CHAPTER VIII.
KING MULVEY’S BRIDGE.
He returned to Dobbin, finished what was necessary to do in caring for the sailor’s wound, and then took a look at the guards at each entrance.
Everything seemed to be in as good condition as could be asked, for the men were as determined as ever to repel any and all attacks upon them.
Not a sound had been heard from the savages outside.
“I’m going to make an exploration,” said Trim to the white man on guard at the first entrance, “and I may not get back until after dark.
“When I do I’ll give you a signal so that you may be sure not to fire at me.
“Your best plan will be to call any one to a halt who approaches, and if he doesn’t say Kimberley, shoot him down; if he says Kimberley, you can know that it is me.”
The guards told him that they understood, and Trim accordingly left the cavern. He went down the slope to the spot where he had heard the two shots.
There he found the bodies of two whites. One was dead, and the other, the man whom he had wounded was dying from a second wound inflicted by his companion.
“Give me something to drink,” this man groaned as he saw Trim.
Trim placed a flask of liquor to the man’s lips immediately. It revived him to a considerable extent, but Trim could see that he had not long to live.
“I suppose you’re the plucky American detective?” this man muttered. “I’m glad to set eyes on you before I die.”
“What do you know about me?” asked Trim.
“I know all that Jem Miller could tell,” was the faint reply. “He came out to join us, and told such tremendous stories of what you could do that all the blacks were scared half to death.
“They were still more frightened when shortly after Miller came a couple of fellows that belonged to the Massais tribe arrived with still more stories.
“I confess I was rather frightened myself and I advised Mulvey and the others to light out for the west coast and let you waste your time hunting for us among the mountains.
“They wouldn’t have it so. They got the idea that I was treacherous, and that’s why Starkey shot me.”
“Is Starkey the dead man there?”
“Yes. I knew he would lay for me, and I tried to get the drop on him first. Well, I’ve got to go. I know that well enough, and I can tell you, young fellow, that you’ve still got a big job ahead of you if you imagine that you are going to break up Mulvey’s rule here or get your man Miller.”
“I’m going to see Mulvey now.”
“You are, hey? Where do you think you’ll find him?”
“I think you’ll tell me just where to go.”
The dying man looked at Trim with a curious smile.
“Well now,” he muttered at length, “if I could only live to see the fun. I can’t do that, but I won’t spoil it.
“Go down to the end of the meadow and you’ll find a trail leading up the mountain at the other side. Follow that trail straight up the rocks and you’ll come to Mulvey’s palace.
“Miller will be there, and so will the others by the time you get there. You’ll have a good time.”
The dying man muttered a few words that Trim could not distinguish, his strength failed rapidly and a moment later his heart stopped beating.
“I haven’t a doubt,” thought Trim, as he went on down the mountain, “that that chap gave me the right steer; at the same time he probably means that I shall step right into the lion’s den, so to speak, and a good time I’m likely to have to be sure in keeping the beasts off.”
He kept eyes and ears open as he went down the mountain for any sign or sound of the enemy.
When he came to the edge of the meadow he looked out toward the river and saw a number of blacks hurrying toward the bank where apparently they were boarding a raft.
“It looks as if the blacks were being scared out of the country,” thought Trim. “That is not surprising when one thinks that fears have been so stirred up by the stories of Miller and the Massais and by the shots that came at them from the waterfall.”
Believing that he had nothing to fear from the blacks now, he went directly across the meadow without attempting to conceal himself, and at the end found just such a trail as the dying criminal had told him about.
It led up a very steep mountain, and at times he had to cling to roots and bushes in order to get along; sometimes it led along the very face of a precipice, and at others he had to pull himself up by gripping the edge of the rock above his head.
It was a strange path, but he was sure that he was making no mistake, for he could see many marks to show that others had taken exactly the same course.
There were scratches evidently made by the nails in men’s boots, and many a bush and root was rubbed almost bare where it had been grasped by many hands.
He came at length to the edge of a precipice that dropped sheer down at least three hundred feet.
He could not tell for a moment which way the path ran here, but he followed along the edge of the precipice in the same general direction in which he had been traveling until he came to a point where less than fifty feet away was another steep wall of rock.
Between him and the second wall was a deep chasm. It reminded him of the canyons with which he had become familiar in Western America.
He recalled also the small canyon that he had managed to cross during one of his adventures in Australia, but in this place there were no trees large enough to enable him to climb them and bend the tops down until he could drop down on the other side.
“I’m not so certain, anyway,” he said to himself, “that I want to get across. Yes, I am, though, and I see the way.”
A little further away he saw that there was a rope stretched directly from one side of the chasm to the other.
He now proceeded very cautiously for the presence of that rope there showed him that he was on the track of white men. He listened constantly for any sound of human beings, but heard none.
At last he came to the spot where the rope was fastened at his side of the chasm. It was made fast upon a tree trunk which grew at the very edge, and five or six feet below it there was a little shelf of rock just big enough for a man to stand on.
The rope went straight across to the other side of the chasm, where it was fastened above a broader shelf of rock. The shelving at this side would have held three or four men comfortably.
“This is their bridge,” thought Trim. “I wonder if they get across by a hand-over-hand act. If they do they are all good athletes.”
He saw that there was a small cord lying along the side of the rope across the chasm. He pulled this cord and found that it yielded.
He kept on pulling until he had drawn across to this side a pulley block that rolled upon the larger rope.
There was a hook attached to this, and Trim saw that by catching to this hook he could swing himself out over the chasm and be carried then by his own weight so far toward the other side that he could at least get his feet upon the shelf of rock there.
“This pulley block may be for freight purposes only,” he thought, “but I’ll make a passenger car out of it this time.”
It occurred to Trim that if he should take hold of the hook with his hands, he might be at disadvantage if anything should happen that would make it necessary for him to use his hands. He thought of making a sling out of two or three handkerchiefs, which he could slip under his shoulders and tie to the hook, but he feared that handkerchiefs would not be strong enough to sustain his weight.
While he was thinking of this matter he saw another cord lying at the edge of a rock.
He went to this and found that it had been left there evidently for just the purpose that he needed.
At the end of it was a long piece of stout cloth that could be used for a sling, and from the marks upon it, it was apparent that this was what it had been used for.
The ends of the cloth were tied to an iron ring. It seemed clear that the members of Mulvey’s gang in crossing the chasm were in the habit of fastening this sling under their arms, hitching the ring to the pulley hook and so sliding across the rope.
The rope tied to the sling was undoubtedly for throwing or drawing the sling from one side of the chasm to the other; so Trim put the sling under his arms, hung the ring upon the hook and jumped with all his force out over the chasm.
The wheel in the pulley block worked easily along the rope, and he slid therefore rapidly toward the other side.
He was just about half way across the chasm when two white men suddenly appeared around the corner of the ledge on the opposite side and jumped down to the shelf where he intended to land.
They were armed with knives, and were as desperate looking characters as it had ever been his misfortune to meet.
They watched him coming with savage grins. There was no turning back for Trim; once started on that peculiar kind of journey, he was obliged to go as far as the pulley block would take him.
He uttered a loud scream and began to kick his legs about as if he were trying to stop the pulley. The men on the shelf roared with laughter.
They believed that Trim was frightened out of his senses. This was exactly what he wanted them to believe, and it was for that reason that he screamed and kept on screaming while the sliding block brought him nearer and nearer to the shelf.
It all took but a few seconds, and before the white savages had ceased to shake with laughter as they were thinking how their plucky enemy was overcome with fear, Trim was at the edge.
They reached out to grasp him, each extending one arm and holding the other back to strike with a knife.
Trim suddenly pulled himself up until his chin was level with the pulley block, at the same time doubling up his knees so that they touched his chin.
Instantly his body straightened as he threw his feet forward with all the force that he could command. The white men, still laughing and confident of success, were taken completely by surprise.
Trim’s left foot caught one of the men upon the neck and the other squarely upon the forehead.
Both staggered back, and the one who was struck in the neck lost his balance and tumbled with a loud howl of terror into the chasm. The other dropped his knife and clutched blindly at Trim’s leg to prevent himself from falling.
This clutch caused Trim to slide still further along the rope so that in a half second he was directly over the shelf. He did not let go of the pulley block yet.
Before he ventured to do that he gave the white man another vigorous kick. The fellow, already half stunned, let go his leg and rolled over the edge to join his companion three hundred feet below.
Then Trim dropped to the shelf with a sigh of relief.
“I reckon there’ll be no more trouble from them,” he said to himself, “and that accounts for four of these six men that I came to find. Now for the others.”
He listened a moment, and was certain that he heard approaching footsteps.
“I must have the rest of these fellows alive,” he thought, “or nobody will believe that I have met them.”
With this he hastily drew his knife and cut the small cord that was used for pulling the pulley block from one side of the chasm to the other.
In a moment this cord was dangling from his hands down the side of the chasm. Rapidly he coiled it up and held it as he would a lariat.
The sound of the footsteps had ceased. Trim cautiously made his way around the corner of the ledge from where he had seen his two enemies appear.
A few strides brought him to level ground beyond the edge of the chasm. He thought he saw a figure dodging among the trees at a little distance. He lay flat on the ground and waited. Presently he saw a white man drawing carefully near the edge of the chasm.
“This must be King Mulvey,” thought Trim, “and it looks as if he had heard my shrieks and the howls of one of those fellows and had come out to see what was going on.”
This was indeed the case. Mulvey, who was dressed more like a savage than a white man, and who carried a fine cord in one hand, crept to the edge of the rock and looked over. From that point he could see down to the shelf where Trim had had his struggle.
Nobody was in sight. Mulvey drew himself up and looked around in evident surprise and alarm.
“That cord,” thought Trim, “is undoubtedly the one with which he committed his murders. He did the Chinese bowstring act with it, and he has done it for the last time, although he’s got it now with the hope of twisting it around my neck.”
Mulvey once more looked over as if he still hoped to see some sign of his men below.
Trim arose and advanced carefully toward him. Mulvey heard him, and started up suddenly.
This was what Trim wanted, for it gave him a good mark for his throw. There was a whir of flying rope, and the next instant Mulvey’s neck was in a noose.
Trim drew the cord so tight that the man could hardly breathe. Then he went up to him, and at the point of a revolver compelled him to lead the way to his castle.
This castle proved to be little more than a hut, but in it was the steeple-jack, Jemmy Miller, too frightened to make any resistance.
Both men were at Trim’s mercy, Mulvey because by a single jerk of the cord Trim could have choked him to death, Miller because he knew that Trim was ready to fire at any sign of flight.
It took them many long hours to return to the waterfall by a roundabout route, for Trim would not attempt to take his prisoners down the steep path by which he had climbed up.
They arrived at last, however, and on the next day began to journey back to Kimberley. They met with no adventures of importance on the way back, and it is sufficient to say that Trim was received with great enthusiasm by the officials of that city.
He left Mulvey and Miller there to be dealt with according to the law, and, faithful to his promise to Dobbin, set out for America, where he found plenty of detective work to do.
His first experience upon his return home is told in “Trim Changes Cars; or, Taking Big Chances for a Quick Capture,” in No. 12 of the NEW NICK CARTER WEEKLY.
[THE END.]
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_LATEST ISSUES OF NEW NICK CARTER WEEKLY._
5—Trim Among the Bushmen; or, Searching for a Lost Mine in Australia. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
6—Trim’s Double Header; or, Snaring Human Game with Decoys. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
7—Trim on the Safety Valve; or, Taking Long Chances with Death. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
8—Trim’s Troublesome Tiger; or, How His Prisoner Escaped the Gallows. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
9—Trim in Cape Town; or, The Man with a Strange Limp. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
10—Trim in the Diamond Fields of Kimberley. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
11—Trim in the Wilds; or, Hunting a Criminal on the Dark Continent. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
12—Trim Changes Cars; or, Taking Big Chances for a Quick Capture. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
13—Trim in the Main Shaft; or, Hunting Criminals a Thousand Feet Underground. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
14—Trim Shoots the Grain Chute; or, A Surprise Party on Board the Falcon. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
15—Trim’s Round-up in Detroit; or, a Long Chase Ended in a Hurry. By the author of “Nick Carter.”
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