eggers, such a possibility had not occurred to them. Abbott was grinning, a rare smile on his face, and while Melissa guessed that this was for their benefit, it was still reassuring. Then, contemplating the hazards which might lurk in that unseen passage, her face lost color.
“But what if there should be a narrow place, or a sharp turn? Something to catch and hold you. You’d drown, without a chance—”
“In that case, I wouldn’t have long to worry,” he pointed out. “And with a down-hill drop and the speed of the current, I’ll make the trip before I need more air. Since the odds add up to the same result if we don’t do something, I’d as soon have it one way as the other. And we know the water comes out below.”
He consented to wait another hour, on the chance that the others might return, but as the time dragged, the hope became more forlorn. He laid wood for a fresh fire, handed them his revolver, then, back in the shadows, removed his outer clothing.
“If you’ll light the fire again, it should be going nicely by the time I get back—and I’ll want to get warm. Well—see you in a little while.”
Melissa had been staring sightlessly at the dark. She swung suddenly, choking on a sob, and rushed to clasp him in her arms. After a moment, as gently as possible, Montana loosened them, his own throat tight. He waded swiftly into the water, gasping at the cold: He was sure enough getting soft.
At least, it would soon be decided, one way or the other. Guided by the suck and gurgle of the exit, he floundered into it, feet first, then was caught and dragged as by relentless hands. The depths seemed nightmarish as he was tugged below the surface.
The drop curved somewhat yet was reasonably direct, the drag and shove of the current more powerful than he had expected. Nothing halted or impeded him. He glimpsed light, and shot out from the tunnel, feet first, into the bottom of that other pool. Short of breath, he swam for the surface, his head breaking into air, no less thankfully than on that prior occasion when he had dragged Sam Partridge up from the depths. All at once the water did not seem nearly so cold.
But there was something else, a possible threat which he’d considered but dismissed as unlikely. A bullet plopped into the water close to his head, and the tearing crash of the gun was further evidence that a killer waited and, having discovered him, intended to make sure that he went no further.