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CHAPTER X.
THREE IN A TRAP

The day was declining when Frank, Dick, and Brad came down into El Diablo Valley. It was, indeed, a dark, wild place, and for some time it seemed almost impossible of access. No plain trail led into it. On an elevation in the valley they had seen a ruined pile that bore a strong resemblance to a crumbling castle. The very appearance of these buildings belied the tale that Joaquin Murietta had built them there. Had they been so recently constructed their ruined condition was unaccountable. It seemed certain that at least a hundred years had passed since their erection. About the valley and the castle appeared hanging an air of mystery and romance.

That any one should choose such a remote and desolate spot to rear those buildings was beyond comprehension to the three young Americans who now beheld the ruins for the first time. Somehow those crumbling stones reminded them of the march of Cortez and his conquering treasure hunters. What Spaniard of that day, left behind in Mexico and supposed to be dead, had enriched himself with the treasures of the Aztecs and had escaped northward, only to find himself imprisoned in the new land, and to finally use a part of his treasures to erect this castle?

During the middle hours of the day alone did the southern sunshine fall soft and golden in El Diablo Valley. Therefore, they descended into the shadows and approached the castle, which seemed to lie silent and deserted in the midst of the valley.

“It’s a whole lot strange we never heard of this place before,” observed Buckhart. “Of course, others have seen it.”

There was a cloud on Dick’s face.

“Do you think, Frank,” he questioned, “that there is any hope of finding Felicia here? Since leaving the mission we have seen nothing to indicate that we were still on the right trail.”

“It’s a good deal like hunting for a needle in a hay-stack,” confessed Merry.

“Maybe those galoots who have her doubled back on us,” suggested Brad. “Maybe they turned on us there at the mission.”

“It’s not impossible,” was Merry’s regretful admission. “However, we are here, and we will find what there is to find.”

There were no echoes in the valley. It seemed a place of silence and gloom. As they approached the ruins they surveyed them with increasing wonder. There were old turrets and towers, crumbling and cracked, as if shaken by many earthquakes. The black windows glared at them like grim eyes.

“I will bet my boots that there is no one around this yere ranch,” muttered Buckhart. “Perhaps that old priest fooled us a whole lot.”

Merry shook his head.

“I am sure not,” he said.

They mounted the rise on which the castle was built and passed through a huge gate and dark passage, coming into a courtyard, with the crumbling ruins all around them. Here they paused. Suddenly at one of the narrow, upper windows of the old turret a face appeared. Some one was there looking out at them. Frank’s keen eyes were the first to discover it. Then to their ears came the cry of a voice electrifying them. The face at the window pressed nearer, and, together with the voice, it was recognized.

Dick gave a shout of joy.

“Felicia!” he exclaimed. “There she is, Frank. Can you see her in that window up there? Felicia! Felicia!”

But even as he called to her thus she suddenly vanished. As they stared at the window, another face showed for a moment and another pair of eyes looked down at them.

Then these also disappeared.

“Waugh!” exploded Brad Buckhart. “Here’s where we get into action.”

“She’s there,” declared Frank. “She’s there – a captive!”

“It’s sure to be a red-hot scrimmage,” said Buckhart, looking at his revolver. “Take care that your guns are ready for action.”

They leaped from their horses and swiftly approached the ruins, leaving the animals to wander where they might in the valley, well knowing they would not leave it.

Up the stone steps they bounded, coming to the deepset door, which by its own weight or by the working of time had fallen from its hinges. Nothing barred them there, and they entered. As they dashed in, there was a sudden whirring sound, and they felt themselves struck and beaten upon as by phantom hands. This was startling enough, but Frank immediately comprehended that they were bats and the creatures were fluttering wildly about them. From one dark room to another they wandered, seeking the stairs that should lead them up into the turret.

“We need a light,” said Merry.

“That certain is correct, pardner,” agreed Buckhart. “We are a heap likely to break our necks here in the dark.”

“But we have no light,” panted Dick, “and no time to secure a torch. If we waste time for that we may lose her.”

“Where are those pesky stairs?” growled the Texan.

Their search led them into a huge echoing room that seemed windowless. Frank was exasperated by the aimlessness of their search. Had they not seen Felicia’s face at the window and heard her voice, the silence and desolation of the place must have convinced them that it was in truth deserted. But now, of a sudden, there was a sound behind them. It was a creak on the rusty stairs. It was followed by a heavy thud and absolute silence.

“What was that?” asked Dick.

“It sounded to me,” muttered Merry, “like the closing of a massive door.”

A moment later he struck a match, and by its light they looked around. Holding it above his head, it served to illumine the chamber dimly.

“Wherever did we get into this hole?” asked Brad. “I fail to see any door.”

The repeated lighting of matches seemed to show them only four bare walls. At last Frank found the door, but he discovered it was closed. More than that, he discovered that it was immovable.

“Boys,” he said grimly, as the match in his fingers fluttered out and fell into a little glowing, coal at his feet, “we are trapped. It’s plain now that we did a foolish thing in rushing in here without a light. That glimpse of Felicia lured us into the snare, and it will be no easy thing to escape.”

“Let me get at that door!” growled Buckhart.

He flung himself against it with all his strength, but it stood immovable. They joined in using their united strength upon it, but still it did not stir.

“Well, this certain is a right bad scrape,” admitted the Texan. “I don’t mind any a good hot fight with the odds on the other side, but I admit this staggers me.”

“What are we to do, Frank?” whispered Dick.

“Easier asked than answered,” confessed Merry. “It’s up to us to find some means of escape, but how we can do so I am not ready to say.”

“Pards,” said the Texan, “it seems to me that we are going to get a-plenty hungry before we leave this corral. We are some likely to starve here. The joke is on us.”

“Hush!” cautioned Merry. “Listen!”

As they stood still in the dense darkness of that chamber they heard a muffled voice speaking in English. It seemed to be calling to them derisively.

“You’re very courageous, Frank Merriwell,” mocked the voice; “but see what your courage has brought you to. Here you are trapped, and here you will die!”

“Hello!” muttered Merry. “So my friend, Felipe Dulzura, is near at hand!”

The situation was one to appall the stoutest heart, but Frank Merriwell was not the one to give up as long as there was the slightest gleam of hope. Indeed, in that darkness there seemed no gleam. It is not wonderful that even stout-hearted Brad Buckhart began to feel that “the jig was up.”

In most times of danger, perplexity, or peril, Dick relied solely on himself and his own resources; now, however, having Frank at hand, he turned to him.

“Is there any chance for us to escape?”

“Boys,” said Merry, “we must not think of giving up until we have made every effort in our power. The first thing to be done is to sound the walls. You can help me in this. Go around the walls, rapping on them and listening. See if you can find a hollow place. This is not the donjon, and it may have been originally intended for something different from a prison room.”

Directed by him, they set about their task, sounding the walls. Hopeless enough it seemed as they went knocking, knocking through the darkness. When the room had been circled once and no discovery made, Buckhart seemed quite ready to give up the effort in that direction. Frank was not satisfied, but continued feeling his way along the walls, rapping and listening as he went. Finally he remained a long time in one place, which aroused the curiosity of his boy comrades.

“Have you discovered anything?” asked Dick.

Before replying Merry struck a match.

“Here, boys,” he said, “you will see there is a crack in the wall. That may be the cause of the hollow sound I fancied it gave. But, look!” he added, holding the match high above his head, “see how the crack widens as it rises toward the ceiling. By Jove, boys! it’s almost wide enough up there for a cat to get through.”

Then the match burned too short to be held longer, and he dropped it. Several moments he stood in silence, paying no heed to the words of Dick or Brad. His mind was busy. Finally he said:

“Get up here, boys, both of you. Face this wall and stand close together. I want to climb on your shoulders. I am going to examine that crack. It may be our only hope of salvation.”

They followed instructions, and Merry mounted to their shoulders, on which he stood. In this manner he was high enough to reach some distance into the crack in the wall. He found nothing but crumbling bits of cement and stone, which was a disappointment to him.

“Keep your heads down,” he said. “I am going to see if I can loosen some of this outer coat of cement here. It may rattle down about your ears.”

He pulled away at the cement, cleaving it off easily and exposing the fact that the wall was somewhat shabbily built above a distance of eight feet from the floor. An earthquake or convulsion of nature, or whatever had caused the crack in the wall, had seriously affected it, and it seemed very shaky and unstable indeed.

Several times he shifted about on the boys’ shoulders to give them rest, as his heavy boots were rather painful after remaining in one position a few moments. They were eager to know what progress he was making.

“I can’t tell what it amounts to, boys,” he declared. “This crack may lead nowhere, even if I can make an opening large enough to enter.”

At length he was compelled to descend in order to give them a chance to rest. Three times he mounted on their shoulders and worked at the cement and stones until the skin of his fingers was torn and his hands bleeding. He was making progress, nevertheless, and it seemed more and more apparent that, if given time enough, an opening might be made there at that height in the wall. In his final efforts he loosened a mass of the stuff, that suddenly gave way and went rattling and rumbling down into the wall somewhere. To his intense satisfaction, this left a hole large enough for a human being to creep into.

“Brace hard, boys,” he whispered. “I am going to make a venture here. I am going to crawl into this place.”

“Be careful, Frank!” palpitated Dick. “What if you get in there and the old wall crumbles on you! You will be buried alive! You will be smothered, and killed!”

“Better that than starvation in this wretched hole,” he half laughed. “We will have to take chances if we ever escape at all. Steady now.”

They stiffened their bodies, and he gave a little spring, diving into the opening as far as he could and slowly wiggling and dragging himself forward. In this manner he gradually crept into it, although it was no simple matter. There was barely room enough for him to accomplish this feat, and when it was done he lay still a few moments to rest. As he lay thus he heard some of the stones and cement rattling and falling beneath him, and felt the whole wall seem to settle. His heart leaped into his throat, for it seemed, indeed, that he was about to be smothered and crushed to death in that place. Still he did not retreat. Instead of that, he squirmed and crawled forward as fast as possible. Suddenly a mass of the wall came down upon his back and shoulders, and he was pinned fast.

Trying to squirm forward still farther, he found himself held as if in the jaws of a vise, and never in his adventurous career had his position seemed more desperate and helpless. Dust filled his eyes and nostrils, and he seemed smothered.

Summoning all his wonderful strength, Merry made a mighty effort. Suddenly, as he did so, the wall beneath him seemed to give way, and downward he fell, amid showers of stones and cement, which rained upon him. He had fallen into some sort of open space, and, although somewhat dazed and stunned, he quickly crept forward to escape the falling mass of stuff. In this he was successful, and, although the air of the place seemed dense and stifling, he was practically uninjured.

As soon as possible, he sought to learn what kind of a place he had dropped into so unexpectedly. There were yet a few matches left in his match safe, and one of these he lighted. Its light showed him a small, narrow passage, leading away he knew not where. Behind him there was a mass of fallen debris where the top of the passage had caved in. Even then still more was threatening to fall, and he quickly moved away.

“I have heard of secret passages in old castles and mansions,” Frank muttered, “and this must be one of them. Where will it lead me? It must take me somewhere, and this is better than remaining in the chamber where we were trapped.”

For a long time he felt his way cautiously onward along the passage. He came in time to its end. His hand could feel nothing but the bare stones, and it seemed that the passage terminated there. Once more he struck a match, the light of which revealed to him nothing of an encouraging nature.

“Well,” he said, “I seem to be in a trap still. It can’t be possible this was simply a blind passage. Why was it constructed? There must be some way of getting out of it.”

Again at the end of the passage he fell to sounding the wall and listening. His hands roamed over it, feeling every protrusion or irregularity. Finally he touched something that was loose. Immediately he pressed it with considerable vigor, upon which there was a faint muffled click, and a heavy door that had been skillfully covered by cement swung slowly against his hands.

Frank’s wonderful command of his nerves kept him from uttering an exclamation of satisfaction. He quickly seized the edge of the door and pulled it wide open. Fresh air rushed in upon him, and he filled his lungs with a sensation of satisfaction and relief.

He now thought of returning and seeking to assist Dick and Brad in following him, but after a few moments he decided to investigate still further. Soon he found himself on a high terrace, which opened into an inclosed courtyard of the ruins. As he leaned there, looking down, the ring of ironshod hoofs came through the arched gate, reaching his ears. A moment later two horsemen rode into the courtyard, leading behind them three animals. The clank and clang of the horses’ feet upon the flagstones echoed in the inclosure. Merry drew back, watching and listening.

“Three fine beasts,” said a voice in Spanish. “And they are ours, comrade. The chief said we were to have them if we captured them.”

“Why not?” sullenly returned the other man. “Are we to have nothing? Is the chief to get it all?”

“Hush, Jimenez!” hastily warned the first speaker. “Better not let him hear you utter such words.”

“At least one can think, Monte,” retorted Jimenez. “We take all the risks, and what do we get? Not even when we faced that young devil Americano at the mission did the chief put himself in peril. He urged us on, but he took good care of his precious self, I noticed.”

“If you talk more in this manner, Jimenez,” exclaimed Monte, “with you I will have nothing whatever to do!”

“Bah! You are a coward,” snarled the other. “Now, be not hasty in your movements, for I, too, am armed.”

“Fly at it!” whispered Frank, in satisfaction. “Go at each other, and do your prettiest. Cut each other’s throats, and I will applaud you, you rascals!”

But the two scoundrels did not engage in an encounter. After growling a little at each other, they proceeded with the horses to a part of the courtyard where the stables seemed to be, and there disappeared. Merry did not have to watch long for their return. They again crossed the open space below and disappeared; but, listening where he stood, he heard their voices, and they seemed ascending stairs not far away.

His curiosity now fully aroused, with a pistol in his hand, Frank stole onward as swiftly as possible in an attempt to keep track of them. He left the terrace and came to the stairs by which they ascended. Even as he stole like a panther up those stairs, he caught the hum of voices and the flash of a light.

Thus it was that the daring young man at last reached a dark nook, from which sheltered spot he could peer through an open door into a lighted room where several men were gathered. Beyond doubt these were the members of Black Joaquin’s band, several of whom had set upon him at San Monica Mission.

CHAPTER XI.
RUFFIANS AT ODDS

Some of the men were idly lounging about as they smoked, while others were playing cards. The card players were gambling, and money clinked on the table before them. A picturesque and desperate-looking group they were, yet Merriwell felt and knew by experience that they were far more dangerous in appearance than in actual fact. He had met a number of them face to face, and succeeded in holding them in check with no more than the crooked staff of the old monk for his weapon of defense. They were the kind to strike at a man’s back and cower before his face.

The card players did not always get along amicably. At times they quarreled excitedly, over their game. Finally one of them lost everything and flew into a passion, roundly berating his more lucky companions. They laughed at him as they puffed their cigarettes.

“What matters it, Pachuca?” cried one. “It is only a little. Soon you will have more.”

“Oh, yes, much more!” smiled another. “The chief has promised you plenty when he shall get the girl safely away.”

“I much prefer money to promises,” solemnly retorted Pachuca. “It’s an honest game I play. Why should I win with you?”

“Now, it’s best that you have a care with your tongue,” rather hotly returned one of the winners. “Yesterday it was your luck to win; now it is mine.”

“Is it luck you call it?” sneered Pachuca. “Ha! ha!”

“Yes, luck. What was it when you won?”

“It was my skill,” declared Pachuca loftily. “But even skill is no match for some methods.”

At this the little fellow who had won the most sprang up and struck the table with his fist, glaring across at Pachuca.

“Do you dare say to my face that I cheat?” he sharply cried. “Speak it out, if you do!”

Merry was quite satisfied by the course events seemed to be taking, for he felt that it might be much to his advantage if a quarrel between these two men followed.

Pachuca, however, shrugged his shoulders and showed his teeth, as he rolled a cigarette.

“You have won, Ramon,” he returned. “Keep the money. My turn comes.”

“Any time you like,” was the defiant challenge. “When I lose it is not like a stuck pig that I squeal.”

Then Ramon sat down as if quite satisfied, and the game proceeded without Pachuca participating further.

Merry was disappointed. Still he saw there was bad blood among the men, and he felt that what he had heard in the courtyard and since indicated dissension and dissatisfaction.

As the gamblers continued they again fell to speaking of “the girl.”

Suddenly behind him, toward the stairs, Merry heard a soft footfall. He pressed himself closer into the darkness of his niche and scarcely breathed as a man brushed past. This man halted in the door, hearing something of the words of the gamblers. Suddenly he stepped forward.

“What is this?” he demanded angrily. “Again you are talking too much. I have warned you before. You are not to speak at all of the girl. You know she’s here; let that be enough, and hold your tongues!”

“Hello, my fine friend!” whispered Frank to himself, as the light fell on the face of the newcomer and he saw that there was a scar on the man’s cheek. “So it’s you?”

Sudden silence fell upon the men. The man with the the scar singled out Ramon, at whom he pointed.

“You are always talking too much,” he declared. “When will you learn better?”

As he stood behind the table, Ramon’s hand slipped down to his sash, where it touched the hilt of a knife, and the look on his face was far from pleasant.

“It’s me you always single out, Carlos!” he exclaimed. “Why do you never talk thus to the others?”

“Because it is you who make trouble. It is you I have been compelled to caution. What think you the chief would say should he hear you?”

“The chief!” cried Ramon. “Where is he? It is easy to make promises, Carlos. How know we that we are to receive all that is promised?”

“Have you not been satisfied in the past?”

“Not always,” was the bold retort. “I am not the only one; there are others here who have not been satisfied. It is time to speak plainly. When all danger is over – ”

“It is already,” was the assertion.

“How so?”

“You know the three dogs who followed the trail have been trapped. They are secure, and never from this place will they go forth.”

“But there may be others. There was another who followed us far.”

“What of him?” sneered Carlos, snapping his fingers. “He has long lost the scent. It is only these three fellows who tracked us here, and better for them had they never come. Here their bones will rot!”

“If that is true, there is now nothing to prevent the chief from carrying the girl whither he likes. Who is she? That you have not told us, Carlos.”

“That is nothing to you. It is a matter to concern the chief alone.”

“Ah! we know she must be of great value to him, else he would have never taken so many chances. Why was she deceived with the tale that she was to be carried to her father?”

“How know you so much?” grimly demanded Carlos.

Then suddenly he wheeled on Jimenez.

“It’s you who talk a great deal likewise!” he snarled.

Up to this point Jimenez had been silent. Now, like a flash, he sprang up and advanced to the side of Ramon.

“My tongue is my own,” he harshly said. “On it no one has placed a lock. What harm has the child done that she should be deceived? We are the men who did the work; why should not we be trusted? Answer that – if you can. I know that she was told that she should find her father here. I know, too, that he is a fugitive and has long hidden from his enemies. However, I know that she was led to believe that he had sent for her. Where is this man?”

“You fool!” burst from Carlos. “I knew that it was a mistake when you were placed to guard her. I knew it was unsafe that she should tell you too much. Wait until the chief learns of this.”

“Let him pay us what he has promised,” said Ramon. “We will take it and be silent. He may then go where he pleases and carry the girl. Carlos, we are not the only ones here who demand to see this money and to hear it clink in our hands. Comrades, it is time we show our colors. Let those who are with me stand forth.”

At this there was a stir. Some of the men seemed to hesitate, but a moment later two more men came over to the side of Ramon and Jimenez.

“This is not all,” Ramon declared. “There are still others who are not satisfied with bare promises. Let the chief satisfy us. Where is he?”

Merry had been so deeply interested that he failed to hear a step behind him, and had not he been cautiously pressed in the shadows of his nook he might have been observed. The approaching man, however, had heard sounds of a quarrel in that room, and he strode past Frank and entered by the door.

“Who calls for me?” he demanded, in a clear, steady voice. “Why all this uproar?”

“Joaquin!” muttered one, while others exclaimed, “The chief!”

And Frank recognized Felipe Dulzura!

Sudden silence fell upon them. Dulzura, whom Frank now knew to be Black Joaquin, stood boldly looking them over. Despite the assertion made by one of the men that the chief was one who avoided danger, his bearing now seemed that of utter fearlessness and command.

“Speak!” he exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ask Ramon,” said Carlos. “He will tell you – perhaps.”

Ramon drew himself up. The time had come that he must face the matter unflinchingly.

“It is this,” he said; “we have been promised much and have received little. Some of us are not satisfied.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Black Joaquin. “And you are one of the dissatisfied, I see.”

“I am,” was the admission; “but I am not alone. You will find that there are many more. Ask them. You will find nearly all are dissatisfied.”

The chief glanced them over, and what he saw in their faces convinced him that Ramon spoke truly. Suddenly he smiled on them in that pleasant manner of his, and his voice was soft and musical as he spoke again.

“I would not have any of my faithful fellows dissatisfied,” he declared. “If there is anything I can do in justice, let them name it.”

Carlos seemed disappointed by this unexpected manner of their leader.

“It is that you have promised us a great deal we have not received,” said Ramon.

“And is it yet time?” was the placid question.

“Why not? You said the time would come when the girl was safely yours, with no danger of pursuit. To me it seems that time has come. The three Americans who pursued you are captured and cannot escape. The girl is now yours to do with as you like. Is it strange we suspect she is a prize of great value? If she were not, why should Black Joaquin put himself to so much trouble?”

“You are right,” smiled the man Merry knew as Dulzura. “But you are hasty. It is only lately the pursuers I most feared have fallen into my hands. Had you waited a little it might have given me more satisfaction. You were always too hasty, Ramon.”

The rebuke was of the mildest sort, and Ramon accepted it without a show of anger.

“However,” continued the chief, “I can pardon you this once, but you shall be satisfied. I have not at hand all I have promised you, but it is where I can soon secure it. Nevertheless, I have something here, and it shall be divided among you.”

As he said this, he drew forth a leather pouch, which he flung with a careless gesture upon the table. It struck with a heavy thud and a slight clanking sound.

“I call upon you,” he said, “to see that it is divided equally and fairly. The rest shall be paid you soon. Carlos, I would speak with you.”

He then turned toward the door, and Carlos followed him. Outside, in the shadows, they halted not fifteen feet from Frank.

“Carlos,” said Joaquin, “not one coin more will those dogs get. I have no further use for them. You and I must abandon them and get away before the coming of another day. It is no longer well for us to remain in this land. As Black Joaquin my work is done. Can we reach Spain in safety with the girl, our fortunes are made. But those snarling curs will object if they suspect we are contemplating leaving them behind. You I depend on. You know where the wine is kept. Take this which I give you and with it drug the wine. When you have done so, bring it for them to drink. Make merry with them, and encourage them to drink deeply. They will sleep soundly after that, and we shall have no trouble. I will get the girl ready. Before those fools awaken I shall be far from here, and we can laugh at them.”

“Good!” said Carlos, having accepted from Joaquin’s hand the bottle proffered him. “It shall be done. Leave it to me.”

The chief clapped his trusted comrade upon the shoulder.

“Faithful Carlos!” he said. “With me you shall share the reward. Lose no time, for time is precious now.”

“The Americans,” questioned Carlos, “what of them?”

“Leave them where they are. Let them starve there.”

Little did they dream when they turned away that they were followed by Frank Merriwell, who observed the greatest possible caution. They separated, and it was Black Joaquin whose footsteps led Frank through many winding ways and up long flights of stairs into one of the turrets. When Joaquin unbarred the door and entered the little room up there Frank was near at hand. Merry stole forward and peered into that room, from which the light shone forth.

“She’s there!” he told himself, in deep satisfaction, as he beheld Felicia.

The captive girl had been weeping. When Joaquin saw this he spoke to her in a voice that seemed full of tenderness and compassion.

“My dear child,” he said, “why do you shed these foolish tears?”

“Oh, sir!” exclaimed Felicia, “where are the friends I saw from the window? Why are they not permitted to come to me?”

“They are near and you shall see them soon,” was the treacherous promise.

“How am I to believe you?” cried the girl. “You told me I should find my father here. You told me he was hiding here to escape his enemies. You told me he had sent for me to come to him, longing to see my face once more. I believed you. I trusted you. At your command I even deceived the good friends I knew in San Diego. Now I fear it was wrong and wicked for me to do so. Now I know it was wrong! But what was I to do? You told me, over and over, that my father would be placed in awful peril if I breathed a word of the truth.”

“Which clears up that part of the mystery,” thought Frank, as he listened outside.

“I told you nothing but the truth,” declared Joaquin. “Your father sent that message to you by me.”

“But he is not here – he is not here!” panted the distressed child. “You said I should find him here. If you deceive me in that, why not in everything?”

“Your father was here, but ere we could reach this place he found it necessary to depart. Enemies were searching for him, and he was forced to flee; but he left a message for me, telling me whither he went and directing me to bring you. Trust me, Felicia, and you shall soon see him.”

Frank quivered a little with rage as he listened to the lying wretch.

Felicia drew a little nearer and looked earnestly into the face of the man.