Dave Fearless and the Cave of Mystery: or, Adrift on the Pacific

CHAPTER XXII
THE HOUSE OF TEARS

"Hooray!" said Pat Stoodles, as soon as they were out of the presence of Captain Broadbeam and the diver.

"All right now, eh?" insinuated Bob curiously.

"Shure I am. Now, my friend, I've done you the honor of selecting you to go with me. You're willing?"

"Try me," cried Bob stanchly.

"The first thing," said Stoodles, "is to see Doctor Barrell."

"What! You're not thinking of taking him with us?" cried Bob.

"Not at all," responded Stoodles, "but I do want to take with me something he has got."

"And what's that, Pat?" asked Bob.

"His phonnygraph."

"Aha, I see," cried Bob, grinning. "The time you visited your subjects before you worked on their superstitious fears by rubbing phosphorus on your face. This time-"

"I'm reckoning on giving them a spaach, lad. Lave that end to me. What I want you to do is to make another of those paper balloons you sent up into the air the Fourth of July out at sea."

"Sure," said Bob; "a dozen, if you like."

"No, make two, for one might get disabled. Have you any of the fireworks left?"

"No, but I can make almost any kind of a sizzer with powder and fuses the purser will let me have."

"All right," approved Stoodles. "I may want to send up a balloon at the proper moment. If I do, I want it to send out lots of sparks when it gets aloft."

"You leave all that to me, Mr. Stoodles," said Bob. "I'll guarantee a perfect job."

"It's all for Dave's sake, lad, so I know you will," declared Stoodles.

The eccentric but loyal Irishman now went to the stateroom occupied by Doctor Barrell.

"Docther," he said, entering the presence of the old scientist, "I'd be telling you something."

Doctor Barrell was very busy examining some seaweed specimens he had fished up in the cove, but he graciously received the visitor, who was quite a favorite with him.

"Speak right out, Mr. Stoodles," he said.

Pat narrated his plans in behalf of Dave Fearless. Doctor Barrell was interested.

"And how can I help you?" he inquired, when Stoodles had finished talking.

"Docther dear, it's the loan of your phonnygraph I'd be wanting."

Doctor Barrell looked serious. He had a remarkably fine phonograph outfit, receiver and transmitter attachments, and all up to date.

This he greatly valued, for he was accustomed to talk his scientific deductions into a receiver, preserving the records for future reference when he got back to the United States.

"Tell me about what you want to reach, Mr. Stoodles," said the kindly old fellow, "and I'll see if I can fix you out properly."

Stoodles explained his scheme. After that he was shut up with the doctor for several hours. When he rejoined Bob his face was beaming.

"It's all right, lad," he reported. "Ah, but a wise old fellow is Docther Barrell. It'll be amazing what we are going to do to the natives."

It was just before dusk that evening when Stoodles and Bob left the Swallow. They each carried a good-sized parcel. The captain had seen to it that they were furnished with small-arms.

The ship's yawl took them out of the cove and landed them about five miles down shore, the boatswain in charge.

"It's understood, then," said Drake, "that we be here again with the boat at six, twelve, and six to-morrow?"

"If we're alive and well," answered Stoodles, "you'll find us on hand on one of those three occasions."

"That has saved us a long, hard tramp," said Bob, shouldering his load as they started inland.

"Two-thirds of the journey, lad, if the native town is where I think it is," answered Stoodles. "Now, everything depends on getting to the town and into it without being seen."

"Yes," assented Bob, "and it may prove a hard task."

"Not if you do exactly as I say," declared Stoodles. "Just follow me. I know all the short cuts."

The journey was not a pleasant one. There was no beaten path to follow. They had to breast their way at places through whole acres of thorny bushes. At other places they had some steep rocks to climb.

They rested frequently. It was about two hours later when Stoodles pressed through the last canes of a great brake with an expression of intense satisfaction.

"The hardest part of our tramp is over and done with, lad," he announced.

"That's good news," said Bob, who was pretty tired.

"Now you rest here till I get up into a tree and take a peep in a certain direction."

Stoodles selected a high, lonely tree near at hand, and was soon up among its loftiest branches. He came down speedily.

"It's all right, Bob," he stated. "A mile more and we will be at the edge of the town."

"The new town?" asked Bob. "The old one was destroyed by the cyclone, you know."

"Yes, the new town. It's not far away. I can tell by the lights."

It was now, as they reached a moderately level plateau, that they found paths evidently used regularly by the natives.

One of these lay right through a large field of flowers that resembled poppies. These appeared to be under cultivation.

"What's the flower garden for?" asked Bob.

"These are the royal flowers, lad," explained the Irishman. "They use them for royal celebrations and funerals. Bad cess to it! If we should be found here by the natives."

"Why?" inquired Bob.

"Taboo. No one is allowed here except the women who give their life to tending to the flowers, unless by direct permission of the native king."

"Well," observed Bob quizzically, "you had ought to be able to get a free pass, seeing that you was king once."

Stoodles chuckled as if some pleasant idea was suggested to his mind.

"I'll be king again," he observed. "I've got to be. 'Tis only for an hour maybe, but Dave Fearless and I want to make that ten thousand dollars."

"What ten thousand dollars?" asked Bob eagerly, as Stoodles paused in some confusion.

"You'd better ask Dave that," suggested Stoodles.

"Oh, I know what you are hinting at," said Bob. "It's some schemes concerning those two boxes Dave got at Minotaur Island."

"Ah, is it now?" said Stoodles, with an expression of vacancy on his face.

"I am sure it is," persisted Bob, "and I know what is in those boxes."

"Hear him! Well, well!" commented Stoodles.

"It's a little printing outfit. Pat, what are you and Dave going to mix up these natives with a printing outfit for? Won't you tell me?"

"Lad," pronounced Stoodles solemnly, "that is a dark and deadly saycret for the present."

Bob had to be satisfied with this. He followed his guide in silence. Stoodles halted.

"Do you see that old building yonder?" he asked of his companion.

"Yes," nodded Bob, curiously regarding a rude broad hut occupying an elevated space just beyond the flower field.

"Well, take my bundle. That's it. Now don't sthir till I come out. Crouch down among these bushes. I've got to get into that building to make my plans good."

"What is it, anyhow?" inquired Bob.

"They call it the House of Tears," was the rather singular reply of Stoodles.

CHAPTER XXIII
READY FOR ACTION

"I wonder what he has gone in there for?" thought Bob Vilett, as Stoodles disappeared in the direction of the House of Tears.

Bob had not long to wait. Stoodles came back as silently as he had gone.

"Aisy, lad!" he warned. "There's people about."

"I don't see any."

"In the pagoda yonder. There's a dozen or more mourners, all widows."

"Oh, I understand why it is called the House of Tears now," said Bob.

"I was in on them with a stumble. By good luck the lights were low for one thing, and they were all given up to their groaning and mourning. Well, I got these two, anyhow."

"Two what?" interrogated Bob. "Oh, I see," he added, as he made out two curious garments in the hands of his companion.

Spreading one out at a time, Stoodles showed Bob what they were.

"Any royal mourner," he explained, "wears one of these constantly for a full month after the death of a relative. They are taboo all that time. They must not be hindered. They are free to go where they choose."

"Good," commented Bob, "they'll help us out, then, won't they?"

"Yes. Get into this one, lad; it's the shortest," said Stoodles.

The garment was of one piece, covering a person from head to foot. Its top was a cap with holes for the eyes only.

When the two friends were arrayed in the garments they presented queer figures. Each carried his bundle under its ample folds.

The next half-hour was an interesting one for Bob. He simply followed Stoodles. Somehow he could not help but have confidence in the whimsical old fellow. For one thing, Stoodles certainly knew his ground well from experience. Besides that, he had been successful in carrying his point when he had before visited the native town when they were marooned on the island by the Raven crowd.

It was now past midnight. As they progressed Bob could see that they were nearing a lot of habitations.

For the most part the native village made up of squalid-looking huts.

Here and there, however, were some more pretentious structures. So far they had not met a single person.

"The palace, the home of the king, that same," said Stoodles, as they paused near the largest building they had yet seen.

"What's the programme?" asked Bob.

"You see that little pagoda attached behind?"

Bob nodded affirmatively.

"That is the council temple. I must get in there."

"It looks easy," said Bob. "Those sides of matting are not hard to break through."

"No, but the place is guarded day and night by as many as six natives," explained Stoodles. "They sleep all around the curtained daïs that holds the royal throne. Lad, I must get to that throne."

"All right," said Bob. "And what am I to do?"

"Listen very carefully. You see that big rock in the center of the square yonder?"

"With a great bowl-like thing at the top of it?" asked Bob.

"Yes. That is the public tribune, or place where the king's messengers make announcements to the people. That big bowl is filled with a perfumed water once a year, and the people pass under it while the high priest of the tribe throws a few drops over each of them."

"Go ahead," said Bob, "this is kind of interesting."

"Now then," pursued Stoodles, "I have planned out just what I want to have you do. Don't make any miss, lad."

"I'll make no miss-you just instruct me," said Bob.

"You are to climb up into that bowl. It's perfectly dry now. It's deep enough to hold you and all your traps. In just an hour you fire off a revolver, its full round of charges. Get your balloon ready. I'll hand you up the phonnygraph. Start it up-that's all."

"But what's going to come of it all?"

"You will soon see that."

"And what am I to do when the performance is over?" demanded Bob.

"I'll see that you are properly taken care of," declared Stoodles.

"All right," said Bob. "I suppose you know what you are about, but it's a pretty elaborate programme you are laying out."

"Oh, I know how to hocus these superstitious people, that's all," said Stoodles lightly. "I've done it before, you know."

Stoodles took Bob over to the public tribune. Everybody in the village seemed to be asleep. They were apparently unnoticed and undisturbed as they got the bundles up into the great bowl.

Bob climbed in after. Stoodles gave him a few last words of direction. Then he started off to carry out his own part of the programme.

The side of the great earthen bowl in which Bob now found himself was perforated all around the scalloped outer edges. Bob kept Stoodles in sight as long as he could by peering through one of these.

"He has gone in the direction of the royal council room," thought Bob. "This is a queer go. I wonder how it will turn out? In an hour, he said-all right."

Bob looked at his watch, flashing a match for the purpose. Then he arranged the various paraphernalia that were to take part in Pat Stoodles' programme.

He got the phonograph placed to suit him and ready for action at a moment's notice. Bob also prepared one of the small paper balloons so he could light the alcohol sponge on the wire on its bottom without igniting the tissue paper. A perforated asbestos globe he had himself designed, enabled him to do this with facility.

The native village slept. No sound broke the silence of the mystic midnight hour.

Bob again consulted his watch. The hour prescribed by Stoodles had passed.

"Everything must have worked smoothly with Pat," thought the young engineer. "I'm due to start the ball rolling all right. Here goes!"

CHAPTER XXIV
IN THE ROYAL PALACE

Bang, bang, bang, bang!

Such a vivid, unfamiliar racket had seemingly never before disturbed the native town of the Island Windjammers.

The whole settlement seemed to wake up at once. Bob Vilett was fairly startled at the result of his sharp rapid fusillade.

He had a heap to do, however, and he had no time to observe what was going on outside.

The balloon called first for Bob's attention. The shots alone had not directed the excited natives to the public tribune. The balloon, rising majestically, centered all eyes on that central meeting-place.

A hush of awe hung over the crowd. Bob started up the phonograph.

He did not know what the little machine was saying. He could only surmise that it was grinding out a speech from Stoodles. Loud and sonorous rang forth the tones of the fertile-minded Milesian.

Bob, venturing to peer from the bowl that encased him, was truly amazed.

Most of the crowd that had gathered stood perfectly still. Some of the more superstitious, at a sight of the strange balloon, had fallen prostrate in terror.

The speech now coming forth from the phonograph had a wonderful effect. It seemed to transfix the people. There was not a murmur, a stir, until the last word had issued from the phonograph. Then babel broke loose, the spot was deserted by magic. Men shouted, yelled, ran over each other in a pell-mell dash in the direction of the king's palace.

Bob tried hard to guess out the situation. He could only reason that the speech in the old familiar tones of their former king, coming from an unseen, mysterious source, had duly impressed the people. The shots, the balloon now dropping a vivid trail of sparks far aloft, had added to the general effect.

"I suppose I'm due to wait here until further orders," ruminated Bob. "I'd like to know what is going on in the palace, though."

Bob got restive thinking about this. The commotion and excitement around the palace were momentarily increasing.

"I can be of no further use here," thought Bob. "I don't see how Stoodles is going to get me out of here without giving the natives a hint as to my agency in sending up the fireworks and playing the phonograph. I'm going to get out of this; yes, I am."

Bob was an impatient, persistent sort of a fellow. Having made up his mind to leave his hiding-place, he promptly succeeded in getting out of the bowl and down onto the ground.

"I'm safe in this outlandish garment Pat gave me," reasoned Bob, securing his belongings under its folds. "I'm going to join the procession and see what is going on."

Bob pressed on the outskirts of the howling, excited mob that surrounded the palace. Then he edged his way in among them.

He found out that the robe he wore was indeed "taboo." People made way for him. Thus proceeding, Bob got finally right up to the little pagoda that Stoodles had designated to him as the royal council room.

Its entrance was choked and crowded with natives trying to enter.

Bob kept working his way farther and farther along. At last he squeezed past two great greasy sentinels and saw Pat Stoodles.

The Milesian sat on a heap of skins next to a throne raised on a daïs. Upon the throne itself sat a dusky native. Bob decided, from his manner and the deference with which he was treated by the others, that he must be the king.

All around were savages, more or less decorated in a way not common with the simple natives.

These persons, Bob knew, must comprise the nobility and the high-priests of the tribe.

Stoodles was speaking volubly, and seemed to take his honors and the situation in an easy, familiar way.

Of course Bob could not understand the native tongue, but he quickly saw that in some way the shrewd Milesian had got things on a most friendly basis with the tribe and its leaders.

"I wish I could get nearer and attract his attention," thought Bob. "I want him to know I have left the public square. I'll venture it. Pat!"

The next moment Bob Vilett was sorry he had spoken. He had not realized that to utter a word unbidden in the royal council room without royal permission was to court the severest public censure.

Four guards grabbed him up in a moment. All those around the royal daïs looked towards the present center of commotion in amazement.

Bob struggled in the grasp of his fierce captors, but was hampered by the bundles he carried. Suddenly one of the guards discovered he had shoes on. They tore away the garment encircling him. Some hurried words were called out to the king. In stern tones that monarch responded.

Bob could tell from the menacing manner of the guards that he was being borne away to punishment.

"Stoodles! Pat Stoodles!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

"Aha!" he heard Stoodles exclaim, and then the Milesian added words in the native language.

The guards looked amazed. They received a new order from the king. Bob was carried to the foot of the daïs.

"Make a bow," suggested Stoodles, and Bob did so. Stoodles no longer wore the mourning garb. That on Bob was riddled.

"It's all roight. I was soon coming after you," said Stoodles. "Everything is fixed."

"How fixed?" inquired the wondering Bob.

"Don't you see," insinuated the smiling Stoodles, with a gracious wave of his hand, "nothing is too good for me or my friends?"

"How did you work it?" asked Bob, feeling perfectly safe and easy now.

"That phonnygraph recited a great spaach of mine. It told the people that they would find their old king, myself, seated on the throne here. Why, lad, when they did find me I could have ousted the new king in a minute. I was magnanimous, though. I only asked some information. I told him he could keep his throne in peace."

The king and his counselors stared at the twain as they conversed, but did not interrupt.

"Whisht, lad!" continued Stoodles, with a chuckle. "They've given me some great information."

"What is it?" asked Bob.

"The Raven crowd are alive. I have found out where they are."

"Good!" said Bob.

"I have threatened all kinds of fire gods and cyclone demons unless they set Dave Fearless free."

"Will they?" asked Bob eagerly.

"Shure they will. He'll be here safe and sound in a few minutes. There's the guards they sent for him now."

Some natives bearing spears came hurrying into the room. There arose a great excited jabber. Stoodles rose up in manifest disappointment.

"What about Dave?" persisted Bob.

"Ochone!" cried Pat Stoodles. "Dave has spoiled everything!"

"Spoiled everything?" repeated Bob.

"Yes; Dave has escaped."

CHAPTER XXV
THE CAPTIVES

"Mr. Daley, you are a brave man."

"Glad of the compliment, Dave Fearless. I hope I deserve it."

"You certainly do," asserted Dave warmly. "But where are Jones and Lewis?"

Daley, who had flushed with pleasure at the handsome compliment bestowed by the young friend he was learning to like and respect, scowled and muttered angrily at this allusion to the companions who had been captured with them by the natives on the cape bluff.

"They're cowards, that's what they are," cried Daley angrily, "the miserable villains."

"Well, I hope they got away safely, anyhow," said Dave simply.

"They don't deserve it," growled Daley. "Now then, lad, so far so good. But what next?"

"That's so," remarked Dave Fearless. "What next, indeed?"

It was the second day after their capture. Dave and Daley were in a queer environment, to explain which it is necessary to go back to the hour when they were discovered on the cape bluff by the natives.

Their great joy at the discovery of the Swallow so near at hand off the island coast, had been quickly shadowed.

As Dave's anxious friends had seen through the spyglass from the deck of the steamer, the arrival of a large body of natives had put an end to the freedom of the young ocean diver and his companions. All four were surrounded and bound.

While some of the savages went on with their fetich ceremonies on the bluff to cast an evil spell on the Swallow, the others marched the captives to the native town.

There they were placed in a wretched hut, without any roof. The hut filled a cavity in the ground. About a dozen natives squatted on the surrounding level, and were thus enabled to keep the captives constantly in sight.

The rest of that day and the next passed in this irksome confinement. The prisoners were given food and water, but the great vigilance of their guards was not relaxed.

There was not the least opportunity afforded to escape.

When night came again, Daley and the others went to sleep. They had become disheartened. Dave, however, never gave up. Escape was constantly in his mind. His chance came at midnight.

Dave did not know it then, but Stoodles and Bob Vilett were responsible for the opportunity afforded.

Of a sudden, Dave caught the sounds of great commotion in the center of the native village, from which their prison place was quite remote.

Some men came running by, shouting loudly to the guards. Dave was amazed to see the last two of these spring to their feet in great excitement. They babbled like frightened monkeys. Then, with frantic yells, they dashed away towards the village.

It took Dave Fearless less than a minute to arouse his sleeping companions. It took less than another minute to show them that a golden opportunity for escape was presented.

It had not been a question of getting rid of their bonds at any time. These had grown loose from their twisting about during the day. It was the work of but a moment to cast them to the ground.

"There is not a single guard left," said Dave. "Something great and exciting is evidently happening at the native village. Work fast, men. We must get out of the enclosure some way quick as we can. Then a dash for the timber yonder."

Daley braced himself against the side wall of the enclosure. Dave mounted to his shoulders. As soon as he got safely over on the solid ground, Dave secured some poles. These he slanted down into the prison place. The others scrambled up them with agility and had soon joined him.

"What's that?" demanded Daley suddenly. "There it is again. No, gone. Something like a big fireball. The trees shut it out. Now then, Fearless, lead the way."

Daley had caught a momentary glimpse of the balloon Bob Vilett had sent aloft. Had Dave seen this, it might have suggested the near proximity of friends from the Swallow and have changed his plans.

As it was, he, like his companions, had only one thought in view-to get to a safe distance before the guards might return, discover their absence, and arouse the tribe to a general pursuit.

The refugees were most fortunate in their movements for the next few hours. Dave had struck out due west. They soon passed all signs of habitations.

It was two o'clock in the morning when they halted. The others lay down on the ground. Dave rested a few minutes. Then he arose and walked a short distance from the spot.

He was intent on studying their surroundings and learning what prospect lay beyond a sharp rise just in their course to the west.

The moon shone brightly, but by spells clouds occasionally crossed the sky. Dave had to wait for these fitful illuminations to pick his course.

Near to the top of the rise Dave halted, studied a slight glare, and then started on again with caution.

"A fire," he said. "Yes, I can smell smoke. Natives around a camp-fire? I guess that much. I must hurry back to the others and make back tracks double-quick."

Dave hastened along fast and recklessly. The sure proximity of enemies had startled him.

"What's this?" he gasped suddenly, lost his footing, took a header, and plunged into complete darkness.