Frank Merriwell, Juniors, Golden Trail | Page 9

recovering what
little gold was left after the refuse, or "tailings," had come from the
stamp mill.
The cyanide plant, presumably, was familiar ground to Porter, whereas
the boys had never seen it before. In the gloom the prospector could
navigate across the big vats with something like accuracy, while the
boys carried on their pursuit at a tremendous disadvantage.
Recklessly Ballard ran on. Merriwell called a warning to him, but
Ballard either did not hear it or else paid no attention.
The form of the prospector, leaping and plunging onward, sprang from
one row of vats to another. Each row was a little lower than the row to
the north, so that the tiers took on the form of a flight of giant steps.
Porter gained the top tier, and stood for a moment on a plank spanning
a vat that was three or four times as large as any of the others. Ballard
climbed to the same plank. Porter dropped down with a savage,
snarling cry. Clinging for a moment to the edge of the tank, he twisted
the plank from under Ballard's feet. Ballard dropped with a splash.
"Merciful powers!" yelled a voice in wild alarm. "Get him out, quick!
That's the solution tank and is filled with cyanide!"
Merriwell's heart almost stopped beating. In a gleam of light from the
mill he saw the white, drawn face of Pardo peering toward the spot
where Ballard was splashing in the deadly cyanide solution. An instant
later he bounded to the rescue.
CHAPTER IV.

A CLOSE CALL.
Just one thing saved Ballard from going over his head into the cyanide
solution, and that was this: Porter had not twisted the plank off the rim
of the tank, but had manipulated it in such a way as to cause Ballard to
lose his footing and drop into the poisonous liquid beneath. As Ballard
dropped, he flung out his arms, seized the plank, and so kept head and
shoulders out of the cyanide. Had he gone under or swallowed even a
few drops of the deadly stuff, that pursuit of the savage prospector
would have had a tragic termination. Ballard, kicking around in the
solution, was trying to drag himself up on the plank as Merry crept
toward him.
"Steady there, Pink!" called Frank. "Don't splash the stuff around, and
keep out of it as much as you can. It's a deadly poison."
"Never mind me," cried, Ballard. "Keep after that confounded
prospector He'll get away if you don't."
"You first, old chap," Frank answered. "It has a scurvy trick Porter
played on you, and--and it might have resulted fatally. Now, then!"
Gripping his chum by the arms, Frank heaved him upward until he was
on his knees on the plank.
"Want any help?" came the agitated voice of Clancy, from just below
the solution tank.
"No," answered Merriwell, "we're making it all right."
"Drop him over the side," called Pardo, "here, over in this direction.
There's a tank of clear water next to the solution vat, and the quicker
your friend rinses that cyanide out of his clothes, the better."
"Oh, hang the cyanide!" shouted Ballard. "I was only half into the stuff,
anyhow. Stop Porter, if you can. The brute is guilty of something or he
wouldn't act like that."

"Drop into that tank of water, Pink," ordered Merry, "or I'll throw you
in."
Ballard, without further discussion, lowered himself down into the
reservoir of water that supplied the mill and kicked around in it for a
few moments; then, drawing himself up on the rim of the vat, he
jumped off to the ground at the superintendent's side. Merry and Clany
quickly joined him.
"Say," cried the startled Pardo, grabbing Ballard by the arm, "did you
swallow any of the solution?"
"How could I?" was the answer. "I only went in to the waist."
"Got any cuts or sores on the lower part of your body?"
"No."
"By gorry." declared Pardo, "you're a lucky kid all right. Cyanide of
potassium is the most virulent poison known. If a person scratches his
finger on the tin in opening a case, and gets some of the solution in the
cut, in less than fifteen minutes he's a goner. You don't know, son, how
much you've got to be thankful for."
Now that it was all over, and Ballard was beginning to realize how
deadly was the bath in which he had been plunged, a few cold shivers
started up and down his spine.
"My skin is getting up and walking all over me with cold feet," said he.
"I've got to warm up, and right now there's only one thing I want, and
that is to get my hands in Porter's whiskers and twist his neck. Let's
hotfoot it around and