Those who were down by the highway began creeping up along Stony Run. All in all, it became a surrounding process.

The laugh was too unreal to be a challenge from Creswold, the man both factions sought. It gave an uneasy feeling to the members of the rival bands. They still stood for Bigby and Brett as individuals, even though the present cause was a common one. Some of the farmers found an excellent excuse for their fears. They began to sidle over to Brett's mansion. There, they could later claim they had taken up watchful duty in Bigby's interest. Similarly there were mill hands who felt it a good idea to cover Bigby's house in Brett's behalf.

These, however, were exceptions rather than the rule. Most of the men within earshot decided to approach Pow-wow Boulder and learn what was happening there.

Meanwhile, The Shadow was anything but idle. From the boulder top, he was gripping a limb of an overhanging tree. He was twisting the big branch from the trunk. When it refused to break entirely, The Shadow settled the matter with some well-placed shots from a .45. He followed the volley with a repet.i.tion of his challenging laugh.

The effect on the hearers was twofold.

As the sound of shots halted them, the laugh almost caused a stampede. The men had connected the two events. They reasoned that the author of the laugh was more human than ghostly, or he wouldn't beindulging in gunfire. The circle began to compress more rapidly.

The Shadow was working rapidly, too.

At the risk of losing his balance, he poised on the tip of Pow-wow Boulder. As the rock leaned in its top-heavy style, he thrust the broken end of the stout branch down toward the sand to serve as a wedge.

To let the branch settle itself, The Shadow twisted and leaped to the bank below. Wheeling out from among the trees, he became briefly visible in the rising moonlight.

Shots throated from shot-guns and revolvers, as the phantom figure whisked from sight. In departing, The Shadow gave an answering jab from an automatic and made a trip across the stepping stones. From the opposite bank, he applied the same process for the benefit of those who were on that side. Then swiftly, The Shadow reached the sandy patch in the middle of the tumbling stream, just above the boulder.

The huge stone hadn't quite settled. Clamping the long end of the bough, The Shadow used it as a lever to give the boulder another prod. Up went the mammoth landmark to pose with a slanted gap beneath it.

Down among jagged rocks that formed a bed, The Shadow saw an irregular crevice. It was deep enough to receive a human form. With a long, sliding glide, he entered the s.p.a.ce feet first.

Obligingly, Pow-wow Boulder seemed to restrain itself. The real reason was that The Shadow's action was timed more swiftly than the rock could begin to settle into s.p.a.ce. He was gone, like a clump of dissolving blackness. Pow-wow Boulder rocked back to normal with a thwack that snapped the heavy bough. The short end of the improvised lever came tumbling after The Shadow. The rest was catapulted into Stony Run, which promptly carried the evidence down around the boulder.

No water entered with The Shadow. He had raised only the sand-buried portion of the boulder. When flashlights focussed on that tongue of sand, there wasn't a trace of the cloaked figure that had been there a dozen seconds earlier. Shouting to each other, cl.u.s.tering men began to scour the banks of the cascading stream.

Working down into the burrow beneath the boulder, The Shadow found the crevice half-obstructed.

Kicking a stone loose, he heard it clatter a short way below. So The Shadow squeezed downward and followed. He landed in a cavernous pit. The Shadow gave a whispered laugh that was echoed from surrounding walls. The tone itself enabled him to estimate the s.p.a.ce as at least twenty feet across.

With those echoes, The Shadow's flashlight blinked into a sweep. It finally focussed upon a figure that sat bound and gagged upon a wooden platform mounted on large legs. The platform itself was eight feet square. Its purpose was to protect its contents, human and otherwise, from trickling water that filtered down through the rock and formed a pool upon the floor.

Along with the human occupant, the visible objects on the platform included a metal strong-box and a wooden crate, neither of them large. Sweeping the flashlight about the place again, The Shadow noted alcoves on each side. These were to be expected. The cave was of limestone formation, a common thing in this quarry country.

Making short work of the bonds and gag, The Shadow let the prisoner stretch himself. Meanwhile The Shadow lighted a lantern that was on the platform and hung it on a hook that jutted from the wall above.

Turning to the man again, The Shadow studied the scared face of Herbert Creswold. His fear was by no means relaxed in the presence of this sinister rescuer.

In fact, Creswold's worry increased when The Shadow opened the strong box and brought out items in due order. First came an envelope containing Lenstrom's fifty thousand dollars. It was all in crisp bills ofhigh denominations. Next were Brett's packets of pay-roll and bonus money. It was equally crisp, but bulkier, to a total of sixty thousand. Finally, The Shadow saw the major contents of the box. As yet uncounted, it was the ma.s.s of small denomination bills in old money that Bigby had collected from the farmers.

"I didn't steal it!" gasped Creswold. "It was Bigby who brought me here--after I drove up to his house. I thought he'd listen--because he tried to protect me from Brett--down in the theater. Bigby was safer than Brett, because he hadn't accused me of stealing anything."

The Shadow gave a gesture to the ma.s.s of old money that lay packed in the strong-box. Creswold shook his head.

"I wasn't responsible," he insisted. "Bigby brought that box when he returned. Only the other funds were here first."

The Shadow looked toward the wooden crate and gave a warning gesture.

"Don't touch it!" exclaimed Creswold. "It's full of explosives and incendiary bombs. Bigby is behind all this, don't you understand?"

The Shadow's laugh toned low. His query came as a commanding whisper: "You mean that Bigby set those fires--"

"Of course," nodded Creswold. "He was double-crossing the farmers and trying to blame it on Brett.

Only somehow it didn't work as well as he wanted. So I became the fall-guy. Bigby didn't lose any money in the insurance company, except what he paid in a.s.sessments. Then he brought all that back as part of the money he stole.

"He even bragged how he drove into town in my car"--Creswold was leaning forward, earnestly--"and staged the robbery while masked, so people would blame it on me. If I'd only trusted Brett instead of Bigby!"

Moaning, Creswold buried his head us in his hands, as though he doubted that even The Shadow would believe his innocence. Somehow Creswold didn't realize that the evidence surrounding him was more potent than words. If Creswold wanted corroboration for his story, he didn't have long to wait.

Fortunately The Shadow recognized that point before Creswold did.

Only the keen ears of The Shadow could have detected the sound that was no louder than Creswold's moan. With a sweep, the cloaked form wheeled away from the light. The Shadow spun toward the side of the platform where a box of explosives rested. It was then that Creswold heard the footfalls. He looked up, as Bigby stepped suddenly into sight.

Seeing the prisoner loose, Bigby shoved a hand to his hip pocket. His move was halted by a low-toned laugh which brought ghoulish shudders from the limestone walls. Dropping back, Bigby let his hands lift, half-clenched.

The mystery of Creswold's release was revealed to Claude Bigby. It was but a preliminary to some facts that this man of crime would personally be called on to reveal. The thing that was going to make Bigby talk was a leveled automatic.

A big .45 gripped in the fist of The Shadow!

XIX.THERE was more anger than fear in Bigby's voice as he beat The Shadow's actions by coming through with facts. Apparently Bigby guessed that Creswold had testified sufficiently to make his own denials useless.

"So you came down under Pow-wow Boulder," said Bigby, to his silent accuser. Hands still lifted, Bigby glanced up to the jagged crevice and shrugged. "I should have planted some cement there, because the old rock was getting loose. Still, the old legend was a danger, if anybody thought too much about it."

"I thought enough about it," affirmed The Shadow. "So proceed."

"There's a tunnel leading from the house." Bigby made a beckoning motion with his head. "That's how they used to listen in on the pow-wow in the old days."

"And then send for help," supplied The Shadow. "That was important too, wasn't it, Bigby."

There was no note of query in The Shadow's tone. Realizing that lack, Bigby's eyes became suddenly nervous, then steadied in their usually abrupt style.

"Forget the old days," gruffed Bigby. "You've got me and my fun is over. I guess Creswold has told you all about it."

"Not quite all."

"Well, you can hear the rest then. When Preston Brett moved into this county, I had to find a way to fix him." Savagely, Bigby tightened his raised hands and his voice became a snarl. "After Brett tricked me on that pasture buy, I swore I'd run him out of the Kawagha Valley if it was the last thing I ever did."

Bigby paused as though The Shadow would at least accept his sentiments regarding Brett, but there was no response from those hidden lips. They, like The Shadow's face, were concealed by the down-tilted hat brim and the upturned cloak collar.

"It wasn't easy to run Brett out," growled Bigby. "He was getting more solid all the while. I had to frame him somehow, so I stirred up the farmers by pulling the incendiary act. It was easy for me to do it--with Zeke helping at first."

"Until you murdered him," remarked The Shadow, "after he planted the job at Clem's tavern."

"Zeke was beginning to get troublesome," snarled Bigby. "Anyway, it was Creswold's fault for trying to pump Zeke about the farm fires. I wasn't trying to frame Creswold--he just put his neck out too much.

"Like at Fairfield Farm. I had the thermite already planted in the hay and wired proper. When Creswold cracked through that rear door, he set off the fireworks for me. Maybe you guessed it, being there."

The Shadow had guessed it, but he preferred to keep Bigby guessing further.

"Anyway, I didn't knock off Lenstrom," snapped Bigby, "or steal Brett's mill money. It was Creswold did those jobs. I just took the dough away from him. He'll deny it, but you'll believe me if you look at him--"

Creswold was already denying it, frantically. Bigby urged forward, shaking his raised clenched fists.

Bigby's tone was becoming savage and it was natural that he should raise it in order to shout Creswold down. False or true, Bigby's accusation was something to be expected, like the manner that accompanied it. That act would have tricked anyone except The Shadow.

Instead of being fooled, The Shadow took Bigby's act for exactly what it was, an attempt to coversomething else. The Shadow did more than gesture Bigby back with the leveled automatic. He caught the broad man's arm and whirled him full around with a clamp that not only held Bigby helpless, but turned him into a living shield.

Across the human barricade, The Shadow delivered a confident, defiant laugh, He aimed his muzzle straight at the man who was arriving with a drawn revolver to take up Bigby's cause. The man who was caught flat-footed, with his weapon unaimed, was none other than his rival, Preston Brett.

They called themselves arch-enemies, these two, but they were actually arch-friends. If they thought they could play their act any further, they were wrong. The chamber throbbed with The Shadow's laugh.

That mirth carried a revealing quality that turned Brett's stare into a grimace. He let his gun clatter to he the rugged limestone floor.

"I expected you sooner, Brett," informed The Shadow, in his sibilant tone, "but it was best to time you through Bigby. To whitewash Creswold half way and then accuse him of the rest made anything but sense.

"Of course it was necessary"--The Shadow spoke this into Bigby's ear--"because you had given yourself too good an alibi, Bigby--twice. Once when Lenstrom was murdered and robbed; again, when the mill money was stolen."

The Shadow's concentration on Bigby was bringing brief confidence back to Brett.

"What foolishness is this?" queried Brett, suddenly; "I was at home when Lenstrom left there and Bigby's farmers had me boxed--"

"Just to help your alibi," interposed The Shadow, "with Bigby's cooperation. This tunnel comes from your house, Brett, or you wouldn't be here right now. You used it to get over to Bigby's in a hurry and drive Creswold's car down to the highway. There, you battered Lenstrom off the road. You ran back up to Bigby's and came home by the underground."

There was a brief pause; then The Shadow spoke reminiscently to Bigby: "That's how they brought help in the old days. By following the tunnel through to an outlet in the woods.

That was later to become a sheep pasture. Still later--in fact only recently--your partner Brett built this fancy mansion right over that outlet.

"It was simple for you to hold conferences and decide what to do about persons like Lenstrom, even at the last minute. Brett would go down into his cellar for champagne. You went into yours for cider--"

It was Brett who made a sudden interruption.

"Whoever you are, you're crazy!" blurted Brett. "I suppose you'll be saying next that I robbed myself down at the mill--"

"Exactly," interposed The Shadow. "Bigby had an alibi and the time was too short for Creswold to get back to the theater. I know that from the testimony of a man who saw him look through the curtained door and return to his office; a man who still had time to go through to the alley and try to peer into Creswold's window before the chase arrived.

"That pack should have been almost on Creswold's heels as you should know, Brett. You were with it.

You had to come along to plant the bandana mask behind the alley door. Odd, too, that you didn't use a gun when you fought the masked man. You pulled one on Bigby when you came up to accuse him." Slowly, The Shadow was working Bigby forward to where Brett stood. Creswold, staring from the platform, listened in amazement to the a.n.a.lysis that cleared him.

"What we saw huddled near the safe," The Shadow told Brett, "was simply a torn coat, placed over a toppled chair. You had to have something that would pa.s.s for yourself while you posed as the masked robber.

"Amazing how you recuperated the moment the masked man bolted the door. Strange that he would have crashed the window with a chair instead of just opening it--except that it added noise to your pretended fight and helped fling the coat further, because the chair carried it.

"The ladder was planted beforehand, of course. Probably when you took the money out and placed it in your car--at the time you were hunting up the paymaster. As for that empty satchel--which was made of stiff material that retained the supposed bulge of cash--you simply flung it as far as you could, after you cracked the window."

The Shadow's gun was right between Brett's eyes with Bigby's shoulder serving as a rest. The partners who had conspired to rob an entire county, were too taut to make a move.

Then Bigby was moving, because The Shadow thrust him. He wouldn't have dared to shift his shoulder of his own accord.

Bigby stumbled over a rough spot in the crude limestone floor. Tripping, Bigby actually tried frantically to catch himself and thus avoid The Shadow's wrath. In doing so, he grabbed Brett, who with the same sincere fear, lunged to help his partner. Their heave was hard and sudden, with the emphasis from Brett.

Back reeled the pair, flinging The Shadow into a stumble from that same treacherous floor. As Brett saw their cloaked captor reel, he snapped quick words to Bigby. He made a wild, turning s.n.a.t.c.h for his gun.

Seeing Brett go one direction, Bigby dashed the other. Each turned from a tunneled alcove to fire at the fighter in black.

The Shadow was on his feet by then. Fading as he stabbed quick shots, he brought a howl from Bigby and a stagger from Brett. Both dodged from sight, suddenly turning their fire in Creswold's general direction.

Dropping from the platform, Creswold tried to crawl beneath. He thought that the shots were meant for him, but The Shadow knew better. Bigby and Brett had crossed to opposite spots of safety in the tunnels leading to each other's house. They were trying to blast the crate of explosives that was in the large cave with The Shadow.

Death to that black-clad avenger would cover the past crimes of these secret partners. It would let them continue with the cunning game that depended on their pretence of mutual hate!

XX.

THERE was a way to balk that devastating volley before it brought results. The Shadow took that way.

With a quick whirl, he took long swift strides across the path of double fire. He reached the crate before either Bigby or Brett could get the needed angle.

From the crate, The Shadow grabbed the most powerful specimen he saw, a hand grenade. It was capable of wrecking the cave. Wheeling back, he became the target for the gunfire. Both marksmen were hoping that if they clipped him, he would drop the grenade and go to the devil with it. Wheeling at an unexpected angle, The Shadow hurled the grenade straight and well. If he'd chosen either Brett or Bigby as a target, he'd have laid himself wide open to their much improving aim. Instead, he carried himself away from their converging fire.

Where The Shadow flung the grenade was up through the crevice by which he had descended. Skimming past the edges of fringing rocks, the missile carried all the way. It burst with a mighty split of sound and fire at the very base of the boulder itself.

The explosion was too high to do more than shower the cavern with chunks of broken stone. The grenade focussed its damage upon Pow-wow Boulder. The men up by Stony Run recoiled in horror as the big landmark exploded like a meteorite. Showering sand spewed in the fashion of a geyser.

For a moment, the waters of the stream heaved backward. Then, with a happy roar, they launched their full volume into the wide, irregular gap that marked the very middle of the creek. Stony Run had changed itself into a miniature Niagara, pouring down to nowhere!

Witnessing the arrival of that churning foam, both Brett and Bigby turned to flee. They raced along the rising slants of the underground tunnels that led to their two mansions. They were shooting back as they went. Their ricocheting bullets could keep The Shadow in the midst of the deluge that he had created.

There, they hoped, he would drown with Creswold.

All during their frantic--but delighted-- stumble, crime's partners saw that The Shadow was still trapped.

He hadn't appeared in the flood that was spreading in pursuit of the conspirators. Apparently, sure that to follow either way would be fatal, The Shadow had preferred to drown.

Brett and Bigby weren't the only persons who thought so. Creswold felt the same. What he didn't want was to be drowned also.

That was why Creswold came staggering around the descending cataract. It was widening the whole roof of the cavern. Looking upward, The Shadow grabbed Creswold. He was just in time to wrench him away from a ma.s.s of falling rock. That was small comfort, considering that The Shadow's course led to the deep wall of the cave.

The water was already waist deep. The Shadow spilled the crate of explosives into the surging tide. It was swept away and soaked, but that seemed useless to Creswold. He was no longer worrying about being blown up. Drowning was the imminent certainty that bothered him.

It would have been a certainty, but for a factor that only The Shadow considered. Bigby and Brett could be excused for forgetting it, since it was out of sight. But it was in Creswold's full view.

Actually, Creswold didn't look for it until The Shadow threw him upon it. Creswold landed hard upon the wooden platform. It was now burdened only by the box that contained the stolen money. Those partners in theft had left it behind them in their rush.

To his surprise, Creswold found the platform floating. It shouldn't have surprised him. The water was more than neck deep and the platform was made of wood. Hanging onto it, Creswold heard a whispered laugh. The Shadow came up beside him. From then on they were climbing steadily, buoyed by the improvised life-raft.

There was only one danger. It came from the horse-shoe waterfall. It was circling around the raft, coming from the brink of broken rock above. That semi-circle was widening all the while. It crumpled pieces of ledges loose. The falling chunks were dropping behind the curved cataract. Then, Creswold realized that the forceful effect of the newly-formed cataract was itself keeping the floating platform away from the thundering falls. Not only that; the cave was filling so rapidly that the falls themselves were decreasing in size.