The Rope of Gold

  E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan, and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)

  A Mystery Story for Boys

  THE ROPE OF GOLD

  by

  ROY J. SNELL

  The Reilly & Lee Co.Chicago New York

  Printed in the United States of America

  Copyright, 1929byThe Reilly & Lee Co.All Rights Reserved

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I The Dangling Ladder 11 II The Native Drum 27 III The Hidden Pitfall 43 IV He Who Walks Alone 54 V The Giant on the Wall 67 VI A Startling Discovery 79 VII The Voodoo Drum 87 VIII The Yellow Snake's Teeth 98 IX The Jeweled Monkey 111 X Stowaways 126 XI The Drums 141 XII Curlie Gets Their Goat 148 XIII Crusoes For a Night 168 XIV The Marine King 178 XV Dreams 186 XVI The Call of the Drums 191 XVII The White Shadow 198 XVIII The Magic Telescope 210 XIX An Ape-Like Band 220 XX The Chest of Secrets 228 XXI Johnny's Mission 241 XXII The Queen's Ruby 249 XXIII The Battling Giant 258 XXIV The Story Is Told 266 XXV The March of Triumph 272

  THE ROPE OF GOLD

  CHAPTER I THE DANGLING LADDER

  Night was settling down over the mountain side. Already the valleys farbelow were lost in darkness. The massive fortress which the dwellers onthe island of Haiti have always called the Citadel hung like a mountaincliff above a boy who, hot from climbing, had thrown himself on a bed ofmoss at the foot of a gnarled mahogany tree.

  "Whew!" he exclaimed softly to himself. "Even three thousand feet abovethe sea here in Haiti it's hot. Hot and dry. Fellow'd think--"

  He broke short off to stare. A curious thing was happening. Out from asmall dark opening some forty feet up the perpendicular wall of themassive abandoned fortification, something quite indistinct in thetwilight had moved and was creeping slowly down the moss-grown wall.

  "Like a snake," he told himself, "only, here in Haiti, there are nosnakes to speak of and certainly not one as long as that. Only look! It'sdown to the window below; a full twenty feet.

  "That window--" He caught his breath, then began to count. "One, two,three, four,--

  "That's the window of Curlie's 'laburatory' as he calls it. It--why, it'sa plot! I should warn him. It--"

  He half rose, preparatory to a race up the mountain side. Then he settledback to his seat on the ground.

  "Couldn't make it," he told himself. "Ground's too rough. Boulders therebig as a house. Too far around, take a full hour to come in from therear. By that time, if anything really serious is to happen, it will beover.

  "Besides, if worst comes to worst,--" He put out his hand to grip a sixfoot bow. It was a good yew bow. The arrows at his side were tipped withtriangles of steel sharp as razor blades. Down here in Haiti he had usedthese for hunting wild guinea hens and wild pigs.

  "But if worst comes to worst," he told himself, settling back against thetrunk of the tree, "it's an easy shot. I wouldn't miss. And the person,whoever it may be, would not go on."

  You who have read our other book called "Johnny Longbow" will know thathis thoughts were true when they assured him that he would not miss; forJohnny Thompson, by long and careful application to the task, hadmastered the difficult art of archery. And this boy, resting here at theedge of a tropical forest in that mysterious island of Haiti, was noneother than your old friend Johnny Thompson. How he came here; whatstrange stroke of fate it was that brought him into company with the slimand supple young inventor, Curlie Carson, does not, for the moment,matter.

  For some time after that Johnny's mind was busied with many thoughts. Thething that dangled there from window to window, was, he thought, a rope.Later he decided it must be a ladder, a rope ladder of henequin. Thenatives of Haiti are expert spinners and rope makers. From the toughfibers of the henequin leaf they twist the finest cord and stoutest rope.

  "But why is he there? And how did he get there?" He was thinking of themysterious being whose invisible hand had let down the rope ladder."We've been about the place for five days and have seen no one. It's beenquiet here--too quiet. Ghostlike. Fellow can hardly sleep nights in sucha monstrous bat roost with its hundred years of mystery and tragedyhanging over his head, and it so silent.

  "And here," he told himself, flexing his arms that they might be fit forany emergency, "here we come upon someone who apparently has evilintentions against Curlie. Of course, it may be only curiosity. And whowouldn't be curious? Got me guessing. All that stuff--batteries, boxes,canvas bound packages. Three donkey loads. You'd think he was setting upa high-power wireless station. But he hasn't, as yet. Hasn't even erectedan aerial."

  Curlie _was_ a queer chap, there was no getting round that. Tall, slim,with mysterious gray-green eyes and with no past he had thus far cared tomention, he had come into Johnny's life on the way down to Haiti from theStates. From that time until now, save for the hours Curlie spent in thesecret room he had rigged up in the old fort, the two boys had beeninseparable.

  "He may not have a past worth mentioning," Johnny had often told himself."But he has a splendid present and fine ideals for the future. And thatis all that counts."

  For some time, as twilight turned to darkness, nothing further happened.Keeping his eye on the dangling ladder, Johnny allowed his mind to wanderover the events that had led up to the present dramatic moment.

  The whole affair had begun way back in freshman high school days.Johnny's science professor had become, in a way, his pal. His naturalinterest in all matters pertaining to science had made him a leader inthat field.

  Then too, like Johnny, the Professor was fond of travel. Together, at oddmoments, they had traversed all of the New World and much of the Old. Allof this, of course, on maps and charts. But always, in the end, they cameback to one spot, the Island of Haiti.

  "Johnny," the Professor had said over and over, "that is the mostinteresting island in the world, has the most absorbing history, and mosttempting mountain jungles. Johnny," he had always pounded the table atthis juncture, "I'll soon be sixty. Thirty-five years of teaching! That'senough for any man. When I am sixty we'll really go to Haiti!"

  So here they were. In the meantime Johnny had done a little wandering onhis own account, but as soon as he heard that his beloved Professor hadgone to Haiti, he had followed.

  He had found the Professor head over heels in work. For more than ahundred years this strange republic, not Spanish, not French, norEnglish, but pure native, red, black and brown, had struggled alongwithout aid from her sister republic, Johnny's own beloved land. But nowthe United States had taken a hand and Professor Star had been given ashare in the work. A splendid, kind-hearted hu
manitarian, he had acceptedthe challenge and, with no pay save his living expenses, had assumedresponsibility for the comfort, happiness and well-being of more than tenthousand natives.

  "It's a big task," he told Johnny. "An almost impossible task withoutmoney. See that mason-work?" he had said one day as they walked through atangled mass of vines and bushes.

  "What is it?" Johnny had asked.

  "The old French aqueduct, Johnny!" He had gripped the boy's arm hard."This narrow valley was once one of the richest in the world. Irrigatedit was, by water from the mountain streams. And, Johnny, if we had moneyfor cement, we'd rebuild that aqueduct and these half-starved andhalf-naked people would be happy and prosperous.

  "And we, Johnny, you and I," his eyes had shone with high hope. "We wouldbecome rich, for more than half of the land is uninhabited waste that canbe bought for an incredibly small sum. And with water for irrigation itcan be reclaimed and sold--for who knows how much? Get an Americanplanter interested in it. Then see! We'd be rich, my boy! Think of an oldprofessor and a boy getting rich!" He had laughed a cackling sort oflaugh.

  But Johnny knew that he had meant what he said, every word of it. And hewas for it from the start. But where was the money for repairing theaqueduct? That was the rub.

  "All we need," Johnny had smiled back, "is to find the 'Rope of Gold'."

  "Johnny," the old Professor had spoken again, his voice grown husky,"sometimes when one sees the need, he is tempted to believe in fables,even in pots of gold at the foot of the rainbow. Do you see that massivepile of stone way up yonder, built by the only real emperor the islandever knew?"

  Johnny had looked away at the distant Citadel, the massive fortress whichwas so near now, down whose side the rope ladder dangled.

  "Johnny," the Professor had grown quite excited, "this emperor of theirs,Christophe, was apprenticed as a boy to a stone mason. They say that asan old man, and a very rich emperor, who owned a third of theplantations, he went many times to work alone on those walls at night.And they say that he built boxes and boxes of gold into the twenty footwalls, together with mortar and stone. Men often have dug for it, butthey never found the place. Possibly," he had ended rather wearily,"there was no gold. But there should be. We need it. Christophe, when athis best, had wonderful dreams regarding the future of his people. Thosepeople need the gold as never before."

  "I wonder," Johnny now thought to himself as he looked away at themassive wall where the rope ladder still dangled and where a pale lightgleamed from the lower window, "I wonder how much of that ancient talewas true?"

  As he looked up and up until his eye reached the very crest of thecrumbling fortress, he fancied he saw a figure moving there. It suggestedthe ghost of the emperor still laying stones in the wall.

  "But that," he told himself stoutly, "is pure fancy. So, too, are thetales the natives tell of the ghost emperor who returns from time to timeto work once more at night repairing the walls to hide his treasure. Iwonder--"

  He broke short off. A dark figure had appeared at the upper opening fromwhich the rope ladder dangled.

  One breathless moment, as if looking for some movement far or near,listening for a sound, the figure of a native huddled there on the giantwindow ledge.

  It was strange, Johnny thought. Crouching there in the shadow, one handon the muzzle of a century old brass cannon that had once barked itsdefiance to the world, this native seemed a spirit come from out thepast.

  "He's not that," the boy told himself. "But who is he? When did he come?"

  They had been at the ancient fortress. He and Curlie Carson had beenprowling about its dungeons and secret passages for four days and had notso much as seen a sign of a living human being. The silence they hadfound oppressive by day and spooky by night.

  "And here is a man. I wonder--" His wonderings came to a sudden end. Astrange phenomena had broken in upon them. Just as the native, havingcast fears aside, had swung out upon the slender rope ladder, one ofthose curious after-glows of a sunset drenched the Citadel with goldenlight.

  The effect was magical. "As if it came from Arabian Nights," Johnny toldhimself, thrilled to the very center of his being. The figure of thenative, quite naked save for a loin cloth, was transformed into a bronzestatue.

  "And the ladder seems our 'Rope of Gold'," Johnny breathed.

  The after-glow endured through a space of ten seconds. Then all was darkas before. It lasted long enough for the boy to see that a machete, agreat, long-bladed knife, hung at the native's side.

  "And Curlie is alone, unsuspecting," he told himself, and a chill ran uphis spine.

  At once his mind was in a whirl. Should he shout, warning his pal andperhaps frightening the native away?

  This, he thought, might be wise. Yet, nothing serious might becontemplated. Most natives wore machetes at their sides. Besides, therewas his own bow and arrow, a very useful weapon. An arrow shatteredagainst the wall would serve to drive the intruder away.

  "And if worst comes to worst--"

  He gripped his bow, nocked an arrow, then sat there breathless, waiting.

  The thing that happened in the next sixty seconds was surprising anddramatic.

  With astonishing speed the native glided down the ladder.

  "He's there! He--he's looking in."

  Gripping his bow hard, Johnny took a long breath. He felt that the timehad come for sending the arrow of warning. And yet--he wanted to knowmore. So he waited. The bronze figure, faintly illumined by the palelight from within, hung there for a few moments, motionless.

  Then with the speed of thought, things happened. From within there came asudden flash of blinding red light. The next instant the wall was a blankof darkness.

  The whole thing was over in a space of time not measured by seconds, yetJohnny had seen it all. The native, his eyes distorted by fright, hadleaped backward and down. Turning a complete somersault, he had gonespeeding to earth, twenty feet below.

  "He'll be killed!" Johnny exclaimed aloud.

  But no. The space at the foot of the wall was clear of brush. The nextmoment he saw the man plainly. He went skulking along the wall to at lastlose himself in the shadows of some ancient palm trees.

  "We've seen the last of him," Johnny told himself as he rose to take along breath. "I must be getting back to camp. Dorn and old Pompee willthink something has happened to me."

  As he made his way rapidly over a narrow path, down a slope and up theother side, then through a dark and tangled forest, his thoughts werebusy.

  "Big piece of nonsense, this search for the 'Rope of Gold'," he toldhimself. "May never have existed. Anyway, we'll never find it.Fascinating though, and lots of fun, this search; and life can't be allwork."

  They _had_ worked, he and Curlie Carson. For two months, under theProfessor's direction, they had taught native children the simplestrudiments of learning, had assisted native planters at their work and hadtaught them new methods of tilling the soil.

  It had been a short summer and now, only a few days more and he, Johnny,hoped to be going back to the States. And Curlie Carson, the strange ladwith the wanderlust and a bent for inventions, would go elsewhere too.

  They had heard many times of the 'Rope of Gold'; a very fancy rope it hadbeen, hand-wrought with flowers of white gold and leaves of green goldwoven through it, so the story ran.

  When the native emperor, the magnificent Christophe, was at the height ofhis power, this rope of gold had been strung through loops of silver allthe way down the sides of the massive steps that led up to his palace. Ahundred feet long it was. When rolled up it required two men to carry it.When revolution threatened, so the story ran, the emperor had hidden therope away in the Citadel and there it remained to this day. But where?

  This was the question the two boys had tried to solve. Thus far they hadmade no headway. The ancient walls, the dungeons, and secret passages hadyielded nothing more valuable than dust, bats, rats and general decay.

  "It's something one's not likely soon to forget,"
the boy told himself.

  He fell to musing on the life of that native emperor and thefortification he had built.

  "He thought the French would come back," the Professor had said to himone day. "He had great dreams for the progress of his people. You canhardly blame him for wanting to defend them. In the end he forgot hisgreat dreams for his people and began worshipping gold and that immensepile of brick and stone. Had he put his trust in God instead of in powerand gold," the kindly old professor had rumbled on, "had he written hisname on the hearts of men, his name would have lived forever. Now thereis only that crumbling pile of masonry to remind the world that he livedat all."

  "It's all very strange," Johnny thought. "If one could but have livedthen. If he--"

  He stopped short in his tracks. His eye had caught sight of somethingunusual, a white thing hanging from the lower branch of a large tree.

  "Couldn't have been here when I came along an hour ago." His curiosityincreased. "I'd have noticed it."

  He took two steps forward, then put out a hand to touch it. The thinggave forth a hollow sound.

  "How queer!" he thought. "A native drum, hanging here."

  Without thinking much about what he was doing, he took down the drum,which was a three foot section of a hollowed-out log with a goat skinstrung across one end, placed it between his knees and gave it two quick,sharp blows with his hand.

  The result was two resounding roars that set the hills echoing.

  The next instant, quite without warning, the boy was seized and thrownviolently to the ground.