Panther Eye Part 12

"Yes, Mazie, we've got the gold--plenty of it. Again I ask you, 'Wot's de lay?'"

Mazie clasped her hands in glad surprise. For fully three minutes she acted the part of a happy child dancing around a Christmas tree, with Johnny doing the part of Christmas tree and delighted parent all in one.

At last, she came down to earth.

"What we need is food and shelter for the poor little wretches. Oh, Johnny, I can't tell you--"

"Don't need to," interrupted Johnny, "I soldiered in this G.o.d-forgotten hole for nine months. Tell me what we can do first and fastest."

"Well, there's a great empty hotel down in the street St. Jacobs. It has a wonderful dining-room, big enough for a thousand women and children. We can rent it for gold."

"For gold," said Johnny, setting a sack of gold on the table.

"Then we can get rice and sweet potatoes from China by ship, for gold."

"For gold," again echoed Johnny, banging three heavy sacks on the table.

"Oh, aren't you the Midas!" exclaimed Mazie, clapping her hands.

"But, Johnny," she said presently, "there's one more thing. It's hard, and I'm afraid a bit dangerous. Rice and sweet potatoes are not enough for starving people."

"I'll say not."

"They need soup. Many would die without it. Soup means meat. We must have it. The nearest cattle are a hundred miles away. The Mongols have them.

They are the border traders between China and Russia, you know. They have cattle--hundreds of them. They can be bought for gold."

"For gold," smiled Johnny, patting his chest which still bulged suspiciously. "I'll be off for the cattle in the morning. I'll leave Doc here to do what he can, and to look after you."

"Good!" exclaimed Mazie, clapping her hands again. "The Red Cross will supply you a band of trustworthy Russians to help drive the cattle here.

The Mongols won't dare bring them."

"All right," said Johnny. "And now, what about the supposed hospitality of the Red Cross? I'm hungry. So is Doc."

"Right this way," and Mazie hurried through the door.

Half an hour later the two were enjoying such a meal as they had not eaten for months; not because of its bountifulness, nor richness, but because it was prepared by a woman.

"To-morrow," said Johnny, as he murmured good-night, "I am to venture into one more unknown land."

"Yes, and may your patron saint protect you as he has done in the past,"

said Mazie.

"My patron saint is a miss," smiled Johnny, "and her name is Mazie.

Good-night."

Realizing that he was trapped, the instant that forms blocked the door of the machine sheds at the Seven Mines, Pant tackled the problem of escape.

If these were natives or yellow men, they would treat him rough. If they were Bolsheviki, he could hope for no better fate. His only hope lay in escape. The place had no other door and no open windows. He must gain his freedom by strategy. Evidently, he must play the cat-and-mouse act about the piles of supplies and machinery.

As he dodged back to a position behind a large ore crusher, he managed to catch sight of the two men.

"Bolsheviki!" he gasped inaudibly. "What giants!"

Full-bearded giants they were, reminding him of nothing so much as of Bluebeard in the fairy books, or the Black Brothers in "The Lost River."

Seeming to scent him, as a dog scents a rat, they moved cautiously down the narrow pa.s.sage between piles. As yet, they had not caught sight of him. Hope rose. Perhaps they would pa.s.s by him. Then he could make a dash for it. Yet, this was not entirely satisfactory. They would follow him, would see where he had gone, if he escaped to the mine. Then all his plans would go glimmering.

Instantly there flashed through his mind a bolder and, if it worked, a better plan. Moving close to the crusher, he put his hand to the great hopper that rested on and towered above it. This was made of iron and was fully eight feet wide and quite as deep. His keen eye measured the aperture at the bottom. No giant, such as these were, could crowd through that hole. And the hopper was heavy. Applying all his strength to it, he felt it give ever so slightly. It was not bolted down; it was merely balanced there. He would be able to topple it over. And, once over, it would be a difficult affair to handle, especially from beneath.

As he waited, his heart thumped so loudly that it seemed the Russians must hear and charge down upon him.

They came on cautiously, peering this way then that. He caught the gleam of a knife, the dull-black shine of an automatic. It was a man hunt, sure enough--and he was the man. Now they were five paces from him, now three, now two. His breath came in little inaudible gasps. His muscles knotted and unknotted.

And now the moment had come. The men were even with the crusher, on the opposite side from him. Gathering all his strength, he heaved away at the hopper. There followed a grinding sound, a shout of warning, then a dull thud. The enemy were trapped.

Pant spun round the crusher like a top. Seizing the wire he had arranged for his improvised sled, he rushed toward the door, dragging the batteries after him.

A glance backward came near convulsing him with laughter. One of the Russians had succeeded in thrusting his head through the narrow opening at the top of the inverted hopper. Here he stuck. To the boy, he resembled a backwoodsman encircled by a barber's huge ap.r.o.n.

But there was little time for mirth; business was at hand. New problems confronted him. Were other Bolsheviki near the shed? If so, then all was lost.

Poking his head out of the door, he peered about carefully. There was not a person in sight. The wind had risen.

"Good!" he muttered, "it will hide my tracks!"

He was soon speeding across the snow. In another five minutes he was peering like a woodchuck from his hole in the s...o...b..nk. His batteries were already inside. If he had not been observed, he had only to block his entrance and leave the wind to plaster it over with drifting snow.

As he looked his brow wrinkled. Then he dodged back, drawing the snow-cake door after him. The two Russians had emerged from the shed.

For hours on end the balloon, with Dave Tower, Jarvis and the stranger on board, now hundreds of miles from the mines, swept over the barren whiteness of unexplored lands. The sun went down and the moon shone in all its glory. The fleeting panorama below turned to triangles great and small--triangles of pale yellow and midnight blue. Now and again the earth seemed to rise up toward them. By this Dave and Jarvis knew that they were drifting over snow-capped hills. When it receded, they knew they were over the tundra. Sometimes they caught the silver flash and gleam of a river the ice of which had been kept clear of snow by the incessant sweep of the wind.

As Dave crouched by the plate-gla.s.s window staring down at that wonderful and terrible spectacle of an unknown land, he asked himself the question: "Was this land ever viewed by mortal man?"

The answer could be only a surmise. Perhaps some struggling band of political exiles, fighting their way through summer's tundra swamps and over winter's blizzard-swept hills, had pa.s.sed this way, or lingered to die here. Who could tell? Surely nothing was known of the mineral wealth, the fish, the game, the timber of this unexplored inland empire. What a field to dream of!

His mind was drawn from its revels by a groan from the stranger. He was awake and conscious. Propping himself half up on an elbow, he stared about him.

"Where am I?" He sank back, an expression of amazement and fear written on his face.

"Who are you?" asked Dave.

"I--why--I," the man's consciousness appeared to waver for a second. "Why, I'm Professor Todd from Tri-State University."

"What were you doing with the Orientals?"