Chapter III: The Hidden Pitfall

Not once in all his young life had Johnny Thompson felt so near his end as when he felt himself shooting downward into the unknown heart of the ancient Citadel.

That there were cavities, cisterns, secret passages, and air-vents running here and there through that massive pile of stone, he knew well enough. Some of them he and Curlie, ever hopeful of finding the hidden treasure, had explored. Some cavities had been prisons, others granaries, and one vastly greater than all others had been a cistern for storing rain water.

"But this one?" His heart stopped beating. What if it were an air shaft, running to the very bottom, a hundred feet below? He dared not think. What if it were indeed a storage place for treasure? What if he landed on piles of clinking gold? He dared not hope.

At this moment life, the priceless gift, seemed more precious than ever before. The affair was over in a fraction of a second, yet in that brief span of time all the bright glory of life in this beautiful world appeared to flash before him.

Thud! He struck with a sudden force that drove his knees into his chin and set his teeth rattling.

Instantly there was the sound of wild commotion all about him. "Bats!" he told himself. "Wait till I get out my flashlight. They'll scurry away fast enough. Only hope the torch is not broken in the fall. Whew! How glad I am to be alive!"

It was with trembling fingers that he at last drew the small flashlight from his pocket.

"If the bulb's broken," he thought as a cold chill set his teeth chattering. "Not much fun spending the night down here with these bats."

A little cry of joy escaped his lips as the light flashed on and the bats, as if touched by a magician's wand, vanished from sight.

His joy was short lived. The place he was in was small, not over fifteen feet from corner to corner. And the walls that towered above him, some twenty feet, instead of running straight up, slanted in from bottom to top.

"It's as if I had been sitting upon the very tip-top of a twenty foot pyramid," he told himself, "and the tip crumbled in, letting me drop inside."

"Wish it was made of paste-board," he told himself, tapping the solid stone wall. "But it's not, and I'm here."

He sat down to think. Here indeed was a predicament. Neither Curlie nor Dorn knew where he had gone. He would not be able to get out by himself. When he did not return they would search for him. But in that vast pile of brick and stone what chance was there of being found? In its day it had been the most massive fort in the western hemisphere. Ten thousand troops had been quartered there. There were hundreds of holes and caverns, dungeons and passages to be searched.

"And there is the jungle all about," he told himself. "They may think I have been kidnapped by natives and may go searching there."

But Johnny was young. What was still better, he had a firm faith in the ways of Providence.

"I will hear them walking on the wall," he told himself. "I'll call to them."

He did hear someone walking on the wall and did call. The result, however, was far different from what he expected.

In the meantime Curlie Carson was returning over a jungle path in the night. The objects he carried slung over his back would have caused Johnny Thompson to stare in amazement. They were two native drums. One was small but the other was an exact duplicate of the one that had won for Johnny a sore head and had endangered his life.

"It's all done with the aid of batteries," Curlie repeated to himself as he passed from a moonlit spot into the shadows. "But the drums will help. They will help a lot." He let forth a low deep chuckle that said volumes.

"Won't Johnny and Dorn be surprised!" He chuckled again.

* * * * * * * *

After stirring uneasily in his blankets, Dorn at last awoke. It was late in the night, he knew, because the moon was hanging low. He put out a hand to the spot where Johnny should have been sleeping. It was empty. He was a little startled at this. He was more surprised and disturbed a moment later as a dull tum-tum came to him.

"Native drums," he whispered to himself. Yet he could not be sure.

Oddly enough, the sound appeared to come from within the fort itself, in the direction of Curlie's improvised laboratory.

As the boy propped himself up for a look at the fort, he fancied he caught a flash of red light. Yes, there it was again, this time it was yellow. It appeared to come from a great crack in the wall. This crack, he suddenly recalled, ran a zig-zagging course down the right side of Curlie's laboratory.

"Strange he'd work so late," he thought.

Then of a sudden, this time louder, more distinct, came the boom of a drum.

He was startled. Recalling Johnny's story of the spying native, he wondered if some wandering tribe of wild natives had taken possession of Curlie's secret place. He thought of waking Pompee. Then, of a sudden his heart went cold. What if Pompee too were gone?

A moment of suspense and he was reassured. Pompee's great bulk, sprawled out before the fire, was unmistakable.

"It's all so strange," he told himself, dropping back into his place. "I--I almost wish I hadn't come."

Then, like Johnny, he saw in his mind's eye the needy natives, the children, bright-eyed boys and girls stricken with sickness from bad water and pining away without hope. Then, because he was very young and eager, his vision returned brighter than before.

"The 'Rope of Gold'," he said aloud. "We will find it, perhaps to-morrow."

A quarter of an hour later Curlie Carson came tiptoeing silently through the shadows. He paused for a moment to look down at the sleepers, gave vent to a low whistle of surprise upon seeing that Johnny was gone, then stood for a moment as if in deep thought.

"Where's Johnny?" asked Dorn, sitting up.

"Don't you know?" Curlie's voice showed surprise.

"No," the boy replied. "He was here. I fell asleep. I woke up. He was gone. That is all."

"He's all right," said Curlie, dropping to a place beside Dorn and drawing a blanket about him. "Gone for a walk. Be coming back presently. Anyway, we couldn't find him in the night if we tried."

Realizing the truth of this, Dorn settled back in his place to at last fall asleep.

* * * * * * * *

In his accidental prison Johnny Thompson found only one task before him, with plenty of time for its execution. This task was that of examining every niche and cranny of the enclosure which might lead to a means of escape.

"What's the use?" he exclaimed at last. "One might, perhaps, climb a perpendicular wall. Jean Val Jean in Victor Hugo's book was credited with that power. But when the walls slant toward you on every side, what chance?"

Once more he sat down. And, because he wished to conserve his meager supply of light, he snapped off the electric torch to sit staring into utter darkness.

What does one think of when he is at the bottom of a dungeon in a strange land? Johnny wondered a while about this. That he was not the first one who had spent hours of solitary darkness in this great fortress he knew well enough. He was not even the first white man. During the reign of Christophe more than one daring soldier of fortune sought adventure in Haiti to find a dungeon instead.

With much time on his hands, Johnny thought of many things. He thought first of the aged Professor and his labor of love for the kindly natives of the valley.

"I wanted to help." His throat tightened. "The Professor laughed at our search. He said there was no 'Rope of Gold'. Perhaps he was right. But it was a beautiful dream. Besides, he said it would be a fine experience. Well," he sighed, "it _is_ an experience."

For a long time he sat there thinking and the thoughts that came to him were far from happy ones. Then, into his consciousness there came a disturbance. He scarcely knew its cause. Was it a sound? Was it some slight movement close at hand? His hair appeared to rise as he sat there straining in a vain effort to sense the thing that crept in upon him.

In an effort to think clearly, he rested his head back against the wall. Then, like a flash it came to him. Someone was walking up above, yet so soft were the foot-falls that it was necessary for him to sense the jar of them by placing his head against the wall.

"Can't be Curlie," he told himself. "Nor Dorn."

Because of the sharp cactus that grew among the rocks the boys wore heavy soled, high-topped boots.

"But it's someone," he told himself. "And that someone must help me."

At once two pictures flashed into his mind: one of a strange native clinging to a slender rope ladder, peering into Curlie's laboratory; the other of a curious, broad, little white man looking down at him through thick glasses.

"What if it's the native!" he thought with a shudder. "What if he has companions and this is a trap, a pitfall prepared for me?"

He hesitated. The thing seemed absurd. Yet there had always been strange doings at the Citadel. For ten years after the emperor's death the Citadel had been closely guarded. No one might enter it save with one hand in that of the escorting guard.

Even of late, attempts to explore the walls had been frustrated. A party with picks and shovels had come here. In the morning their tools had vanished. A single white man had camped here. Some time later his camp was found deserted and partially destroyed. He had never been seen again.

"Huh!" the boy grunted, shaking himself free from these forebodings. "He may have perished by falling into a hole, as I will if I do not make the most of any opportunity to escape."

At that, throwing caution to the wind, he stood on tiptoe and cupping his hands shouted:

"Hello there! Hello! Hello!"

The ancient walls roared back _Hello_.

Almost instantly the jar of footsteps grew more distinct.

"Got me the first time." A thrill of real joy shot through his being. This was followed almost instantly by a great wave of fear. Who was walking up there at the small hours of the night? What was to come of it all?

The first question was answered immediately. Hearing a stir at the top he threw on his flashlight to find himself staring into a familiar face, the face of the native who, but a few hours before, had been swinging on the rope ladder before Curlie's window.

If any doubt remained in his mind, it was dispelled at once, for without uttering a word, the native began letting down the rope ladder.

"For all the world as if it had been prepared for this very occasion." Johnny's heart raced. His brow grew hot, then turned icy cold.

"Well," he concluded, "the die is cast. There's nothing now but to climb the ladder." With that he awaited its coming.