CHAPTER XXV HOW THE PLOT WAS LAID

Allan had said in his message that he had recognized Dan Nolan; yet, in the stress of his emotion at the time, the strangeness of Nolan’s appearance under the circumstances had not occurred to him. Yet it was strange; yes, more than strange. Here was Nolan in company with the men whom he had basely betrayed by turning State’s evidence, and apparently received by them again on terms of comradeship. How had they come to forgive him the one offence which criminals never forgive? What was it had turned aside their anger and persuaded them to admit again to their company a man who had been proved a traitor?

The chain of circumstances which led to this result was so peculiar that it is worth pausing a moment to describe.

Nolan had gone south, as Jack Welsh had predicted, after the failure of his attempt to wreck the special and to revenge himself on Allan; but drawn, as Jack had foreseen, by an irresistible attraction, he had gradually worked his way back to the north ? 282 ? again, and, not daring to return to Wadsworth, had finally drifted to Coalville. There, after loitering around the saloons, until they refused admission to so penniless and disreputable a customer, he had secured work as hostler in the company’s stables; where, if the wages were not large, neither was the work exhausting. Here Nolan had remained for some months, believing himself secure from discovery. He slept in a loft at the rear of the stable, and here, one night, he was awakened by a savage grip at his throat. He endeavoured to yell, but as he opened his mouth, something was stuffed into it that muffled the cry, and nearly choked him. Half-dead with fright, he felt himself lifted from the hay, passed down the ladder and borne out into the open air. Then he fainted.

When he opened his eyes, he fancied for a moment that he was dreaming, so weird and uncanny was the picture which confronted him. Black columns towered about him into the darkness overhead, like the pillars of a cathedral, and now and then he caught a glimpse of the ebon ceiling, shining with moisture, which dripped down the pillars to the floor. Just in front of him flickered a little fire, over which a pot was simmering. About the fire were grouped four figures; and as he looked from one to the other of them, Nolan’s senses reeled and his heart quaked, for, by the dancing light of the fire, he recognized the four men whom he had betrayed.

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How had they come here? Their terms in prison, he knew, would not end for many years; buried as he was in this hole among the hills, associating only with the dullest and most depraved of human beings, he had heard nothing of their escape. How had they found him? Above all, what did they intend to do with him? He shuddered as he asked himself that last question.

His captors were talking earnestly among themselves, paying no heed to him, but at the end of a moment, one of them arose to examine the contents of the pot, and glancing at Nolan, perceived that his eyes were open.

“Why, hello, Dannie,” he cried, with a sort of unholy glee which frightened Dan more than any threats could have done, “how are ye?”

Dan could find no voice to answer, but the others got up and, moving nearer, sat down before him. Their eyes were shining as a cat’s do when it sees the mouse under its paw. And like the cat, they prepared to put their prey to the torture.

“Well, this is an unexpected pleasure,” said one.

“So glad to have you as our guest,” said another.

“Yes; we’ve got the spare room ready,” said a third, whereat they all laughed uproariously.

“The spare room—good!”

“A lofty chamber, Dannie; you’ll feel like a king.”

“And sleep like a top!”

“Even if the bed is rather hard.”

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And then they all laughed again.

“Yes—and as long as you like! You’re our guest, Dannie. And we’re going to keep you awhile!”

Dan was bathed from head to foot in a cold sweat. He could not guess their meaning, but he knew it boded no good for him.

“We’ve been wanting to see you so bad,” one of the men went on, “ever since you treated us so well at the trial. Pity you couldn’t have held your tongue then, Dannie; you’d have had to stay in jail a little longer, but at least you’d have been alive.”

At last Dan found his tongue.

“You ain’t a-goin’ t’ kill me!” he cried. “You wouldn’t treat an old pal like that!”

“No, no, Dannie!” came the answer, soothingly, “we’re just going to put you in our spare room. Then I’m afraid we’ll have to bid you adieu. You see this State don’t agree with our health very well. We wouldn’t have stayed this long except for the pleasure of seeing you. Ain’t you glad?”

“How’d you know where I was?” Nolan asked.

The man laughed.

“Why, we’ve known where you were ever since you were let out on parole. We heard how you’d tried to wreck another train, and then lighted out for the south; we heard about your roustabouting on the wharves at Mobile, and stealing a case of tobacco from a warehouse and trying to sell it and ? 285 ? coming so near getting pinched that you had to get out of that place in a hurry, and start back north again. Why, we’ve got friends who, at a word from us, would have done for you a dozen times over—they knew what you’d done; but we were reserving that pleasure for ourselves, Daniel. And when we heard that you had stopped here, we decided to pay you a little visit on our way out of the State, and had this place fixed up for us, and here we are. But you don’t look a bit glad to see us!”

Dan, following the speaker with painful attention, caught a glimpse of an underworld whose existence he had never suspected—a confederacy of crime to which he, as a mere novice and outsider, had never been admitted. The one unforgivable crime to this association was to turn traitor, to “peach”—that is, to inform against one’s accomplices in order to escape oneself. That was exactly what Nolan had done, and he was now to pay for it.

The four men, as by a single impulse, rose to their feet, and one of them picked up a coil of rope which lay at the foot of the nearest pillar.

“Get up,” said one of them roughly, to Nolan.

But Nolan was paralyzed by fear, and incapable of movement, for he believed that they were going to hang him.

“Get up,” his captor repeated, and seizing him by the shoulder, jerked him to his feet.

Nolan clutched for support at the pillar against ? 286 ? which he had been leaning. He saw now that it was of coal, and he suddenly understood where he was. He had been brought to one of the abandoned workings of the mine; he knew there were many such, and that no one ever ventured into them through fear of the deadly fire-damp which almost always gathers in such neglected levels. And he knew there was no hope of rescue.

“Why, look at the coward!” cried his captor, disgustedly. “He’s as weak as a rag. It’s enough to make a man sick!”

Dan turned a piteous face toward him.

“You—you ain’t goin’ to hang me?” he faltered.

The men burst into a roar of laughter.

“No,” one of them answered, “we’re goin’ to save you from gettin’ hanged, as you certainly would be if we let you go. Really, you ought to thank us.”

Partially reassured, Dan managed to take a few steps forward. After all, they had said they were not going to kill him!

Then he stopped, with a quick gasp of dismay. At his feet yawned a pit, whose depth he could not guess. The torch which one of his captors bore disclosed the black wall below him, dripping with moisture, plunging into absolute and terrifying darkness.

Then Nolan understood. This was the “spare room.”

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His teeth were chattering and a sort of hoarse wailing came from his throat, as they slipped the rope under his arms. He was only half-conscious; too weak with terror to resist. He felt himself lifted and swung off over the abyss; his body scraped downward along the rough wall, hundreds of feet, as it seemed to him; the moisture soaked through his clothes and chilled him. At last his feet touched solid ground, but his legs doubled helplessly under him and he collapsed against the wall. He felt the rope drawn from about him; then a kind of stupor fell upon him and for a time he knew no more.

At last he opened his eyes again and looked about him. He thought, at first, that he was sleeping in his loft, and that it was still night. Then he felt the rock at his back, and suddenly remembered all that had happened to him. His throat was dry and parched; his muscles ached, and every particle of strength had left his body. It seemed to him that hours and even days had passed while he lay there unconscious. Really, it had been only a few moments.

He stretched his hands out on either side and felt the rough and dripping wall; then he got uncertainly to his feet, and step by step, advanced along the wall, stumbling, and stopping from time to time all a-tremble with fear and weakness. He kept on and on for perhaps half an hour; the cavern seemed of mammoth proportions, and a new terror seized ? 288 ? him. Perhaps his captors had not really intended to leave him there to die; perhaps they only wished to frighten him; but if he wandered away into the mine there would be no hope for him.

He turned, and started back again with feverish haste. Suppose they should look for him, and finding him gone, give him up for lost? A dry sobbing choked him, but still he hastened on. And yet, how was he to tell when he had reached the spot to which he had been lowered? Might he not go past it? How was he to know?

He stared upward into the black void above him, but it showed no vestige of light. He raised his voice in a shrill cry, but there was no response except the echo flung back at him by the vault above. And again that convulsive trembling seized him, and he sank limply down against the wall. But whatever manhood he had rallied to his support; that love of life which is the one controlling force of cowardly natures asserted itself and gave him some semblance of self-control. He clasped his head in his hands and tried to think. To find his way back—and then it suddenly occurred to him that he had in his pocket some matches. He fumbled for them eagerly. Perhaps, with their help—

He struck one against the under side of his coat-sleeve, which was comparatively dry. It flared unsteadily, and then burned clearly. For a moment, Nolan was blinded by the flame; then he stared about him, scarcely able to believe his eyes. For ? 289 ? on every side the black walls shut him in. He was at the bottom of a pit, not more than thirty feet in diameter, and he had been walking round and round it, too agitated and stupefied by fear to notice that he was travelling in a circle.

The match sputtered and went out, and Nolan sat for a long time with the stump of it in his fingers. He was evidently at the bottom of a shaft sunk in search of another vein, or, perhaps, of a natural cavity in the rock. Of the height of the walls he could form no estimate, but they were so smooth and straight that ten feet were as impossible to him as a hundred. Decidedly there was no chance of escape unless his captors chose to assist him.

As he sat there musing, a light fell into the pit, and he looked up to see one of his captors gazing down at him by the light of a torch which he held above his head.

“I just came to say good-bye,” he called down.

“Good-bye?” echoed Nolan, hoarsely.

“Yes,—it will soon be dark, and we’re going to pull out for the west. Ohio’s too hot for us just now.”

“And—and you’re goin’ t’ leave me here?” cried Nolan.

“We certainly are. How do you like it?”

“But that’ll be murder!” Nolan protested. “You might swing fer it!”

“Oh, no, we mightn’t. You’ll never be found. ? 290 ? You’re done with this world, Daniel. Fix your thoughts upon the next.”

Nolan uttered a hollow moan. Then a sudden inspiration brought him to his feet.

“See here,” he said, “let me out o’ here an’ I’ll put y’ on to somethin’ good.”

His captor laughed mockingly.

“I’m afraid it’s not good enough, Daniel-in-the-lion’s-den,” he said. “You’re asking too big a price.”

“It’s sixty thousand dollars,” said Dan, still more eagerly. “You kin git it day arter t’-morrer, as easy as fallin’ off a log.”

The smile on the other’s face vanished and he stood for a moment looking thoughtfully down into the pit.

“Is there anything in this, or is it just moonshine?” he asked, at last.

“It’s straight!” Nolan protested. “It’s dead straight! Pull me out o’ here an’ I’ll tell you.”

“Wait a minute,” said the other, and disappeared.

Nolan waited with an anxiety that deepened with every passing second; but at last the light appeared again at the edge of the pit, and this time four faces looked down at him instead of one. The rope was lowered, he slipped it under his arms, and three minutes later stood again facing his captors.
“’IT B’LONGS T’ TH’ MINE COMPANY,’ SAID NOLAN.”

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Without speaking, they led him back to the place where their fire was still burning and motioned him to sit down.

“Now,” said one of them, “let’s have the story.”

“And if it’s straight, you’ll let me go?”

“If it’s straight, we’ll let you go. If it’s not, back you go into the pit, and this time you won’t have a rope to help you down.”

“Oh, I ain’t afeerd,” said Nolan. “It’s straight. But I think I ort t’ have some of it.”

“How much did you say there is?”

“Between fifty an’ sixty thousand dollars.”

“It’s not in a bank?”

“No; it’s in a box.”

“And we can get it within a day or two.”

“You kin git it day arter to-morrer.”

“If everything turns out well, you shall have a thousand dollars.”

“Oh, come,” protested Nolan, but the other stopped him with an impatient gesture.

“That or nothing,” he said, curtly, and Nolan surrendered, for he saw the man was in earnest.

“All right,” he said, glumly, and instinctively they all drew a little nearer the fire. “Th’ day arter t’-morrer,” he began, “they’ll come in on th’ evenin’ train a box containin’ sixty thousan’ in cold cash.”

“Whose is it?” asked one of the men.

“It b’longs t’ th’ mine company,” said Nolan; “it’s th’ men’s wages.”

And again the group drew a little closer together.