"It may be all you say, Professor," he remarked; "but it represents a snug little fortune that I'd like to possess. The future would be mighty pleasant, once I made that fine hit. And if it appears like so much trash in your eyes, my dear man, there should no longer be any hesitation about giving it up to me. Think of the work you have done. It couldn't be replaced, Professor, I imagine? If now I should deliberately take a match out of my pocket like this, strike the same, and apply the busy little flame to these papers, the history of the Zunis, the Hopis, the Moquis, and their ancestors the cliff dwellers, would be forever lost to the world, wouldn't it?" "Stop, you wretch!" cried the excited hermit, who was apparently greatly alarmed at seeing his precious manuscript in peril. "Ah! do you then consent to open your mouth, and tell what I want to know?" demanded his tormentor. "Is there no other way out?" asked the prisoner of the cave, hopelessly. "None," replied Eugene, harshly. "My men are watching for the Moqui to show up every second, and with orders to shoot him on sight. So don't indulge in any hope that he can save you. There, the match has burned itself out; but remember, Professor, there are others, plenty of them, where that came from. I will give you one minute to produce that paper." The scientist uttered a sigh that was plainly heard. "I suppose I must yield to fate then," he said, dismally. "But you promise to return my papers to me after I have complied with your outrageous demands?" "To be sure I will, and only too gladly," replied the other, eagerly. "I don't want to make the terms too hard on you, old man. Only you must choose now between losing either the fortune, or your work of years. And perhaps we'd find the document after all, too. Speak up; where is it?" "Examine that rock stool on which you are seated, and you will find that it can be moved," the voice of the hermit went on, steadily. "There, now that you have over-turned the seat, you discover something in the cavity. Keep your word, and place in my hands my precious packet of manuscript. Threats of taking my life might not move me; but when you place in peril that on which my reputation as a scientist must be based, it is too much. Thank you, sir; I see you are a man of your word. And I will sign the papers just as you may wish to have done." CHAPTER XXII TURNING THE TABLES--CONCLUSION "Come on in, boys!" Old Hank Coombs had stood all the while this intensely interesting dialogue was going on, as though glued to the spot. Indeed, not one of the party in the adjoining apartment of the cliff dwellers' cave but who had kept drinking in the conversation as though it fairly fascinated them.