“You thought you'd double-cross me, did you? You poor fool! Well, it's a showdown now. I'm going to bring him in here--and let you tell him what he's up against. I guess you can convince him. He's got less than an hour in which to come across--if you are going to sail on that steamer. If you don't make yourself useful to that extent, you go out--for keeps; and Larmon stays here until he antes up--or rots! Is that quite clear?” John Bruce's lips scarcely moved. “Yes; it is quite clear,” he said. “I thought it would be!” snarled Crang--and backed out through the door. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN--THE HOSTAGE |AS Crang disappeared through the doorway, John Bruce stepped noiselessly forward across the earthen floor. With the door half open and swung inward, it left a generous aperture at the hinges through which he could see down the length of the cave-like den outside. He was strangely calm. Yes, there was Larmon down there--and Crang was walking toward him. And Crang had left the door open here. Well, why not?--with those three apaches at that table yonder! Yes, why not?--except that Crang had also left open the way to one last move, left him, John Bruce, one last card to play! Strange, the cold, unnatural calmness that possessed him! His mind seemed instantaneously to have conceived and created a project that almost subconsciously he was now in the act of putting into effect. He reached out, and extracting the key from the outside of the door, inserted it on the inside of the lock. He smiled grimly. So far, it was quite safe! The door was swung so far inward that the inner edge of it, and therefore his act, certainly could not be seen by any one out there. A last card! His lips tightened. Well, perhaps! But it was more than that. His unnatural composure had something deeper than that behind it--a passionate fury smoldering on the verge of flame. Larmon was out there--trapped! He could not put Larmon in greater jeopardy now, no matter what he, John Bruce, did personally, because Larmon dead would not be worth anything to them. But for himself--to stand and take it all like a sheep at the hands of a damned, cringing---- He shook his head in quick, curious self-rebuke. Not yet! He needed that cold composure a little longer since it was to be a showdown now. That was what Crang had said--a showdown. And Crang was right! It meant the end--one way or the other. But with luck, if Crang was as yellow as he believed the man to be, the idea of the bluff that had leaped into his mind would work successfully; and if it didn't work--well, then, there was the end--and at least it would not be a scatheless one for Crang! The mind works swiftly. Had Crang had time only to walk down _half_ the length of that room out there toward Larmon? Yes, he saw Crang halt now, and heard Crang call out sharply to the three men at the table: “See if he's got a gun!”