The tunnel work went on, though not so well as when Tom's explosive was first used.The rock was indeed getting harder and was not so easily shattered.Tom made tests of the pieces he had obtained from the outcropping ledge on the mountain where he had shot the condor, and decided to make a change in the powder.
Shipments were regularly received from Shop ton, Mr.Swift keeping things in progress there.Mr.Damon's business was going on satisfactorily, and he lent what aid he could to Tom.As for Professor Bumper he kept on with his search for the lost city of Pelone, but with no success.
The scientist wanted Tom and Mr.Damon to go on another trip with him, this time to a distant sierra, or fertile valley, where it was reported a race of Indians lived, different from others in that region.
"It may be that they are descendants from the Pelonians," suggested the professor.Tom was too busy to go, but Mr.Damon went.The expedition had all sorts of trouble, losing its way and getting into a swamp from which escape was not easy.Then, too, the strange Indians proved hostile, and the professor and his party could not get nearer than the boundaries of the valley.
"But the difficulties and the hostile attitude of these natives only makes me surer that I am on the right track," said Mr.Bumper."I shall try again."Tom was busy over a problem in explosives one day when he saw Tim Sullivan hurrying into the office of the two brothers.The Irishman seemed excited.
"I hope there hasn't been another premature blast," mused Tom."But if there had been I think I'd have heard it."He hastened out to see Job and Walter Titus in excited conversation with Tim.
"They didn't come out, an' thot's all there is to it," the foreman was saying."I sint thim in mesilf, and they worked until it was time t' set off th' blast.I wint t' get th' fuse, an' I was goin' t' send th' black imps out of danger, whin--whist--they was gone whin I got back--fifteen of 'ern this time!""Do you mean that fifteen more of our men have vanished as the firstten did?" asked Job Titus.
"That's what I mean," asserted the Irishman."It can't be!" declared Walter.
"Look for yersilf!" returned Tim."They're not in th' tunnel!" "And they didn't come out?""Ask th' time-keeper," and Tim motioned to a young Englishman who, since the other disappearance, had been stationed at the mouth of the tunnel to keep a record of who went in and came out.
"No, sir! Nobody kime hout, sir!" the Englishman declared."Hi 'aven't been away frim 'ere, sir, not since hi wint on duty, sir.An' no one kime out, no, sir!""We've got to stop this!" declared Job Titus."I should say so!" agreed his brother.
With Tom and Tim the Titus brothers went into the tunnel.It was deserted, and not a trace of the men could be found.Their tools were where they had been dropped, but of the men not a sign.
"There must be some secret way out," declared Tom."Then we'll find it," asserted the brothers.
Work on the tunnel was stopped for a day, and, keeping out all natives, the contractors, with Tom and such white men as they had in their employ, went over every foot of roof, sides and floor in the big shaft.But not a crack or fissure, large enough to permit the passage of a child, much less a man, could be found.
"Well, I give up!" cried Walter Titus in despair."There must be witchcraft at work here!""Nonsense!" exclaimed his brother."It's more likely the craft of Blakeson & Grinder, with Waddington helping them.""Well, if a human agency made these twenty-five men disappear, prove it!" insisted Walter.
His brother did not know what to say.
"Well, go on with the work," was Job's final conclusion."We'll have one of the white men constantly in the tunnel after this whenever a gang is working.We won't leave the natives alone even long enough to go to get a fuse.They'll be under constant supervision."The tunnel was opened for work, but there were no workers.The morning after the investigation, when the starting whistle blew there was no line of Indians ready to file into the big, black hole.The huts where they slept were deserted.A strange silence brooded over the tunnel camp.
"Where are the men, Serato?" asked Tom of the Indian foreman."Men um gone.No work any more.What you call a hit.""You mean a strike?" asked Tom.
"Sure--strike--hit--all um same.No more work--um 'fraid!"
