Again I struck a match, guarding the infant flame with both hands against a slight draught which threatened its extinction.  There was no sound, no warning of imminent danger.  All my coolness had returned, and my every thought centered on quickly discovering the lock of the door.  Yet, even in that instant, I caught glimpse of a shadow on the wall, and made one swift, automatic effort to leap aside, dropping the fatal match.  The movement was too late!  Something descended crashing upon my head, and I pitched forward into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER XX

TAKEN PRISONER

It must be I lay there practically dead for some time.  I had no knowledge of being approached, or handled, and yet every pocket was rifled, the revolver jerked from my hand, and my coat ripped from my body.  Like so much carrion the fellows had flung me back against the wall, so as to make room for the swinging open of the door.  I lay there huddled up in shapeless disfigurement, blood staining the stones, one arm twisted above my head.  Consciousness returned so slowly, the benumbed brain began to flicker into activity before a stiffened muscle relaxed.  I was awake, able to perceive dimly, and to realize my situation, before my body responded to action.  Returning life seemed to sweep downward as the mind grasped the realities, bringing consciousness of pain, throbbing head and aching muscles.  Little by little, silently, comprehending now what had occurred, and warned by the sound of voices not far away, I changed posture slightly, straightening out cramped limbs, and so turning my head as to enable me to see along the passage where a ray of light streamed.  There was a mist before my eyes, but this lessened, and I began to view intelligently the scene.

I lay twenty feet from the entrance to this habitation underground, thrust into the black shadow behind the door which stood partially ajar.  My position precluded any possibility of learning what was beyond that wooden barrier, but I could plainly view the entire north portion of the interior, although the only light radiated from a flickering candle.  One edge of the table came within my vision, a man sitting beside it, his back turned toward me.  I made out little of this fellow’s characteristics, as I saw only a pair of broad shoulders, encased in a rough shooting coat, and a fringe of black whiskers.  He was smoking a short-stemmed pipe, and contented himself with a growling, indistinct utterance when addressed.  Opposite, however, was a man of a different type, slender and active, his hair very dark and inclined to curl, a rather long face, slightly olive-hued, with a small mustache waxed at the ends.  His black, sparkling eyes attracted me first, and then his long, shapely hands.  These grasped a sheet of paper, and I noticed others, including several unopened envelopes, lying before him on the table.  He laughed a bit unpleasantly, a row of white teeth visible beneath the dark mustache.