Chapter XII: The Bag of Diamonds

Jurgens divined instantly that he had got himself into a serious predicament; but his predicament was even greater than the four boys imagined during the first part of their struggle with him.

The scoundrel fought with the fury of a cornered panther, clawing, kicking and even trying to use his teeth. Dashington exerted himself entirely to prevent an outcry, and this left Matt to do most of the fighting until Carl and Dick hurled themselves through the door and lent their assistance.

With four against him, Jurgens had no hope; nevertheless, his desperation was so great that he vainly tried to continue his one-sided battle.

Carl found a piece of rope somewhere in the hut, and while he, and Matt, and Dashington held Jurgens, Dick put the lashings on his hands and feet and made them secure with hard and fast sailor's knots. A twisted handkerchief tied between Jurgens' jaws relieved Dashington of his part of the work, and the boys got up breathlessly and looked down at their prisoner.

"That's because you didn't play square with me, Jurgens," said Dashington, leering into the baleful eyes of the man at his feet. "I'll back you against all comers, bar none, for being the most treacherous crook in the business. But here's where you get it handed to you. You had it easy, last night, but here's where I give you the merry ha-ha."

Jurgens tried to talk, but succeeded only in emitting an incoherent gurgle behind the twisted handkerchief; then he strained desperately at his bonds, but Dick's knots were never known to slip.

"Oh, cut it out!" said Dashington. "The ball and chain are as good as on you so far as your chances for getting away are concerned. What do you think of yourself, anyway? This is a regular calcimine finish, and you're going to do time enough to keep you out of mischief for quite a spell."

"Vat's dis?" asked Carl, stooping down by the edge of the step and lifting a small canvas bag.

Dashington stared, then jumped into the air and shook his hat.

"Oh, no, this isn't luck!" he remarked, smothering his hilarity with a tremendous effort. "Not at all! And yet it's as natural as can be. Of course he wouldn't trust the sparks with either Whistler or Bangs. He keeps them himself, and when he goes out hunting for Motor Matt he totes them along. The bag drops out as we roll off the step, and hides itself up close to the wall of the cabin. Carl finds it--and maybe we're not all to the good? Take it from me, we are."

"Are the diamonds in that bag, Dash?" demanded Matt, scarcely daring to credit his ears.

"Nowhere else, cull," exulted Dashington. "I couldn't forget that bag. It has played a big part in my life, even if it hasn't played a long one."

"Well, shiver me!" muttered Dick, dropping down on the step. "If that's not what you call winding this up in handsome style, you can call me a lubber. Motor Matt's luck--that's what did it."

"Hoop-a-la!" fluttered Carl, doing a two-step. "We're der fellers, und don'd you forged dot! Der tiamonts is pack, we haf der tiamonts pack, und eferyt'ing iss so lofely as I can't tell. Hoop-a-la!"

"Stow it, neighbor!" warned Dashington. "We've got our hooks on the sparks, but we're not liable to keep them if you make too much noise. Whistler and Bangs are somewhere in the timber, so don't advertise the fact that we're here and have the stones. Look into the bag, Matt. Make sure it's no counterfeit."

"That's right," said Dick, tempering his glad feelings until a further examination was made. "Open the pouch, Matt, and look into it. If the old hunks has fooled us with a bag of pebbles----"

"He hasn't," cut in Matt. "Look here!"

He pulled one hand from the bag and held up a diamond in the sun. There could be no doubt, after that.

"But are they _all_ there?" demanded Dashington. "The bag hasn't shrunk any since I first set my gig lamps onto it, still a few of the stones might have been taken out. What do you think?"

Matt, Carl and Dick had all seen the diamonds just as they had come from the idol's head, and they were all firmly of the belief that the stones in the bag bulked as large as ever.

"This," said Matt, after he had retied the bag and put it away in the breast of his coat, "makes it necessary for us to clear out of here as soon as possible. The question is, how are we to do it?"

"The nearest burg is Chef Menteur," answered Dashington. "We could go that far on our kicks and catch a train into N. O."

"Und leaf dot Jurgens feller pehindt?" protested Carl.

"He'd be something of a load to carry," said Dick.

"One of us could go to the nearest plantation and get a wagon," suggested Dashington.

"Und vile dot feller vas gone, Whistler und Pangs mighdt show oop und blay hop mit der resdt oof us."

"There are four of us," said Matt, "and I think, if we had a long pole, we could hang Jurgens to it and carry him. He has been the ringleader in every plot that was directed against Townsend and the iron chest. It's right that he should pay the penalty of his misdeeds, even if Whistler and Bangs should never be caught. We let him go once, you remember, Dick, when he was in our hands, and now, just because of it, we lost the _Hawk_, and came within one of losing the diamonds."

"That's a good spiel Motor Matt is giving us," declared Dashington. "I'll go and look for a long pole, and while I'm about it, you fellows tie Jurgens' hands in front of him."

Dashington was probably ten minutes getting the pole. By the time he was back, Jurgens' hands had been released and rebound in front of him. The pole was slipped between his hands and feet, and Matt and Dick, at one end, and Carl and Dashington, at the other, lifted it to their shoulders.

Jurgens hung downward, the pole catching the ropes that bound him and holding him suspended. His position was far from comfortable, but the boys could not help that.

"I'm wise to the road we've got to take," said Dashington, "so this end of the pole had better travel ahead. We'll come out on the turnpike a half mile the other side of where I saw the automobile. It won't be many minutes before Bangs and Whistler will begin to wonder what became of Jurgens and the sparks, and they'll probably go out on a hunt. Luck seems to be on our side, so I'm hoping they sidestep us."

The ends of the pole were shifted so that Carl and Dashington could travel ahead. Dashington had his bearings, and he led off as briskly as he could, considering that the thick timber and the long pole made it necessary to pick their way with some care.

"You can see, fellows," philosophized Matt, from the rear, "what greed will do for a man. Jurgens wouldn't trust the diamonds with Whistler and Bangs. He had to take them with him. If he hadn't had them, the bag of loot wouldn't be in our hands now."

"Jurgens is a four-ply wonder," said Dashington. "He was greedy with me, and that's how I came to scratch my entry in his free-for-all grafting game, I hope they give him ninety-nine years at hard labor."

What Jurgens' thoughts were as he was pitched and swayed along and listened to this talk, did not appear. He was probably meditating on the changeable nature of human affairs, and thinking of the many times he had had the treasure of the Man from Cape Town in his hands and had failed, in the final pinch, to get away with it.

As they got farther and farther into the timber, Matt counseled silence. They were drawing close to the road and their voices might carry to the ears of Whistler or Bangs, if they happened to be abroad.

After that the journey was continued in silence, the lads pausing, now and then, to change the pole from one shoulder to the other.

Everything was going swimmingly, and Matt was looking ahead to an easy jaunt along the road into Chef Menteur, and then a comfortable ride on the railroad back to New Orleans, when Carl and Dashington suddenly laid back on the pole and whirled around to get the front end farther back into the timber.

Matt and Dick were naturally surprised at this quick move. They were on the point of speaking when Dashington laid a warning finger on his lips and motioned for the pole and its burden to be let down.

"What's up?" whispered Matt, when Carl and Dashington had pressed close.

"The benzine cart is right ahead of us!" answered Dashington.

"Oof ve hat gone anodder foot," added Carl, "ve vould haf come oudt righdt on Whistler und Pangs."

"They're sitting in the front seats with a couple of rifles over their knees," finished Dashington. "Go take a look, Matt."

Matt crept forward to a place from which he could get a good view of the wagon road. The automobile was pulled out on the roadside, and brush had been cut and piled over the bonnet in order to screen the car from travelers along the highway.

Whistler and Bangs did not appear, as yet, to be very much worried over the prolonged absence of Jurgens. They were lounging in the car, their feet on the dashboard and pipes between their lips. Bangs was in his shirt sleeves, and across the lap of each lay a rifle.

As Motor Matt surveyed the situation, he felt a pang to think that those two rascals would escape the penalty of their evil actions. This thought led to another which caused the young motorist's pulses to leap with an inspiration.

Turning in his tracks, he made his way silently back to his waiting companions.

"I've got a scheme, pards," he whispered. "How'd you like to ride back to New Orleans in Jurgens' automobile?"

"Who can run the thing, Matt?" asked Dashington.

"I can," was the answer. "I used to be in the business."

"How'll ve get der pupple?" inquired Carl.

"Here's the scheme," said Matt, and drew the other three close while he talked.