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Title: The Wolf-Men: A Tale of Amazing Adventure in the Under-World

Author: David Franklin Powell

Release date: April 18, 2022 [eBook #67866]
                Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: Cassell And Company Limited

Credits: An anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLF-MEN: A TALE OF AMAZING ADVENTURE IN THE UNDER-WORLD ***

[Illustration: “FOR AN INSTANT IT HUNG POISED, THEN THUNDERED
                                 DOWNWARD”
              _Frontispiece_                        (_p. 27._)]

THE WOLF-MEN
A Tale of Amazing Adventure
In the Under-world
        BY
        FRANK POWELL

        _WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE_
        _ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR_

CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE. MCMVI
All Rights Reserved




                           CONTENTS.
                                                     PAGE
PROLOGUE                                                1
CHAPTER I.      AT THE MERCY OF CONSPIRATORS            5
CHAPTER II.     HOW HAVERLY FOILED THE BOAT-STEALERS   12
CHAPTER III.    BEYOND THE GREAT BARRIER               21
CHAPTER IV.     TRAPPED!                               32
CHAPTER V.      OVER THE CATARACT’S BRINK              38
CHAPTER VI.     THE LAND OF ETERNAL TWILIGHT           45
CHAPTER VII.    A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY AND ITS SEQUEL  55
CHAPTER VIII.   THE ELK-HUNTERS                        61
CHAPTER IX.     THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE “SEAL”        69
CHAPTER X.      THE COMING OF THE GREAT FISH-LIZARD    76
CHAPTER XI.     HOW HILTON ESCAPED FROM THE WOLF-MEN   83
CHAPTER XII.    “GEHARI--THE WILY ONE”                 91
CHAPTER XIII.   THE FATE OF MERVYN                     97
CHAPTER XIV.    “RAHEE THE TERRIBLE!”                 105
CHAPTER XV.     FOR A FRIEND’S LIFE                   112
CHAPTER XVI.    HOW HAVERLY CHECKED THE STAMPEDE      119
CHAPTER XVII.   A DUEL TO THE DEATH                   126
CHAPTER XVIII.  THE SINKING POOL                      133
CHAPTER XIX.    THE FIRE GULF                         140
CHAPTER XX.     THE LAST OF THE AYUTIS                147
CHAPTER XXI.    “SUNSHINE!”                           154
CHAPTER XXII.   THE TERROR OF THE JUNGLE              164
CHAPTER XXIII.  MUSWANI--MONSTER-FIGHTER              173
CHAPTER XXIV.   A GLIMPSE OF THE UPPER WORLD          180
CHAPTER XXV.    SEYMOUR’S FALL                        189
CHAPTER XXVI.   THE FASCINATION OF THE PRIEST         195
CHAPTER XXVII.  IN THE VAULTS                         202
CHAPTER XXVIII. IN THE WOLF-MEN’S HAUNTS              207
CHAPTER XXIX.   RAHEE ASSISTS THE FUGITIVES           215
CHAPTER XXX.    THE SCROLL OF NEOMRI                  222
CHAPTER XXXI.   “THE ‘SEAL!’”                         229
CHAPTER XXXII.  THE DOOM OF NORDHU                    236
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE INVENTOR’S STORY                  243
CHAPTER XXXIV.  ON THE CREST OF THE TIDAL WAVE        248
CHAPTER XXXV.   INTO THE SUNLIGHT                     256




              LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

“For an instant it hung poised, then thundered downward”
                                           _Frontispiece_
“The next moment the rope parted behind him”
                                          _To face p._ 92
“The brute swung round and leapt again, missing his mark
by a bare three inches”                               116
“Amid the hideous forms of the Wolf-men the Ayuti towered
as a god”                                             148
“The great saurian, reeling from the impact, lurched over
upon his side”                                        174
“‘See, I have brought their weapons’”                 180
“‘Back, you dogs!’ he roared. ‘A step further and your priest
dies!’”                                               216
“Scuttling down to the water’s edge with the giant elk pounding
along behind him”                                     234




                        THE WOLF-MEN.

                          PROLOGUE.


“YOU’LL come, then?”

Professor James Mervyn’s voice quivered with eagerness as he put
this question to his companion, Sir William Seymour, in a private room
of a large London hotel. The baronet, a man in the prime of life, over
six feet in height, and broad in proportion, his bearded face tanned
by many a year of travel under a tropical sun, rose, and paced the
chamber for some moments ere answering.

“Yes, I’ll come,” he said at length. “I had made all arrangements
to leave England to-morrow for a spell in India; but that must slide.
I can’t miss this chance of a trip to the Pole. But now tell me
something more of this wonderful idea of yours.”

The professor’s spare form seemed to dilate with scientific zeal,
and his eyes flashed as he commenced to speak.

“To begin at the beginning,” he said. “I have had the idea in my
mind for some years, but until the last six months I saw no chance of
putting it into execution. Although my theory has been ridiculed and
laughed to scorn by most, if not all, of my colleagues, yet I am still
convinced that it is not only feasible, but that it is the only way in
which the secret of the Pole, so jealously guarded by Dame Nature, may
be wrested from her grasp.

“This was my line of reasoning: that it would be possible for a
properly equipped submarine vessel to dive beneath the great ice
barrier, and so reach the open sea which we know exists beyond. But
the submarines of the day were in no way suitable for the attempt.
Mere toys in size, and in some instances proving veritable death-traps
to their unfortunate crews, of what use were these to cope with the
perils of the Arctic seas? So my theory remained dormant until, some
weeks ago, I received a letter from Garth Hilton. You remember what a
fellow Garth always was for making model boats?”

Seymour nodded affirmatively.

“Well,” Mervyn continued, “it seems that he has had his old
school chum, Tom Wilson, the engineer, staying with him at Hilton
Manor for several months, and between them they have managed to
construct a submarine, which, if it but answer their expectations,
will prove the very thing I have been waiting for all these years.
This is Garth’s description of his craft,” and, extracting a letter
from the depths of a bulky note-book, Mervyn read as follows:

“Total length, three hundred and fifty feet; beam, fifty feet;
torpedo-shaped, with turret or wheelhouse, from which the vessel is
governed, in centre of deck. Tanks for submerging or raising; air
reservoirs for supply whilst beneath the surface; liquid air engines,
a patent of Wilson’s, maximum speed of which is forty-five knots per
hour upon the surface, and thirty submerged.”

“Whew!” The professor’s companion whistled in his astonishment at
this last statement.

“Liquid air engines!” he said. “Why, I always thought that liquid
air was a powerful explosive agent?”

“True,” returned Mervyn; “but you must also remember that steam
becomes an explosive when compressed, as witness the recent boiler
explosion, so that is no argument against the use of liquid air as a
propelling power.”

“But I don’t quite see----” the baronet began in a puzzled tone.

“Let me try to make it clear to you,” interrupted Mervyn. “Though
but eighteen, young Tom Wilson is already recognised as an authority
on the subject of liquid air and its capabilities as a propelling
agent. As you will recollect, his father was a famous engineer, and
the family talent appears to have descended to the lad.

“Ever since he left school Tom has been working on his engines,
lack of funds alone preventing him from perfecting them before now.
With financial aid from Garth, however, he has at last been enabled to
complete them, and I give you my word they are the finest set of
engines I have ever been privileged to examine.

“The huge boiler is somewhat similar in shape to that of an
ordinary marine engine, but is much larger, and contains a number of
immense tubes, in which is stored the liquefied air. From these the
stuff works direct upon the powerful cylinders. Heat, of course, is
entirely unnecessary; in fact, it would shatter the whole affair to
atoms, liquid air being many degrees colder than ice.

“The first two gallons of the stuff cost Garth six hundred pounds
to make; but there the expense ends, the engines drawing their own
supplies from the air as they work.”

“Wonderful!” Seymour cried; “and the vessel does forty-five knots
to the hour, you say? What will the world think of it when the news
becomes public?”

“The news will never become public,” retorted the scientist, “if
we can avoid it. Garth has taken the greatest care to prevent the
facts leaking out. All his workers are picked men, and have been sworn
to secrecy with regard to the nature of the vessel upon which they are
engaged.”

“It will leak out,” asserted Seymour, “despite his precautions. A
thing of that sort cannot remain a secret long. The very secrecy will
attract the attention of the curiously inclined.”

“Exactly,” returned Mervyn, “that is what we are afraid of.
Already, it seems, some hint of the matter has reached the Continent,
in spite of Garth’s care. Two days ago I ran down to the Manor to look
over the boat ere the final details were completed, and while there,
Garth called my attention to a couple of suspicious-looking
characters--foreigners, evidently--who, he said, had been
hanging round the village for some days. Still, I think there is
little to fear. The dock where the submarine floats is guarded night
and day.”

The scientist refolded the inventor’s letter, and replaced it,
ere resuming the conversation.

“Of course, what I have read to you is a very bald statement of
the facts. When I went down I confess I was surprised at the singular
beauty of the craft. She is built of steel throughout, and furnished
in a most luxurious manner; in fact, she must have cost Garth a
fortune.”

“When do you start?” questioned Seymour.

“Within three days,” was the answer, “if the trial trip proves
satisfactory. You will come down for that, I suppose? Then there is
the affair of the christening to be gone through--we have not yet
decided on a name for the vessel.”

“There will be room for a weapon or two, I suppose? I should feel
lost without my guns.”

“Bring a whole armoury if you like,” replied Mervyn, smiling,
“though I doubt if you will find much scope for your sporting
instincts in the icy realms of the north. There is a special chamber
fitted up as an armoury aboard the vessel, and there are racks in the
turret in which a few weapons will be kept in case of emergency. Oh, I
forgot to tell you--Silas is coming.”

“What!” cried Seymour, “Silas Haverly? That’s good. He’s always
ready for any adventure that may turn up. Is he down at Hilton
now?”

“No,” returned the scientist; “he goes down to-morrow.”

He pulled out his watch as he spoke.

“By Jove!” he cried, “I’ve only twenty minutes to catch the
express. Are you coming down with me?”

“Yes,” returned the other. “I’ll just leave word for my traps to
be sent on, and then I’m with you.”

Three minutes later the two men passed out of the hotel entrance,
and, entering a cab, were driven rapidly away into the night.




                         CHAPTER I.

               AT THE MERCY OF CONSPIRATORS.


SILAS K. HAVERLY, millionaire and explorer, settled himself
comfortably back in the corner of a first-class smoker. He had ten
minutes to wait ere the express--which was to bear him sixty
miles across country to Stanwich, the nearest station to Garth
Hilton’s place--was timed to start.

To look at him no one would ever have imagined that he was the
owner of a colossal fortune--one of the railway kings of America.
Yet such he was. Starting at the very foot of Fortune’s ladder, he had
worked his way upward, until he owned the greater part of the vast
network of rails upon which he had worked as a boy.

A wiry figure of a man he was, with endurance written all over
him. He had a cool, determined face, and the firm set of his chin
revealed the dogged resolution which had enabled him to amass one of
the largest fortunes in the world. Altogether, he was not a man with
whom one would care to trifle.

“H’m!” he muttered, blowing a cloud of smoke from a fragrant
cigar, “I guess I’m having it all to myself this trip.”

Indeed, it did seem as though he was to travel alone, for the
time of departure arrived, and all the passengers appeared to have
taken their places. There was a whistle from the guard, a warning
shriek from the engine, then the iron monster began to glide out of
the station. As it did so, two men rushed across the platform, flung
open the door of Haverly’s compartment, and, despite the cries of the
officials to “Stand back,” precipitated themselves into the
carriage.

“Only just in time,” one of them said with an oath, as he slammed
to the door behind him; “it would have been all up with the scheme if
we had missed this train, for----”

He broke off short as he became aware of the presence of Haverly,
and took his seat, scowling darkly at the American, who appeared to be
blissfully unconscious of the existence of his fellow-travellers.

Yet already the Yankee had “sized up” the twain as a pair of
rascally adventurers who would stick at nothing to secure the success
of their plans. That they were engaged in some nefarious scheme seemed
plain from the few words that one had let slip as he entered, and the
millionaire wondered what could be the nature of their enterprise.

In low tones the two conversed as the train sped over the
gleaming rails, rapidly leaving the brick and mortar tentacles of the
London octopus behind. Through the smiling countryside the express
flew, belching forth a blighting, poisonous cloud of smoke, which hung
for a time almost motionless, ere dissolving into the atmosphere, so
still was the evening air.

The first stop was at Granley, and here Haverly’s companions
alighted.

“I wonder what their dodge is?” the millionaire muttered, as they
passed down the platform; then an exclamation escaped him.

Just beneath the seat where the two men had been sitting lay a
crumpled sheet of paper. Promptly Haverly secured this.

It was a letter. He opened it out quickly, and the first word to
catch his eye was “_submarine”!_

Instantly his alert brain grasped the significance of the
discovery. He connected it immediately with a message he had received
from Hilton some days previously, referring to the suspicious
characters hanging about the vicinity of the Manor, and to the fear
that an attempt might be made to steal the boat. At the time he had
dismissed the idea as absurd, but now----! Without further
scruple, he proceeded to make himself master of the contents of the
letter.

It was brief, but very much to the point, running thus:

“DEAR FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE,--It is imperative that the affair
be carried
out without delay, as we are advised that the expedition starts within
two days. Once the vessel leaves the dock, not all the plotting in the
world could ever give us possession of her. Therefore it remains for
you, my friend, to carry out your part of the programme with all
speed. You must gain possession of the submarine to-night. Let nothing
hinder you. We hear that Hilton Manor is a lonely house, and four
determined men, well armed, should be able to overcome all resistance
offered by the inventor and his friends. What matter a few lives more
or less, so that our plan succeeds and we attain our object? The
_Night Hawk_ will await you at the appointed spot, outside the
bay. _We remind you of the penalty of failure!”_

That was all, but it was enough to startle even the cool-blooded
Yankee for a moment.

The missive was practically the death-warrant of his friends down
at Hilton, who were even now preparing for departure on their North
Polar trip. Hastily he placed the incriminating sheet in his breast
pocket, wondering the while why the conspirators had left the train,
instead of going straight through to Stanwich.

Hardly had the thought crossed his mind ere the twain reappeared,
and climbed into the carriage. Haverly noted with secret satisfaction
that they seemed strangely uneasy, glancing about as though searching
for something.

“Lost anything?” he inquired casually, as the train moved off
again.

“No,” one of them snarled, but the look with which he favoured
the American made that gentleman glad that he carried a six-shooter in
his pocket. Ere long the express was once more racing over the country
at sixty miles an hour.

The millionaire’s scoundrelly companions seemed by this time to
have given up their search, for they settled themselves back against
the cushions, muttering together in low tones, which the roar of the
train completely drowned. Haverly, whilst apparently studying the
flying landscape, contrived to keep his eye upon the pair, who had
evidently made up their minds that their fellow-traveller had picked
up their lost letter.

At length one of them addressed the American.

“Could you oblige me with a match?” he asked. He produced a
cigar-case as he spoke, and extracted one of the three cigars
within.

“Pleasure,” muttered the Yankee briefly, offering his match-box
with his left hand, while his right closed menacingly about the haft
of the weapon in his pocket.

“Thanks,” returned the stranger, “can I offer you a cigar?” and
he passed over his case, from which Haverly selected a weed.

Some thought of drugged cigars flashed over the Yankee’s mind,
but he dismissed the idea, arguing to himself that the adventurers
could not have foreseen the loss of their letter, so could not have
prepared for it. Yet this good-fellowship did not deceive the
millionaire for a moment. That there was some purpose in the
conspirators’ action he did not doubt; but it would never do to let
the fellows think he feared them. Therefore, keeping a wary eye upon
the movements of the twain, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and
proceeded to light up.

He was holding a match to the end of the cigar when the
stranger’s hand shot out suddenly.

Match and cigar were dashed from Haverly’s lips, and a rag,
soaked with some sickly-smelling chemical, was pressed over his mouth
and nose. Holding his breath, he struggled to remove the suffocating
thing, mad that he should have been caught napping when he imagined
himself on the alert for an attack. With all his might he strove, but
the second conspirator came to the aid of his friend, pinioning
Haverly’s arms, and soon the chloroform did its work. Helpless and
unconscious, the Yankee sank back on to the cushions; and while the
express still rattled on at full speed, the two ruffians went through
their victim’s pockets.

Everything they replaced save the letter they had taken so much
trouble to secure, despising the American’s cash as game too much
beneath them. With repeated applications of the chloroform rag, they
kept Haverly unconscious until the train reached Stanwich. Almost ere
it came to a standstill, they alighted, and, supporting their victim
between them, led him to a train waiting alongside the opposite
platform.

Into one of the carriages of this they hustled him. Then, while
one remained in the carriage, the other moved off to the
booking-office, returning presently with a ticket, which he fixed
prominently in the American’s hat-band. Very few people were upon the
platform, and doubtless those that observed the movements of the
conspirators thought that their unconscious companion was drunk.

A final application of the rag, and the scoundrels left the
carriage, closing the door upon the sleeping figure of the
millionaire.

Within a few moments the latter was whirling northward, leaving
further and further behind him each instant the men who were
commissioned to rob his friend of the fruits of his genius, and
perhaps of his life.

With every mile the train advanced the Yankee’s chances of
warning Garth lessened.

An hour passed ere he recovered from the stupefying effects of
the drug, and by that time he was forty odd miles from Stanwich.

At first his numbed brain refused to grasp the situation, but, as
his faculties recovered their normal condition, the recollection of
all that had transpired swept upon him. Inwardly cursing himself for
his folly, he moved to the window and gazed out.

But the landscape, over which night was fast settling, presented
no familiar features. He pulled out his watch, and by the lateness of
the hour, he knew that he must be far from his destination.

Suddenly the reflection in the window of his hat and its
pasteboard ornament caught his eye.

He pulled out the ticket. It was for Carnmoor, a place he had
never before heard of.

“They meant to get me far enough out of the way,” he growled
savagely. “If it hadn’t been for this the officials would have turned
me out at the first place they took tickets,” and he crumpled the
offending card in his hand. The slowing down of the train caused him
to glance once more through the glass. Soon they swept into a station.
The glimmering gas-jets, shining feebly through the gathering dusk,
revealed the name of the place.

The conspirators had timed his recovery to a nicety. It was
Carnmoor! Hardly waiting for the motion of the carriages to cease,
Haverly leapt out, and made straight for the telegraph office.

If he could not warn his friends in person, he could wire
them.

Rushing into the office, the American startled the sleepy
operator by bawling for a form.

“Tick that off,” he cried, after he had scribbled a message, “and
lively,” and over the wires there flashed this warning:

_“Danger! For God’s sake, beware. Plan to capture the submarine
to-night. Will explain when I come.--Haverly.”_

Somewhat easier in his mind, the millionaire strolled forth to
inquire about the next train to Stanwich.

“There ain’t none,” was the brusque reply of the porter he
questioned, who appeared to be the only specimen of that genus upon
the station.

“Then I guess I must have a special,” returned Haverly. “Where’s
your boss?”

“Here he comes,” was the response, as the station-master
approached. “This gent wants a special, Mister Burnside.”

“Special, eh?” remarked the official; “it’ll cost you sixty
pound.”

“If it cost six hundred I should have to have one,” returned the
millionaire. “I haven’t the dollars with me, but I can give you a
cheque.”

“Cheque!” exclaimed the station-master scornfully. “I ain’t
taking no risks. How do I know as the bank would honour it? Nice sight
I’d look with a cheque as wasn’t worth the paper it’s wrote on, and
the comp’ny coming down on me for sixty quid. What say, William?”

The porter agreed heartily with this verdict of his chief.

“Say,” put in Haverly, somewhat irritably, “here’s my card. I
reckon you’ve heard of me even in these God-forsaken parts. I’m Silas
K. Haverly, the millionaire.”

The station-master took the proffered card, but without troubling
to read it, he placed a finger beside his nose and gently closed one
eye, which piece of dumb show greatly pleased the worthy William.

“Well?” asked Haverly sharply.

“You must think we’re green to swallow a yarn like that,”
retorted the official. “Do you think a bloomin’ millionaire would go
about without a few quid in his pocket?”

At that moment the _phut! phut!_ of a motor sounded from
without the station gates, and a car pulled up at the entrance.

“Hullo! Doctor Oswyn,” cried the station-master, as a tall,
good-looking young fellow loomed through the gloom; “here’s a fellow
as professes to be Haverly, the American millionaire.”

“And so he is, you thundering blockhead!” cried the newcomer, as
he gripped the Yankee’s hand.

“Frank!” exclaimed the latter, returning the pressure; “this is
great!”

“Whatever brings you to this hole, Silas?” Oswyn asked.

Withdrawing beyond earshot of the astounded porter and his
equally astonished chief, Haverly gave his friend a brief outline of
his adventures in the express.

“I can go one better than a special,” averred Oswyn; “my car’s
outside, ready for a run; come along; we’ll be at Hilton in about an
hour.”

“That’s the style!” cried Haverly. “I’ll be a heap in your debt
for this, Frank.”




                         CHAPTER II.

             HOW HAVERLY FOILED THE BOAT-STEALERS.


WITHIN a few seconds the two men were flying between the hedges of a
country road, with the powerful engines of Oswyn’s “Panhard” throbbing
beneath them.

“Say,” the Yankee asked, after a few moments’ travelling, “how
far do you reckon it?”

“About forty-five miles to Hilton Manor,” was the response.

“What speed have you got on?” was Haverly’s next question.

“Forty,” returned Oswyn.

“I guess she’ll do better than that. Chuck the lever over.”

“It’s risky in the dark,” warned Oswyn, yet he obeyed his
companion’s order notwithstanding. Beneath the added power the car
leapt forward like a thing of life, her monstrous headlights glaring
through the gloom like the eyes of some huge animal. Her every bolt
and rivet quivered and sang with the throbbing of the mighty
cylinders.

She was a veritable projectile, yet the doctor’s hand was as
steady as a rock as he gripped the wheel. Presently Haverly consulted
his watch.

“Is she doing all she knows?” he asked.

“Every inch,” was the reply. “Great Scott! You surely don’t want
her to do any more? We’re going over fifty now. What would happen if
we struck an obstruction?”

The American smiled grimly.

“I guess we’re going to strike nothing this side of Hilton,” he
remarked. “We’ll do the striking when we arrive.”

Round sharp corners they whirled on two wheels, the other pair
high in the air. A hundred times the car seemed like to overturn, yet
somehow the catastrophe which appeared inevitable never happened.
Always, at the last moment, Oswyn’s consummate skill and his knowledge
of the road saved the situation.

The dark stretch of road trailed swiftly away behind them as the
moments flew by, and once again Haverly drew forth his watch.

“How much further?” he questioned.

“Nearly there,” his friend replied. He shut off the power as he
spoke, and the car, rounding a curve by its own momentum, came to a
standstill before a massive pair of iron gates, flanked by a
lodge.

Leaping out, the millionaire pulled the great bell-handle which
hung down from the pillar.

Ere the clanging of the bell had ceased, the door of the lodge
opened, and the keeper stepped out, carrying a lantern.

“What do you want?” he asked suspiciously, throwing the light
upon the two men and the motionless car.

“Open the gates,” Haverly demanded. “I must see your master at
once. I’m Haverly.”

“You might be, but then again you mightn’t,” was the dubious
reply. “Anyway, I’ve got strict orders to keep a sharp look-out for
anybody suspicious-looking.”

“You darned fool!” cried the Yankee, “do you size me up as a
suspicious party?”

“Orders is orders,” retorted the man sullenly, without budging an
inch.

“Say, Frank,” Haverly said, “give us a leg up, will you? This
fool means to keep us out here all night.”

With the aid of his friend, Silas swarmed over the barrier, and
dropped lightly down on the other side. Quickly he flung open the
gates, and the next moment the car was spinning up the drive, leaving
the lodge-keeper staring blankly after it.

“It’s agin orders,” he muttered at length, and, shaking his head
sagely, he closed the gates, and withdrew to his room.

Up the broad, gravelled track Oswyn drove the automobile, at a
speed that made the shrubs which bordered the drive dance past in one
dark line.

Soon the lights of the Manor gleamed before them, and from afar
the sound of the sea came to their ears.

Bringing the car to a standstill before the porch, the doctor
sprang out, followed by his friend.

“I guess we’re in time,” Haverly said. “You’ll see this through,
Frank?”

“Rather!” replied the young doctor enthusiastically. “We’d better
take a look round before we make an entrance.”

Leaving the car where it stood, the two men crept round to the
rear of the building.

The light, streaming through the open French windows of the
dining-room, attracted their attention, and Oswyn with difficulty
stifled an exclamation of rage as, crossing the lawn, they peered
in.

Within sat Seymour, the inventor, and Mervyn, before a table
which still held the remnants of a meal; but each was bound securely
to his chair and gagged.

In one corner of the room stood Haverly’s two companions of the
express, and with them two others, one in the dress of a footman. They
were conversing in low tones, and at intervals a gleam of metal
beneath the electric light showed that all were armed.

“Well, gentlemen,” one of them said at length, addressing the
helpless trio, “I think we may venture to leave you. You will be
perfectly safe for the night, but I am afraid your proposed Polar
expedition will have to be indefinitely postponed.”

The scoundrel’s words floated distinctly to the ears of the
watchers, and Oswyn was seized with a mad desire to rush in upon the
plotters. Haverly restrained him, however.

“Got a gun?” he questioned hoarsely.

“No,” was the reply, “worse luck.”

“Wal, I guess we can’t tackle the hull crowd with only one
shooter. See here: I’m going to skid down to the dock, an’ if I don’t
get the drop on ’em before long, my name ain’t Si. K. Haverly!”

“But where do I come in?” asked the doctor.

“You stay right here,” replied Haverly, “until them greasers come
out, then you can nip in an’ unfix our pards.”

“Couldn’t we rush ’em?” suggested Oswyn eagerly.

“If you want a couple of funerals knockin’ around,” returned the
millionaire grimly. “No, my son, you take it from me, it’s best to
play a waiting game.”

“Very well,” assented Oswyn, “get off down to the dock; I’ll wait
here.”

At that the Yankee turned, and vanished into the darkness of the
surrounding shrubbery.

For ten minutes Oswyn waited outside the window, then the four
scoundrels filed out, the footman switching off the light ere he
left.

“Good-night, gentlemen,” he called mockingly, as he closed the
window behind him, and it was all Oswyn could do to restrain the hot
rage which rose within him, prompting him to knock the rascal down as
he passed. But he controlled himself by a strong effort, and the four
plotters, striding over the lawn, passed down the drive towards the
dock gates. These the footman opened with one of a bunch of keys, and
the quartette passed through into the yard.

Around them, wrapped in darkness, lay the great workshops,
wherein the various sections of the marvellous submarine had taken
shape.

Past these deserted buildings--which but lately had rung
with stroke upon stroke of the workmen’s hammers--they went,
under the guidance of the footman, until they stood beside the great
dock, wherein lay floating the craft they had dared so much to
obtain.

Producing an electric lantern, the footman cast its beams over
the gleaming hull of the vessel.

“Wonderful!” the conspirators cried, as their eyes drank in the
singular beauty of the boat. For a few moments they stood lost in
admiration. On the quay alongside stood the piles of stores, awaiting
shipment on the morrow, should the trial trip prove satisfactory, and
the sight of them reminded the leader that that vessel was not yet
theirs.

“Aboard with you,” he cried, and led the way over the
gangway.

His two colleagues followed, leaving the footman on the quay.

A moment later a blaze of light came from the turret of the
submarine.

The boat-stealers had switched on the great searchlight which
topped the turret of the vessel, and its beams illumined the whole
dockyard.

“Sharp there, Benson!” the leader called, and at the words the
footman moved to a great winch, which stood beside the dock.

Putting forth his whole strength, he commenced to turn the
handle, thus opening the gates of the dock, and making a free passage
for the submarine to the North Sea.

The plotters had chosen their time well, for the tide was at its
flood. Casting off the mooring ropes, the footman leapt aboard, and
passed down the steps to the engine-room.

Three minutes later the submarine crept out into the bay upon
which the dock gave. The object of the conspirators’ plotting had been
attained; the scheme was a gigantic success.

The three scoundrels were not a little pleased with themselves as
the boat glided swiftly across the bay under the guidance of the
leader.

They jested and laughed, flavouring their conversation with many
an oath, as they pictured to their own delight the mortification of
the inventor, whose craft they had stolen.

Their mirth would perhaps have been less hilarious had they noted
the grim figure creeping along the corridor below, towards the foot of
the steps.

“Jesting apart,” said the leader at length, “it’s a marvellous
vessel. With this craft, armed in an up-to-date manner, we shall have
the shipping of the entire world at our mercy. Not a warship on the
seas will be able to resist us.”

“For which we have to thank our estimable friend, the inventor,”
returned one of his companions with a grin.

At that moment there came a flash, twice repeated, from the
darkness far ahead.

“The _Night Hawk!_” cried the leader; “it
is----”

“Checkmate, gentlemen,” drawled a quiet voice behind them.

At the words the three turned, to look into the gleaming barrel
of Haverly’s revolver.

“Hands up, you scoundrels!” he cried.

“Ah! would you?”

This last to the leader, who, with a savage oath, had made a grab
for his breast pocket.

A vicious spurt of flame leapt from the millionaire’s weapon, and
as the report rang through the turret, the fellow fell back with a
shattered wrist.

“Out west,” snapped the Yankee, “when I say put ’em up, they
generally calculate to put ’em up at once! I shouldn’t advise you to
play tricks; this gun’s kinder impatient, and might go off again. Say,
sonny! Just grab them spokes, and turn her round for the dock.”

The scoundrel addressed moved trembling to the wheel, and, under
the watchful eye of the American, brought the submarine round.

“That’s the style,” Haverly said, “keep her there. I reckon
you’re in for a warm time when Mr. Hilton gets hold of you. You should
never attempt to run a picnic of this sort; it needs brains,
gentlemen, and----”

What Silas would have said further will never be known, for he
broke off suddenly and ducked, just in time to escape a bullet from
the revolver of the footman, who, aroused by the Yankee’s shot, had
crept from the engine-room.

Quick as thought Haverly’s weapon answered, and the footman, with
a neat little hole in the centre of his forehead, dropped like a
log.

“Any more comin’ along?” Silas asked coolly; but the scoundrels
had no heart left for resistance.

“Get down to the engine-room, you there,” the millionaire
continued. “Drop your barker first; that’s better. Now slope, an’
let’s have no tricks, or you’ll get hurt.”

Like a beaten hound, the fellow slunk below, never attempting to
possess himself of the dead footman’s revolver, which lay beside the
corpse.

The American was master of the situation.

       *       *       *       *       *

As the sound of the plotters’ footsteps died away, Oswyn flung
open the window of the dining-room and rushed in.

One moment he fumbled for the switch, the next, a dazzling flood
of light poured into the room.

Before the three bound men had recovered from their surprise at
his unexpected appearance, Oswyn had cut their bonds and removed the
gags.

“Where have you sprung from, Frank?” cried the inventor, stamping
about the room in his efforts to restore the circulation to his numbed
limbs.

Briefly the doctor told him of his fortunate meeting with Haverly
at Carnmoor, and the succeeding events.

As he finished speaking, Seymour left the room, returning in a
moment with a brace of revolvers.

“Come,” he cried, “we may yet be in time to take a hand in the
game.”

Out into the night the four men plunged, and raced down to the
dockyard; but they were a few moments too late. The submarine had
gone.

The shock of this discovery stunned them for a time.

They had counted on Haverly keeping the scoundrels from boarding
the vessel; but it seemed clear to them that their American friend had
failed in his undertaking, and had paid the penalty of his daring.

“Silas must have got wiped out,” Oswyn muttered sadly; “he would
never have let them get possession of her otherwise,” in which
statement, as the reader knows, Frank was mistaken.

“What’s the next move?” Seymour asked. “Your craft’s too swift to
think of pursuit, I suppose?”

“It’s hopeless to think of recovering her,” returned the
inventor. “What’s that?”

A brilliant light had flashed over the dark waters of the
bay.

“There she is!” Mervyn cried, and an instant later the
torpedo-shaped craft became visible to each of the watchers.

But her movements puzzled them; she appeared to be making for the
dock entrance.

Slowly she crept forward, seeming to feel her way as she
advanced, until the four standing on the quay could make out the three
forms in her turret.

Then comprehension burst upon them!

“Good old Silas!” cried Seymour; “he’s got the drop on our bold
conspirators this time.”

Garth laughed boisterously in his rapture at the recovery of his
invention.

Through the dock gates the vessel crept to her old mooring-place.
Almost ere the engines had ceased to throb, the four had leapt aboard,
and were crowding into the turret.

Within a few moments the two uninjured rascals and their wounded
chief were securely trussed, and locked away in one of the workshops,
there to await removal to the local jail.

The body of the footman was laid upon the quay and covered with a
sheet. Only when these matters were attended to would the American
satisfy the curiosity of his friends as to the manner in which he had
managed to turn the tables upon the boat-stealers.

“Where’s your watchman?” he asked, after dismissing the subject
in half a dozen pithy sentences.

“You’ve locked him up,” Garth returned; “it was the fellow who
steered you in. He must have been heavily bribed by the plotters. Had
Wilson been here, this would not have happened, for he has been
guarding the boat himself at night.”

“Where’s he gone?” asked the doctor.

“Down home,” was the reply, “to say good-bye to his people. We
thought of starting at midnight to-morrow, but, of course, this
job”--pointing to the corpse of the footman--“will delay us
for several days. There will have to be an inquest, and no end of fuss
before we can get away.”

“I wish I were coming with you,” Oswyn said impulsively.

“I wish you were, old chap,” Garth agreed; “but I suppose it’s
impossible?”

“Utterly,” replied the doctor; “the practice would go to beggary
were I away for a month or two, just now. All the same, you have my
best wishes for the success of your trip. May you return safe and
sound!”

“Thanks, old man; I sincerely hope we shall.”

Moving to the winch, Garth closed the gates of the dock; then,
leaving the Yankee, at his own request, on guard, the rest of the
party adjourned to the house to finish their interrupted meal, and to
seek a much-needed rest.

As they went, the inventor pondered over an idea of
Haverly’s.

“Say, Garth,” the millionaire had remarked, as the party passed
out of the yard, “if you’re wanting a name for your boat, I guess you
might do worse than call it the _Seal._”

“_Seal_ it shall be,” Garth muttered to himself, and so it
was.




                         CHAPTER III.

                   BEYOND THE GREAT BARRIER.


THE _Seal_ sped swiftly over the rolling waves of the northern seas,
her whole hull vibrating with the throb of her powerful engines.

Her inventor, a huge cigar between his lips, lounged over the
rail which surrounded the vessel’s deck, scarce seeming to feel the
bite of the keen wind as he gazed dreamily into the distance.

At the wheel, his wiry hands holding the polished spokes in an
iron grip, stood the American, his watchful eye fixed upon the masses
of ice which rolled and wallowed around the vessel.

The explorers had been glad to don their heaviest furs, but found
even the thickest of them poor enough protection against the icy
breath of the Frost King; yet they were occasionally obliged to have
the turret door open, despite the cold, when the renewal of the air
supply became a necessity.

Two months had passed since the events recorded in our last
chapter; the first part of the voyage had been almost completed, and
the _Seal_ was rapidly nearing the great barrier, beneath which
she was to dive to the North Pole.

It was the Arctic summer; but little of summer was visible in the
gloomy scene around; and above a leaden canopy of a sky hung, grey,
dismal, and depressing.

For three days the sun had not appeared, and there was every
indication of a heavy snowstorm ere long.

Little the party cared for this, however; storm or shine, within
twelve hours they would know the result of their quest; would know
whether the professor’s theory was a fact or a delusion, and all were
eagerly awaiting the moment of decision.

Here, amid the towering crags of the icebergs, some hardy seafowl
wheeled, uttering at intervals a shrill shriek of defiance; there a
seal, waiting until the submarine had approached to within a few yards
of the ice-floe on which it lay, would dive with scarce a splash into
the swelling green waters. But beyond these no sign of life was
visible.

Unless there was more game in the realms they expected to find
beyond the barrier, Seymour’s weapons were like to grow rusty through
disuse. Suddenly a cry came from Garth:

“The barrier! At last!”

The _Seal,_ obeying a slight movement of her wheel, had
rounded a monster berg, and ahead, many miles distant yet, but looming
nearer with every yard the vessel advanced, rose the towering peaks of
the barrier ice, the grim and silent guardians of the secret of the
Pole.

Crag upon crag, pinnacle after pinnacle, they towered, glittering
with an unearthly brilliance, through the rarefied air of these high
altitudes.

The inventor’s shout brought Seymour and the scientist up, and
out on deck in an instant.

One glimpse they got of the marvellous range of ice mountains,
then a giant berg floated across the line of vision.

“Ugh!” the Professor shivered, “let’s get inside. It’s too cold
to stand out here.”

Forthwith the three passed into the turret, and closed the door.
As they did so, a score of feathery flakes drifted across the vessel’s
deck.

“Snow!” cried the baronet.

Ere a moment had passed, the submarine was surrounded by a
dazzling white veil, through which it was impossible to see more than
a few yards ahead.

“Better submerge her,” Garth said; “we shall be less likely to
collide with any of the bergs beneath the surface. This smother is
worse than a London fog.”

He touched a button on the switchboard beside the wheel as he
spoke, and instantly the throb of the pumps sounded through the
vessel, and she began to sink.

Soon, with her searchlight gleaming brightly before her, she was
gliding swiftly along beneath the surface.

The water was filled with life: hundreds of strange fish flashed
past the turret, their gleaming eyes reflecting the electric rays in a
myriad rainbow hues.

Once or twice, through the grey-green water, came the ghostly
shimmer of ice, as some berg trailed into view, to be left rapidly
behind.

So for an hour the _Seal_ moved onward; then the searchlight
gleamed on a glistening white wall some distance ahead.

The inventor grasped the telephone, which communicated with the
engine-room.

“Stop your engines,” he called, “and sink her.”

“Right you are,” came the answer.

Gliding gently forward by her own momentum, as the propellers
ceased to revolve, the _Seal_ nosed almost up to the edge of the
barrier; then she sank slowly, her crew keeping a sharp look-out for
an opening in the grim wall.

Fifty--sixty--eighty fathoms she sank, and still the
ice glittered before her. A hundred--and still no opening, and
Mervyn’s face grew strained and white as the moments sped by.

What if the base of the great ice barrier rested upon the ocean
bed? What if it were not a floating chain of ice mountains, as he
believed, but an immovable line of cliffs, their icy feet gripping the
sandy bed of the Polar Sea?

Such might easily be the case; and if so, what then?

Ay! what then?

The scientist answered the question for himself.

A humiliating retreat from the barrier which had battled them; a
still more humiliating return to their native shore, there to endure
the scoffs and sneers of every dabbler in science who could put pen to
paper.

He had staked so much on the outcome of this expedition. His very
reputation trembled in the balance. Never again would he be able to
lift his head among his rivals, should this, his pet theory, prove a
delusion.

Still lower the submarine sank, and no sign was there of an
ending of the ice; lower, every plate in her hull creaking beneath the
enormous pressure.

Mervyn glanced uneasily at Garth.

“Will she stand it?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. The inventor
consulted a small dial set in the turret wall.

“Yes,” he replied; “she was built to stand greater pressure than
this.”

“Thank heaven!” muttered the scientist. “You know what this means
to me, Garth? Failure spells ruin!”

“We’re not going to fail,” Garth retorted, cheerfully; “we’ll
pull through if I have to blow the barrier into fragments first.”

His hopeful words somewhat revived the drooping spirits of the
professor, and he turned once more to the window with renewed
hope.

But still no break appeared in the grim face of the
ice-cliffs.

Caves there were in plenty, small openings worn in the ice by the
action of the water, but not one was large enough for the _Seal_
even to insert her nose; yet each of these Mervyn eyed anxiously as
the vessel sank past them, hoping to discover in one of them a passage
through the heart of the barrier.

Then, amidst the creaking and groaning of the vessel, came a
slight shock, and she ceased to sink.

“I guess we’ve struck bottom,” the Yankee said, glancing keenly
at Mervyn.

He grasped the tube. “Ease her up half a dozen yards,” he called,
“and start your engines at four knots.”

Almost ere he had ceased to speak, the _Seal_ rose for a few
feet, until her keel no longer rested on the sand; her screw:
commenced to revolve, and, under the millionaire’s able guidance, she
crept slowly along the base of the ice-cliffs.

Not a word passed between the occupants of her wheelhouse.

Each was anxiously looking for an opening, even the cool-blooded
Yankee being somewhat concerned at this deadlock.

As the moments went by without their hopes being realised, a fit
of gloomy depression swept over them all, which was lifted at length,
as a sharp cry broke from Seymour.

“Look!”

The submarine had crept round a great out-jutting spur of the
ice-cliffs, and before her, in the face of the glittering wall, loomed
a monstrous archway, full one hundred feet in width and almost as much
in height.

Before this enormous cavern the millionaire brought the
_Seal_ to, with her brow pointing directly into the darkness,
which even the rays of the searchlight failed to dispel for more than
a few yards distant.

“I reckon we might do worse than try this,” he suggested.

“Take her in,” Mervyn said eagerly; “there is a chance. We can
but return, should it prove to be a _cul-de-sac.”_

Forthwith the submarine passed cautiously through the archway
into the great domed chamber which opened beyond.

Through this she crept, with searchlight flashing on the
alabaster walls, till a second archway loomed before her, smaller than
the first, yet wide enough to give her passage.

Her pace within this narrow tunnel was scarcely a crawl, but no
faster dared Haverly drive her, lest, through the sudden narrowing of
the passage, she should collide with the ice.

Two hours dragged by, and still the eternal ice gleamed around
them in dazzling monotony, and they grew sick of gazing upon its
never-ending sameness. Mervyn alone knew no weariness.

Close to the glass he stood, his nervous hands clenching and
unclenching as he gazed ahead.

Suddenly a glad cry pealed from his lips.

“At last!”

The ice tunnel had ended; the _Seal_ had passed out into
open water.

“Raise her,” roared the American down the tube. “I guess we’ve
struck the Polar Sea!”

The scientist could scarcely control his eagerness as the
submarine slowly rose. Back and forth he paced, as the tinge of the
water without faded from deep green to grey. Then the dim light gave
way to a flood of brilliant sunshine, and Garth switched off the
searchlight, as the _Seal_ emerged into the full glory of the
Northern sun.

For here no leaden grey sky overhung the scene, but a pure blue
vault of matchless brilliance, its beauty unmarred by a single
cloud.

As, in response to Haverly’s signal, the engines stopped, Mervyn
flung open the door, and a flood of bracing air poured into the
turret.

Keen it was, but without the sting of the frost, and its
sharpness was tempered by the warming rays of the sun.

Stepping out on to the wet and glistening deck, Silas moored the
vessel securely by her stern cable to a projecting pinnacle of ice,
then turned and gazed about them.

Above rose the heights of the barrier range, towering peak above
peak for thousands of feet into the splendour of the Arctic sky;
before him, silent and deserted as a sea of the dead, rolled the
mighty waters of the Polar Sea.

“Glorious!” breathed Mervyn rapturously. “Glorious!” and he
shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun, as he gazed in an ecstasy
of enthusiasm across the shimmering wave-crests.

Then, from far away, came a low, rumbling roar, as of distant
thunder.

“What was that?” the scientist asked sharply; “not thunder,
surely?”

“Hardly,” returned Seymour; “but now let us turn in for a spell.
It’s been over forty-eight hours since we had a wink of sleep.”

“You’re right, Seymour,” admitted the scientist; “do you all go
below for an hour or two. I will take the watch; I cannot sleep until
I know the result of our quest.”

Despite the persuasions of his comrades, the Professor’s
determination remained unshaken, and at length they left him and went
below.

For an hour Mervyn paced the deck excitedly, listening to the
thunder-like detonations, which rolled up at frequent intervals from
the far horizon; then, for the first time, he became conscious that
the vessel was quivering beneath him, as though in motion.

He glanced astern.

The _Seal_ was straining at her cable like a thing of
life!

“The current must be strong,” he exclaimed to himself, and
walking aft he tried the lashing of the rope.

It was secure, for the American was an adept at knotting.
Retracing his steps, Mervyn leaned against the rail and fell into a
reverie.

What could there be beyond? he thought. Was there a great island
in the midst of this sea, an undiscovered realm whose forests afforded
refuge to strange animals, or perhaps stranger men?

The deserted sea around seemed to give little hope of this.

Surely, if there were habitable land within the Arctic circle,
within the confines of the barrier ice, some flying creature would be
visible; some seafowl would be disporting itself above the waters, or
diving for its food beneath the curling crests of the sparkling waves?
But no sign was there of bird; not even a seal furrowed the lifeless
waters.

_Crack!_

A pistol-like report startled Mervyn out of his abstraction.

_Crack!_ Again it sounded, from directly overhead, and the
Professor looked up quickly.

A thin, dark line was spreading rapidly along the face of the
ice-cliffs, and even as he gazed it widened, and a huge mass of ice,
thousands of tons in weight, leaned outward. For an instant it hung
poised, then thundered downward.

The enormity of the peril appalled Mervyn! He stood as one
spellbound. It seemed as though naught could save the _Seal_ and
her crew from utter destruction; yet, in the very instant of her dire
peril, deliverance came in a marvellous manner.

There came a sharp snap from the stern, and the _Seal,_
leaping forward like hound from leash, passed clear beneath the huge,
descending mass, and sped seaward. Her cable had parted!

A fearful roar, a mighty wave which almost swept Mervyn from the
deck, an avalanche of falling fragments, then the whole thing was
over.

As the last of the _debris_ plunged into the seething water,
and before the scientist had recovered from the shock, his comrades,
awakened by the uproar, darted out on deck.

“Whatever has happened?” Garth gasped, gazing in amazement at
Mervyn’s ashen-white face, and then at the rapidly receding
ice-cliffs.

Somehow Mervyn stammered through his explanation.

“Great Scott!” Seymour cried, as the scientist finished, “if the
cable hadn’t parted, the _Seal_ would have been crushed like an
egg-shell!”

“It was a close call,” Haverly broke in. “I guess we must ha’
struck a fairly healthy current, to snap the cable like that. However,
all’s well as ends right side up.”

He grasped the wheel as he spoke, and the engineer, who had
hurried on deck with his friends at the alarm, went below once more to
his engines.

A moment later the _Seal_ was leaping forward, with her
engines running at twenty-five knots.

For some little time Garth stood watching the wall of foam flung
up by the _Seal’s_ sharp prow as she raced over the waters of the
Polar Sea.

A vessel to be proud of was she, and none were more thankful than
her inventor for her marvellous escape.

At length he turned towards the stairhead.

“I think I’ll go down and prepare a bit of grub,” he said. “I
dare say you fellows can manage a feed?”

“Rather,” Seymour returned, and at the word Garth left the
turret.

Some moments later Haverly noticed a decided increase in the
speed of the vessel.

“Say!” he growled down the tube, “what speed have you got
on?”

“Twenty-five,” came Wilson’s answer.

“I guess we’re doing more like fifty,” returned the Yankee. “Ease
her off ten knots and stand by.”

For a time the way of the _Seal_ slackened, but not for
long. Within ten minutes she was sweeping on as fast as before.

Again Silas grasped the tube, and there was a note of irritation
in his voice as he called sharply, “Half speed astern!”

There came a clank from the engine-room as Wilson flung over the
levers; then a jarring, grinding crash, that shook the vessel from
stem to stern, and the purr of the engines ceased.

With an exclamation of annoyance, Mervyn left the turret, and
went below. As he disappeared a cry broke from Seymour.

“Land ho!”

Far away on the horizon a dark, cloud-like shadow rose out of the
sea, growing in size each moment as the vessel raced on.

Glass in hand, Seymour sprang to the door; but though he exerted
all his huge strength, it defied his efforts to open it.

“Lock the wheel for a second, Silas,” he said, “and give me a
hand with this door; it’s got jammed somehow.”

“I guess the wheel don’t need any locking,” retorted the Yankee,
as he loosed the spokes.

“What do you mean?” Seymour asked.

“The steerin’ gear’s got jammed, too,” returned Silas, with a
grim smile, and he applied himself to assist Seymour with the
door.

But the thing refused to budge, and at length, sweating from the
violence of their exertions, they gave up the attempt.

“What the plague has taken the things?” Seymour cried angrily.
“First the engines break down, then the door jams, and now you say the
steering gear’s gone wrong!”

As he spoke, Mervyn re-entered the turret.

“They can’t make out what’s wrong with the engines.” he
announced. “Nothing is out of place, yet they will not run. It seems
as though something were holding them back!”

“Exactly,” returned the millionaire. “I guess we’ve struck the
magnetic attraction of the Pole!”

For an instant this announcement, given in the coolest of tones,
staggered his comrades; then Mervyn spoke:

“Then this is no current which is urging the vessel on?” he began
interrogatively.

“But real fifty thousand horse-power magnetism,” replied the
Yankee; “and I guess it’s goin’ to take an extra large-size miracle to
get the old boat out of its grip.”

His companions stared at him incredulously for a few seconds;
then, as the full significance of this statement became clear to them,
both turned and glanced out of the window.

“You say the door’s immovable?” the scientist questioned.

“Hopelessly!” returned the baronet; “but we can smash the glass
if we wish to get out.”

“I reckon there’ll be no call to smash the glass,” Silas said;
“another ten minutes and the hull outfit’ll be bust.”

He pointed ahead as he spoke.

Scarce a mile away, looming nearer each moment, a terrible line
of cliffs rose black and beetling from the water’s edge; and above,
veiling their summits, hung a threatening black smoke cloud, from
somewhere in the heart of which came the rumbling explosions they had
heard at frequent intervals since their entry into this sea.

The speed of the _Seal_ increased as the moments flew by,
until her pace could not have been less than forty knots an hour, and
that without any aid from her engines.

“This is terrible!” muttered Mervyn. “Have we escaped one peril,
only to be dashed to pieces against those cliffs?”

He was pale to the lips, and his hands shook as with an ague; the
nearness of that terrible wall, upon which the _Seal_ was rushing
so blindly, unmanned him. He turned to his comrades.

“I’m afraid the old boat’s doomed,” he murmured brokenly; “she
will go to pieces like matchwood against that barrier. I am sorry that
our trip will have so disastrous an ending----”

“Say,” the Yankee interrupted, “don’t you be too previous,
Mervyn. I guess we ain’t done yet, by a considerable piece. If I ain’t
dreamin’, there’s a gap in the darned barrier, and the old
_Seal’s_ a-shovin’ her nose straight towards it.”

“You’re right, Silas!” Seymour cried. “Heaven grant she clears
the entrance!”

Ten seconds later, the _Seal,_ rushing madly forward,
cleared by a fraction of an inch the mighty rocks which guarded the
entrance, and plunged into the darkness of a canyon.

As she did so, Haverly switched on the searchlight.

Thirty feet above her hung a dense, poisonous cloud of smoke,
blotting out the light of the sun like an immense black curtain, and
making the canyon dark as midnight.

The rugged walls of the canyon flashed past in a gleaming line as
the electric light danced upon them, and around the vessel a shower of
ashes began to fall, converting the spotless paint of the deck into a
mass of sooty-grey blotches.

_Boom!_ A thunderous explosion reverberated down the canyon,
shaking the instruments in the turret lockers, and a burst of flame
leapt up some distance ahead, its vivid crimson glow paling the beams
of the great searchlight.

It died away in a moment,

“A volcano!” gasped the scientist. Then the _Seal,_ narrowly
escaping collision with the rocky wall, swept out of the gorge.

Before them, seen dimly through the falling ashes, lay the black
and silent waters of a great lake; and, in the midst, its fiery crest
glowing like the mouth of the Pit, towered a mighty volcano.




                         CHAPTER IV.

                          TRAPPED!


SWIFT as an arrow the submarine swept forward towards the volcano, the
foam leaping from her steel nose in two mighty, diverging lines.

Without a doubt she was the first vessel to furrow the waters of
the lake; yet the explorers would gladly have dispensed with the empty
honour of being the discoverers of this barren and desolate region,
if, in exchange, they might have retraced their course.

But the magnetic power held them too tightly!

With a shock which flung the occupants of her turret to the
floor, the _Seal_ struck the beach immediately below the crater,
burying her prow deep in the yielding sand.

As her quivering hull came to a standstill, another booming
explosion burst from the volcano, and once more a lurid flash of flame
leapt from its glowing mouth, far into the sulphur-laden air
above.

“Great Heaven!” cried Seymour, “we’re done now for sure!”

As the words left his lips Garth entered the turret.

“The engines are absolutely useless,” he said gloomily. “Heaven
alone knows what’s come to them----”

Glancing outside, he paused in the middle of his sentence,
stricken dumb by the perilous position of the _Seal._

“Let me introduce you to the North Pole,” Silas said
sarcastically; “nice cheerful location, ain’t it?”

“And this is the lodestar of the explorers!” Garth exclaimed in
disgust, “to reach which so many lives have been sacrificed on the
ice-fields of the Arctic Seas.”

“It is a terrible disappointment,” muttered Mervyn. “I thought to
find here a habitable island, with perhaps men and beasts; but even
the sense of disappointment wanes before the peril of the position
into which we have been dragged by this magnetic attraction.”

“Magnetic attraction!” cried the inventor; “whatever do you
mean?”

“This,” returned the scientist: “the mysterious force which is
holding your engines, which prevents us opening the door, and has also
jammed the steering gear, is the same power that causes the needle of
the compass to point to the north!”

The inventor stared in amazement.

“Then what hope have we of ever getting away?” he asked at
length.

“None whatever,” was the reply, and at that Garth relapsed into
silence. Each man was busy with his own thoughts, each was striving to
find some way of escape from the perilous situation in which they
found themselves; but, try as they might, no gleam of hope presented
itself.

The vessel on which their very existence depended was helpless as
a log in the grip of the giant natural forces of the magnetic
mountain; and, added to this, was the ever-increasing peril from the
crater, which was now flinging out a veritable cataract of glowing
stones, to the accompaniment of numerous awe-inspiring explosions.

“I’m afraid it’s a case,” Seymour said at length. “Twenty-four
hours will see the last of this expedition, unless the sulphur cloud
lifts so that we can get some air. How long do you reckon the air will
last, Garth?”

The inventor’s answer was drowned in a thunderous detonation,
which shook every plate in the _Seal’s_ hull.

The side of the cone above her burst open, and a torrent of
glowing lava, leaping forth, plunged downward towards the lake.

For an instant it seemed as though the ill-fated submarine would
be overwhelmed; but, changing its course at the last moment, with a
deafening roar the lava river emptied itself into the lake.

The uproar which followed baffles description.

A series of fearful reports rang out as the two elements met, and
the maddened waters, driven backwards for a moment by the fury of the
molten torrent, rolled shoreward once more in one tremendous wave,
beneath which, for a short time, the _Seal_ was completely
submerged.

The water hissed and boiled as it poured over the cooling lava,
and a cloud of sulphurous vapour rolled upward from the surface of the
lake, to lose itself amid the whirling wreaths of the brooding cloud
above.

The heat became terrible as the time went on.

The atmosphere of the boat was like that of an oven, and great
beads of sweat poured off the watchers, as they stood, with straining
eyes and haggard faces, gazing on all the awful grandeur of the
eruption.

Their furs they had long since laid aside, and, ere long, their
jackets followed; but the feeling of oppression seemed to lessen not a
whit.

Their tongues were dry as parchment, despite the copious draughts
of water with which they attempted to slake their thirst.

The food which Garth had prepared lay untasted on the saloon
table; for their terrible situation had, for the time, at any rate,
driven all thoughts of eating from the explorers’ minds.

The engineer was still below, striving even yet to discover the
cause of the--to him--inexplicable behaviour of his
engines.

“I am sorry for this, my friends,” Mervyn said at length, with a
strange, unnatural quiver in his voice. “Would God I had never led you
on this fatal voyage! As for me, I have almost reached the allotted
span; my work is done, and I may as well face death here as elsewhere.
But you had many years of life before you yet, had it not been for
this ill-fated journey, and my own death will be embittered by the
thought that I have led you into yours.”

The American fixed his piercing eyes upon the scientist’s face as
he finished speaking.

“See here, Mervyn,” he said, “don’t you go blamin’ yourself for
what ain’t your fault. I guess not one of us reckoned on strikin’ this
yer magnetic volcano, else we’d ha’ come in a wooden boat, ’stead of
this old steel tank. What we’ve got to do as I figure it out is to
keep a stiff lip to the last. I calculate me an’ Seymour’s been in
tighter corners than this before now, an’ come out right side up after
all, eh, William?”

“Yes,” Seymour replied, “we’ve pulled some big things off
together, you and I, Silas, but I am afraid this is the end. We only
realise our own weakness when we are pitted against the forces of
Nature. Great Heaven!”

His sentence ended in a startled exclamation, as a monster
boulder, white-hot from the crater-mouth, hurtled close over the
turret roof and splashed into the lake, hissing and spluttering scarce
three yards from the stern of the _Seal._

But of all the showers of glowing missiles which followed, not
one came near the boat.

Her very nearness to the base of the cone proved her salvation
from this frightful peril; for the flying boulders, any one of which
could have crushed the _Seal_ to scrap-iron, whizzed high
overhead, illuminating the waters of the lake with a fiery glare, as
they plunged, hissing, beneath the surface.

The beach beneath the vessel heaved and fell, and tongues of
flame leapt from the lake, to meet the glowing hail of stones.

The outer line of cliffs bent and swayed as though shaken by a
giant hand, and, amid all this fearful confusion, rang the thunderous
reports from the crater, deafening and terrible.

Crash succeeded crash, explosion followed explosion, and the
waters of the lake, lashed to fury, once more roared over the helpless
_Seal._

For the second time since her arrival in this gloomy lake the
vessel was submerged.

When the waters again receded the din of the eruption had ceased,
but the brooding silence--pregnant with sinister
meaning--which had followed, was almost worse than the volcanic
outbreak.

The character of the surrounding cliffs was altogether
changed.

Where the canyon had been a steaming wall of rock towered, its
summit lost to sight in the overhanging veil of smoke, so that there
was now no possible means of escape to the sea!

The watchers gazed with despairing eyes upon this fresh
misfortune.

It was the last straw.

“Wal, I guess that fixes us,” the Yankee snapped; “unless there
happens to be a miracle knockin’ around, this yer outfit’s on its last
legs.”

His words sent a shiver through his comrades. Knowing Haverly as
they did, knowing the indomitable spirit of the man, the words sounded
as their death-warrant.

Bad indeed was the case when Silas gave up hope.

“Say, Mervyn,” he continued, after a pause of a few moments, “you
call this location the North Pole? I reckon if I had the naming of it,
it ’uld be the ‘Gate of Hell,’ spelt large. Of all the God-forsaken
parts I ever struck, this romps in an easy first. The Yellowstone
Badlands are a paradise to this yer settlement!”

Hereafter a gloomy silence settled upon the party, broken at
length by the appearance of Wilson.

“The thing’s beyond me!” he exclaimed; “not a rod is out of
place, not a screw is missing, yet never a stroke can I get out of
them for all my trying.”

In a few terse sentences Garth explained to the engineer the
cause of the breaking down of the machinery.

“Great Scott!” cried Wilson, “you don’t mean----?”

He broke off short, as a rumbling explosion burst from the
crater.

The eruption had recommenced!

Moving to the window, Wilson peered out through the steam-covered
glass. As he did so a great shaft of flame shot upward from the water
alongside, scorching the paint on the vessel’s hull.

With a startled exclamation the engineer shrank back from the
window.

“Can nothing be done?” he asked, turning to Garth.

“Nothing,” returned the inventor, “for, see, even could we get
the engines to work, the passage to the sea is blocked.”

“But you cannot mean that there is no hope?” Wilson persisted.
“Surely there is some way out of this accursed lake?”

“Then I guess it’s got to be found,” the Yankee broke in sharply.
“This is how the thing pans out: if we stop here it means suffocatin’;
if we bust the glass and clear outside, the sulphur’ll do the trick
for us in a little less than no time.”

“It resolves itself into a choice of deaths,” remarked Seymour,
“one slow and terrible, the other terrible enough, but mercifully
swift.”

“Precisely,” agreed the millionaire; “but I reckon there’s no
manner of sense in rushin’ on your fate. I’m stayin’ right here.”

Even as the words left his lips, a series of deafening explosions
rang out, each one louder than the preceding: the whole culminating in
one stupendous crash, which shook the island to its very
foundations.

While yet the last echoes of this fearful cannonade reverberated
amid the cliffs, a giant wave roared furiously up from the bed of the
lake, and tearing the _Seal_ from her sandy bed, bore her fifty
feet into the air.

For one brief instant it swayed there, then its crest curled
over, and with a thunderous roar, it plunged downward.

Downward--the water seething and boiling around the vessel,
threatening each moment to beat in the glass of the turret; still
downward--the _Seal_ whirling like a straw in the grip of
the maddened waters, and the occupants of her turret clinging for dear
life to the walls. The deck of the vessel sloped like the roof of a
house as she surged downward in the glissade of waters.

Behind her an inky wall curled and foamed, urging her into the
depths. Then suddenly she righted for a moment, and Haverly, gazing
out anxiously over the waste of waters from his post at the wheel,
caught a glimpse of a fearful black chasm, which yawned where once the
bed of the lake had been, and into this the waters were plunging in a
mighty cataract.

“My God!” cried the American hoarsely, and even as the prayer
left his lips, the vessel lurched, heeled over, and was borne swiftly
downward into the depths of the abyss.




                         CHAPTER V.

                 OVER THE CATARACT’S BRINK.


TWICE the _Seal_ turned turtle in the course of that terrible dive,
dashing her crew with stunning force against the turret walls. In vain
they strove to regain their balance. Helpless as logs they were hurled
to and fro, until, battered beyond all human endurance, they one and all
sank into insensibility.

And still the submarine plunged downward, still she lurched and
wallowed in the rioting waters.

Suddenly she was brought up with a fearful shock that snapped off
both propellers like rotten sticks. A veritable avalanche of water
thundered down upon her, battering her hull so that the steel plates
groaned beneath the enormous strain.

Each instant it seemed as though the stout glass of the turret
must be beaten in; yet it held bravely, and at length the downpour
ceased, and the _Seal_ shot forward like an arrow.

Two hours went by, and then Haverly recovered his senses.
Staggering to his feet, he steadied himself against the wheel, and
gazed outside.

The rays of the great searchlight gleamed white and dazzling on
the walls and roof of a rocky tunnel, through which the _Seal_
was racing at headlong speed, urged on by the fearful force of the
torrent, on whose foaming bosom she was borne.

With an effort--so enfeebled was he by his terrible
experience--Silas moved to the door. To his great joy it opened
easily, and he flung it wide, admitting a flood of life-giving
air.

“Thank Heaven!” he murmured fervently, damping his parched and
blackened lips, while he drew in deep draughts of pure, cool air;
“another hour and we’d all have passed in our checks.”

Turning, he found his friends already stirring, their recovery
hastened by the beneficent influence of the refreshing atmosphere.

Crowding to the door, they stood for some moments filling their
exhausted lungs.

“Whatever have we struck?” Seymour asked at length, gazing in
amazement at the dripping, glistening walls of the passage.

“A subterranean river, I reckon,” responded Silas, “an’ one with
a fairish slope, judgin’ by the speed we’re travellin’ at.”

“I have no doubt,” Mervyn began, “that this strange tunnel is of
volcanic origin; at one time probably a lava passage, through which
the molten metal was forced from the bowels of the earth to the crater
of the volcano we have left far behind us.”

“If that is true,” interrupted Seymour, “we are plunging each
instant deeper and deeper into the bowels of the globe, and at the
present moment must be far down below the bed of the Polar Sea!”

“Exactly!” returned Mervyn. “We started upon this trip as a North
Polar expedition, but it seems we are to end up with a journey to the
centre of the earth. Whether we ever return therefrom depends wholly
upon Providence.”

“Then where shall we end up?” the inventor asked, his face a
picture of incredulous amazement. “I mean, what is there below?”

“Heaven alone knows,” the scientist returned gravely; “yet, as we
have been delivered in so marvellous a manner from the grip of the
magnetic mountain, we will hope for the best.”

“I guess we’ve just got to sit tight and see it through,” cried
the Yankee. “Without her screws the old boat’s as helpless as a log,
though I doubt if they’d ha’ been any use against this darned current.
I calculate that feed you was preparin’ would be acceptable at the
present period, Garth.”

Taking the hint conveyed in the last sentence, the inventor
withdrew, and soon from below came the rattle of crockery and the
clatter of knives and forks. The walls of the tunnel still flashed by
in an eternal monotony, and long, pendant mosses, trailing their slimy
lengths from the rocky roof, seemed to writhe and twist like dark
green snakes as the vessel swept past beneath them.

And with every yard of her advance--and this was the thought
that haunted her crew--the _Seal_ plunged deeper into the
unknown depths of the earth!

Her pace became terrific as the time went by, and the eyes of the
watchers in her turret were strained ahead, expecting--yet
dreading--each moment that some fearful abyss would yawn before
them, in the black depths of which their faithful vessel would be
swallowed up.

Steering was utterly out of the question, even had the vessel not
been damaged; for so great was the speed, that no sooner had they
sighted a dangerous curve in the tunnel, of an out-jutting rock, than
the _Seal_ was upon it. The swiftness of the current alone
prevented the submarine from shattering herself to fragments against
the numerous obstacles.

Glad were the party when Garth’s voice summoned them below, and,
leaving the vessel to take care of herself, they retired, to forget
for a while the danger of their novel position in the pleasures of the
table.

Then, when their hunger was satisfied, they resumed their places
in the turret, wondering what would be the end of their marvellous and
terrible journey. Now the roof of the passage would sink, until a few
inches only separated the rock from the top of the turret; anon it
would rise and become lost to sight as the _Seal_ swept into some
vast subterranean chamber, whose midnight darkness the light of the
great arc-light seemed but to render more intense, as it trembled
through it for a brief moment, then vanished as the vessel swept
on.

Where would it end?

The fateful question hammered at the watchers’ brains as they
stood through the long hours, silently awaiting the end.

“For Heaven’s sake, speak, some of you!” Seymour cried at last,
after a long interval, during which no word had been spoken, “this
silence is enough to drive one mad!”

“Of what should we speak, my friend?” the scientist asked
gravely. “The while our fate is trembling in the balance, our lives
hanging, as it were, upon a thread, there seems but little attraction
in conversation, however interesting in the ordinary course of events
the subject may be.”

“I hold there’s no call to despair yet awhile,” Silas interrupted
sharply; “the old _Seal’s_ a stayer, an’ so long as she keeps her
end up, we’ll pull through.”

“Good old Silas!” Seymour cried, clapping his friend on the
back.

“Wal, it’s this way,” Haverly went on, “I’ve come out of so many
tight corners with a whole skin, that one more or less makes no
difference. You Britishers pride yourselves on your ‘never say die’
motto. I guess this is a suitable time to apply the same. Say,
William, you recollect that little bit of a scrap on the Amazon, six
years back?”

“Rather,” Seymour returned.

“Wal, I reckon as that was considerable tighter than the present
situation. You see, professor, it----”

He broke off abruptly, as from somewhere far ahead came a
murmuring drone, like the first low note of some giant organ.

“What is it?” Mervyn asked.

The millionaire flung open the door.

A cool, damp wind, laden with spray, whistled up the tunnel, and
the drone grew in volume as the submarine swept on.

A puzzled expression passed over Haverly’s features as he stood
listening for some moments.

Then his brow cleared and he slammed to the door.

“I guess we’re nearing the end,” he said; “it’s the sound of a
waterfall.”

His comrades gazed despairingly into each other’s faces. What
they had feared for so long was about to happen.

Somewhere, not far ahead, the river thundered into space over the
brink of some subterranean precipice, and towards this spot the
_Seal_ was racing.

The water hissed and foamed about her stern, and long lines of
bubbles, gleaming like pearls beneath the searchlight’s glare, danced
far ahead, to lose themselves in the darkness of the tunnel.

And ever the drone grew louder, moment by moment, until the
_Seal,_ flashing round a curve, swept out into a huge, arched
cavern, and the droning note changed to a thunderous roar--the
voice of a mighty cataract!

Every plate, every rib which went to form the vessel’s frame,
sang with the vibration of the falling waters.

Ahead, the watchers could see the waters leaping, tumbling,
foaming in mad confusion, and, beyond, a mighty cloud of mist hovered,
veiling, like a white curtain, the terrors of the fearful abyss into
which the river plunged.

“Hold tight!” roared Haverly, his voice ringing clear and true
above the din of the falling waters.

The others gazed, half fascinated, in spite of the peril at the
scene before them. Swiftly the vessel sped on to her doom, the dancing
waves lapping her hull playfully as they hurried her forward.

Helpless as a log, the splendid craft was turned and twisted in
the grip of the cataract. She paused for an instant as she reached the
verge, like some terrified animal shying from a leap; then a tremor
passed through her plates, and she plunged swiftly over into the
depths.

Pale as death were her crew, yet never a cry escaped them as
their stout vessel pitched downward, stern in air.

Through each man’s mind ran the same question: was there deep
water beneath the fall, or a row of jagged rocks, on whose giant teeth
the unfortunate _Seal_ would shatter herself into a thousand
fragments!

The time seemed interminable! Would she never stop falling?

In reality a few seconds only were occupied by the descent, but
to the explorers ages seemed to pass, ere, with a terrible crash, the
submarine struck the foaming whirlpool below the cataract.

High above the boom of the waters sounded the shock of that fall,
and a huge column of spray was flung upward by the impact of the
vessel’s hull.

Her crew, shaken from their hold, were hurled like puppets
against the walls of the turret, and a merciful oblivion once more
swept over them.

Quickly the vessel was beaten downwards by the enormous weight of
the plunging water. Lower and still lower she went, whirling madly,
until it seemed as though she would never rise again.

Thrice she was swept round in the grip of the whirlpool, only to
be drawn back once more to the foot of the fall, as the needle is
drawn to the magnet. By some miraculous chance she escaped collision
with the rocky walls which formed the basin of the boiling cauldron,
although many times within an ace of destruction.

Then she was once more swept forward, and this time, escaping the
power of the eddy, sped out into the river beyond.

A mile lower down she came to the surface and drifted on, her
searchlight gleaming through the darkness like the eye of some huge
aquatic monster. Hour after hour passed, and still she was borne
gently forward on the bosom of the subterranean river. The roar of the
fall died to a murmur as she floated on, and at length ceased
altogether.

Past iron-toothed rocks she drifted, which reared their jagged
crests threateningly amid the swirling waters; past huge caverns and
grottoes, the stalactites of which flashed crystal like as the
electric light penetrated for an instant into their dark obscurity;
past seething mud-banks, in the midst of which foul, loathsome forms
sprawled and wallowed.

And still her crew lay unconscious in the wheelhouse, knowing
naught of the perils through which their craft was passing.

Slowly the force of the current expended itself, and at length
the _Seal,_ drifting into shoal water, grounded gently on a
shelving bank of mud.

Then, out from the filth and mire of the mud-flats on either
hand, hideous heads were thrust, and monstrous goggle eyes glared upon
the motionless vessel.

Moving with a strange, shuffling motion, full a score of these
horrible river-creatures--loathsome beyond all
imagination--shambled towards the _Seal._

Their great claws--hideous in their likeness to men’s
hands--were outstretched eagerly, ravenously, and their green
eyes were aglow with fiendish desire. Soon they reached the rail, and,
gripping it, dragged their misshapen bodies aboard.

Gibbering and snarling, the monsters crept along the deck until
they reached the turret, the glass of which appeared to puzzle them
for some little time. Then one shambled to the rail and plunged over,
returning shortly with a fragment of rock, with which he presently
began to batter the glass.

_Bang! bang!_ Even the stout, specially-toughened glass of
the turret could not long withstand those blows. _Bang!_ The
creature’s arms rose and fell with tireless, machine-like monotony.
His fellows, squatting upon their haunches, awaited his efforts
impatiently.

Ere long the sound of the blows penetrated to Haverly’s brain,
and he stirred uneasily. As it noted the movement, the river-creature
paused in its attack, and, pressing its hideous face against the
glass, glared ferociously at the American.

Slowly Silas rose, steadying himself against the wheel; then, as
his eyes swept round the turret, he encountered the malignant gaze of
the horror without, and, with a startled exclamation, he leapt back,
drawing his revolver.

At that the river-creature once more raised its clumsy weapon,
and dashed it with terrible force against the glass of the door.

With a splintering crash the door burst open, and, as one, the
whole band of waiting monsters rose, and, with teeth gnashing
savagely, plunged towards the doorway.




                         CHAPTER VI.

               THE LAND OF ETERNAL TWILIGHT.


_Crack!_ The Yankee’s revolver spoke viciously, and the foremost,
with a shuddering death-sob, dropped in his tracks.

Two others, stumbling over his prostrate form, also fell to
Haverly’s unerring aim; whereupon the rest, gibbering savagely, paused
in their advance, seeming to be undecided whether to resume the attack
or no.

At that instant, whilst they still hesitated, and the American
was hoping that they would retire, Garth--aroused from his swoon
by the din--sat up.

One glimpse he caught of the nightmare-like forms clustered
beyond the doorway, then a terrified cry burst from his lips.

“Great Heavens! What devils!”

He leapt to his feet, and at that, as though aroused to fresh
fury by his movement, the river-creatures burst _en masse_
through the doorway.

Never will Garth forget that terrible moment!

Often, long afterwards, he would awake, trembling in every limb,
from some hideous dream, wherein he was once more at close grips with
the loathsome inhabitants of the subterranean river.

The whole thing was a nightmare of glaring eyes and grabbing,
misshapen limbs, and through it all the inventor, scarcely yet
recovered from his long period of insensibility, was conscious of but
one thing, the intermittent cracking of the millionaire’s weapons.

The turret was filled with smoke, through which the ghastly forms
of the attackers loomed monstrous and terrible.

Suddenly the sound of Haverly’s revolvers ceased: his last
chamber was empty!

But the creatures had had enough. Eight of their number lay dead,
while two or three of the rest were badly wounded, and, obeying a
common impulse, they dragged themselves through the doorway, shambled
across the deck, and plunged overboard.

“Thank Heaven!” Haverly’s voice was a trifle shaky as he mopped
his smoke-grimed brow.

“Amen!” Garth responded fervently; then, fearing that his nerve
would give way unless he exerted himself, he applied his energies to
the restoration of his unconscious friends; while the Yankee, dragging
the hideous relics of the narrowly-averted disaster to the rail, flung
them far out into the stream.

Soon Garth had the satisfaction of seeing his three friends once
more upon their feet. Badly shaken they were by their terrible plunge
over the cataract, yet thankful that they had been spared the ordeal
which had fallen to the lot of Garth and the Yankee.

“I guess there’s no call to make a fuss,” the latter said as they
crowded round him. “I couldn’t have been knocked about so badly as
you, or I wouldn’t have come to in time to check those brutes.”

“Thank God you did!” the scientist cried. “This must be a warning
to us in the future. Knowing that this subterranean river contains
such monstrous creatures, we must be ever upon our guard, lest upon
another occasion they should succeed in overcoming us.”

His listeners shuddered at his words.

Though none but Silas and the inventor had seen the
river-creatures--mud devils, Garth called them--yet the
latter’s vivid description of the things had aroused in the three an
unspeakable horror and loathing.

For a week the _Seal_ remained aground on the mud-bank,
while Garth and the engineer, often up to the waist in water,
thoroughly overhauled her, fixing duplicate propellers in place of
those broken, and replacing the shattered glass with new panes from
the store-room.

Numerous minor damages which the _Seal_ had sustained in her
leap they also repaired.

And over them, while they worked, Haverly and the baronet took
turns on guard, but no further sign came from the river-creatures,
save that once a hideous head rose out of the mud fifty feet from the
_Seal,_ to vanish like a flash ere Seymour, who was on guard at
the time, could draw trigger.

No attack followed this appearance, however, and at length all
was completed. The last rivet had been driven into place, the last
bolt fixed, and nothing remained but to get the _Seal_ afloat
once more.

Grasping the wheel, Haverly signalled for full speed astern; the
propellers began to revolve, and, slowly but surely, the submarine
glided off the mud-bank into deep water. An instant’s pause while the
engines were reversed, and then the _Seal_ moved forward on the
bosom of the subterranean river at ten knots to the hour. Between the
heaving mud-flats she glided, from the surfaces of which arose a
nauseous odour of decaying matter, and a dense, malarial vapour
ascended, to lose itself in the inky darkness that veiled the cavern
roof.

For here neither walls nor roof were visible. Nought met the eye
but the water--wherein slimy water-snakes writhed and
twisted--and the seething mud. Scarce a wave rippled the placid
surface of the stream, save those occasioned by the passage of the
_Seal,_ and not a sound broke the profound stillness of the vast
cavern but the purring note of the engines.

So two days went by, with nothing to disturb the dreary monotony
of the depressing voyage. Ever the same muddy, grey prospect stretched
before the explorers, and they had begun to wonder whether they should
ever find a way out of this loathsome river, when something
happened.

Haverly was at the wheel, the others being below, engaged in
their several duties, when a shout brought them rushing into the
turret.

“Look!” cried the American, pointing ahead.

The _Seal_ had passed out of the river, and, before them,
shimmering in the rays of the searchlight, rolled a vast, subterranean
sea.

To starboard, a cable length away, a low, sandy shore was
visible, clothed almost to the water’s edge with a weird and curious
vegetation which sparkled and gleamed with a dazzling lustre.

Flinging open the door, Seymour stepped out on deck, quickly
followed by Garth and the professor.

“The heart of the globe!” the latter cried excitedly. “A
subterranean world! My friends, we have the honour to be the
discoverers of an unknown world. Steer her close in, Silas; I am
curious to know what manner of growths those are.”

There was cause for the old scientist’s excitement. An absolutely
unknown world lay before them, untrodden--for aught they
knew--by any human foot, a world whose stupendous size was veiled
as yet from their knowledge by its weird and ghostly twilight.

Above them the gloom hung thick as a funeral pall, a dense
eternal canopy of midnight darkness.

How far down they were beneath the earth’s surface they dared not
think. Sufficient for them to know that, somewhere above them, perhaps
thousands upon thousands of feet, was the vast dome which formed the
inner roof of this subterranean world. They could but stare upward
into the darkness, open-mouthed, and marvel at the immensity of it
all.

The weird growths ashore puzzled them not a little, even Mervyn
for a while being perplexed to give a name to the things. Fleshy as a
cactus, and having a somewhat similar branching habit of growth, each
glowed throughout its entire length, as though an electric bulb were
hidden within its pulpy heart.

The things were weirdly beautiful as they towered
there--many of them over twenty feet in height--flashing a
rainbow-hued challenge to the great arc lamp of the _Seal._ They
were Nature’s own illuminants, without which this underworld would
have been dark as Hades.

Suddenly a cry came from Mervyn.

“I have it!” he cried. “They are fungi--luminous fungi!”

“Fungi!” exclaimed his comrades in a breath.

“Luminous fungi!” repeated the scientist triumphantly, “but of
such vast size that they more nearly resemble trees. If we ever
succeed in making our way back to civilisation our news will astonish
the world.”

“I don’t know,” Garth murmured. “It seems to me that you will
have great difficulty in getting anyone to believe your statements.
For instance, who will believe that the interior of the globe is
hollow and contains an immense sea, and probably a great continent.
See, there is a range of hills.”

It was true. Far away in the distance, their existence betrayed
by the glittering vegetation which clothed their slopes, rose a line
of hills; and between them and the shore stretched a vast forest of
luminous fungi--a gleaming jungle of fleshy growths.

“I’m afraid you’re right, Garth,” said the professor somewhat
ruefully, “yet that will not prevent me revealing my knowledge should
we ever return.”

“Do you think there is any game in the jungle there, Mervyn?”
asked the baronet at this point.

“Probably,” returned the scientist, “but I would not build upon
it if I were you, lest you are disappointed. A run ashore will be
acceptable to all of us, I expect?”

“Rather!” replied Garth. “See, there’s a little bay into which we
might run the vessel.”

Already Silas had sighted the spot the inventor mentioned, and,
putting the wheel over, he steered the submarine for the entrance.

Ere long she was lying securely moored to a huge black rock which
thrust its scarred surface some feet above the wave-crests; then
Haverly and the engineer joined the group on deck, and they fell to
discussing the proposed trip ashore.

“We must go well armed,” the baronet said.

“That goes without saying,” replied Haverly, “and I guess yer
Uncle Sile ’ud better go along with you to see as you don’t get into
trouble. You see, you might get lost in this yer plaguey jungle
without the guidance of yer humble.”

“Oh. come, Silas!” Seymour laughingly retorted, “draw it mild,
you know.”

“As legal adviser to this yer outfit,” returned Silas drily, “I
feel kinder called on to keep an eye on you young fellers.”

“Oh, dry up, you old fraud,” Garth cried, rolling up a pellet of
paper and dexterously flipping it on to the tip of the Yankee’s
nose.

“See here, sonny,” the latter remarked in mock severity, rubbing
his offended nasal organ the while, “I reckon you’re considerable
lackin’ in due and proper respect for yer elders. What was yer mommer
thinkin’ about to bring you up in such a style? I’m shocked, young
feller, real shocked!”

A roar of laughter greeted this quaint speech.

“Well, if you don’t take the proverbial biscuit, Silas,” the
engineer said; then a gigantic ripple passed over the water
alongside.

“What was that?” Mervyn cried sharply.

Quick as a flash came the answer, but in a terrible and
unexpected manner.

A long, lithe, whip-like tentacle, its under-side armed with
hundreds of terrible suckers, writhed up over the rail, swayed for an
instant high above the _Seal,_ then fell heavily across the
deck.

The startling suddenness of this attack paralysed the explorers
for a moment, and, ere they could recover their wits, a second great
arm hissed upward, and flung its wet and glistening length around the
rail.

“A squid!” gasped the Yankee.

As he spoke, a third tentacle wriggled into view, and the
_Seal_ listed slightly beneath the grip of those terrible
arms.

Recovering from his stupor, Haverly made a dash for the turret;
but, ere he could reach it, with a curling snap--for all the
world like the crack of a whiplash--a giant feeler coiled about
his waist.

High above the deck he was lifted, struggling desperately, yet
vainly, against the grip of the suckers which seared his flesh like
red-hot iron.

His fearful plight aroused his comrades to a sense of their own
peril, and, as two more tentacles flashed over the rail, Seymour leapt
into the wheelhouse.

Escaping by a miracle the writhing, groping arms of the
cephalopod, and urged to action by the feeble groans of the
American--fast becoming exhausted by the unequal
struggle--Seymour entered the turret. Snatching down a couple of
axes from the rack, he skimmed them towards his friends; then, with a
third, he commenced a furious attack upon the nearest tentacle.

Two lusty blows, with all the baronet’s giant strength behind
them, and the great arm fell with a whack across the deck, wriggling
still, although severed from the monstrous, pulpy body which gave it
life. Springing forward, the baronet was about to lop in twain the
tentacle which held his friend, when the _Seal_ heeled over,
almost flinging him from the deck. With great difficulty he regained
his balance; then a cry escaped him. Out of the water alongside came a
huge, black body, armed with many more feelers. Slowly it dragged
itself, clutching and clawing, over the rail, falling heavily inboard
with a shock which threatened to capsize the _Seal._

The octopus had come aboard!

There was something so weird, so uncanny in the appearance of the
brute; something so diabolical about the writhing, twisting arms, as
they groped and waved over the deck, that Seymour stood for an
instant, half fascinated.

The creature’s great eyes glared like green lamps, and its
parrot-like beak snapped viciously, while from its pulpy body came an
overpowering odour of musk.

Suddenly a shrill cry of terror burst from Wilson. One of the
great thrashing feelers had gripped him, and, dropping his axe in his
deadly fear, the unfortunate engineer strove with all his strength to
dislodge the suckers.

As he was dragged slowly towards that terrible beak, an
inspiration swept into his brain.

“Quick, Seymour!” he gasped. “Your elephant gun!”

Quick as thought the baronet leapt back into the turret, and took
down the great gun from its rack.

Slipping a couple of shells into the breech, he took a quick aim
at the great, glaring orbs of the cephalopod, and fired both
barrels.

The recoil of the weapon sent him reeling backward against the
wheelhouse wall, but he recovered himself in a moment, and sprang
forward to note the result of his shot.

The explosive cartridges had almost shattered the monstrous,
pulpy body, and the mighty tentacles were feebly beating the deck.

A few strokes with the hatchet quickly freed the two victims,
both of whom were more dead than alive by this time.

Carefully they bore them below to their cabins; then, leaving
them in the care of the scientist, Garth and Seymour returned to the
deck, to clear away the remains of their terrible visitor.

“What a brute!” the inventor exclaimed with a shudder, as he
plied his axe upon the ghastly, slippery mass; “if it hadn’t been for
that gun of yours, Seymour, he’d have had the lot of us.”

“True enough,” replied the baronet; “but who would have imagined
the brute would board us?”

Three hours it took to clear the deck of the mass of jelly-like
pulp, Garth chopping it into fragments, which Seymour shovelled over
the rail. And even then there was life in the creature, the severed
feelers twitching feebly when they were touched. Two of the longest of
these latter they measured, finding both to be over twenty feet
long.

Two days passed ere the Yankee and Wilson were able to resume
their duties, and for long afterwards a great ring of scars about the
waist of each testified to the narrowness of their escape from the
grip of the giant octopus.

On the third day after this adventure--the explorers could
but reckon days by the calendar in this gloomy subterranean
world--the engines were once more started, and the _Seal_
soon left the scene of the struggle far behind.

Along the low, sandy shore she sped for many miles, until
Seymour, no longer able to restrain his restlessness, announced his
intention of going ashore.

“I’m with you,” Garth said, and rushed below to make
preparations.

Steering the vessel close inshore, Haverly brought her to.
Seymour ran out the gangway, then followed Garth below, returning
shortly with a magazine rifle slung over his shoulder, while from his
pocket bulged the grim outline of a revolver.

“Who is coming?” he asked.

“I guess I’ll stay and look after the old boat,” returned Silas,
and Wilson--still feeling somewhat shaky from his terrible
adventure with the great cephalopod--decided to remain with
him.

Strapping on a specimen case, the scientist joined Garth and
Seymour, and the three, passing over the gangway, stepped ashore.

“Take care,” the engineer called after them.

“Never fear,” was Garth’s cheery reply; and so they departed,
light-heartedly, on a trip which was to bring at least two of them
face to face with death in its most terrible form, vanishing at length
from the sight of their friends amid the towering growths of fungi
jungle.

Around them the strange and lustrous growths rose in lavish
confusion, the ground between being thickly carpeted with glorious
mosses, the flowers of which gleamed like pearls on a background of
dark green velvet.

The professor was in raptures over the rare treasures of this
subterranean world, and soon his specimen case was packed full as
possible, and his pockets were in a like condition.

New beauties dawned upon them with every step they took. Fungi in
every fantastic shape towered around, shimmering silver-like through
the ghostly twilight.

“It is a land of eternal twilight!” Mervyn exclaimed, pausing for
a moment to rest. “Nowhere else would these strange, uncanny fungi
grow to advantage; but here, in this dim land, they fulfil a useful
mission. See what curious forms some of the growths take!”

Here rose a towering fungus, like nothing so much as a giant
hand; there one like an immense mushroom; others there were like
spectral palms, but all glowed with a brilliance that was dazzling to
the eye.

The baronet, less interested than his companions in these natural
beauties, kept a sharp look-out for game of any description, well
knowing that fresh meat, were it obtainable, would be a welcome
addition to their stores. But the jungle seemed silent as the grave.
No form moved amid the fungi, and the scientist was not slow to remark
upon this strange absence of life.

“It is very strange,” he said, “that hitherto we have seen
neither reptile nor beast. One would have thought that amid these
jungles many forms of life would have found a home; yet perhaps this
absence of life is a peculiar feature of this weird world?”

“It’s a bit slow,” growled Seymour, “after the forests of the
upper world, with their myriads of animals----”

The words died on his lips, as, out of the distance, trembled a
weird howl.

“Wolves!” he cried grimly; “we were mistaken about the absence of
life, Mervyn,” and, unslinging his rifle, he examined the
magazine.

Again that thrilling cry vibrated through the silence, like the
wail of a lost soul.

Mervyn paused irresolute, glancing anxiously at his comrades.

“Need we return?” he asked of Seymour. He was longing to
penetrate further into this unknown land, yet his natural discretion
suggested a speedy return to the safety of the vessel.

“It’s no use turning back now,” Seymour answered, “if the brutes
have scented us, they’ll be down upon us before we can reach the boat.
So forward, and let each of us keep a sharp look-out for a place where
we can stand at bay if necessary.”

For the third time that wolfish howl broke upon the ears of the
three comrades, then a grim silence fell once more upon the land.




                         CHAPTER VII.

            A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY AND ITS SEQUEL.


BUT the mood of the adventurers had changed. No longer did this
underworld appear to them as the paradise of beauty they had first
thought it. Its very silence seemed full of menace, and Mervyn found
himself repeatedly listening to imaginary rustlings among the fungi.

Garth’s interest flagged, too, as time went on, and he longed to
retrace his steps, yet, while his comrades held on, he could not for
shame suggest return. The boy--for he was little more--was
brave enough, but these ghostly jungles were so weird, so unnatural,
in their stillness, that it was scarcely to be wondered at that he
felt nervous.

And, added to this, was the knowledge that somewhere in these
wilds lurked wolves or, at least, some beast with the voice of a
wolf.

Yet no sign did Garth show of his growing uneasiness, save that
his hand tightened on the butt of the revolver in his pocket.

Seymour alone--his sporting instincts fully
aroused--was in his element; indeed, it is not too much to say
that he was longing for an encounter with some beast; his finger
itched to press the trigger; yet, although he looked around keenly, he
could discover nothing on which to test his aim.

Mervyn moved a few paces in advance, for the discovery of a fresh
fungus of rather peculiar growth had rekindled his scientific zeal,
and, despite Seymour’s repeated warnings as to the danger of such a
course, he plunged fearlessly in among the fungi in search of fresh
treasures, often being lost to the sight of his friends for some
moments, then reappearing with a choice specimen for their
inspection.

Suddenly an excited cry burst from his lips, and his friends,
fearing that some accident had befallen him, hurried in the direction
of the sound.

They found him standing upon the crest of a rocky ridge, which
broke away sharply upon the other side, descending precipitously into
a small valley, the sides of which were fairly ablaze with a mass of
trailing fungi, somewhat after the habit of ivy in growth.

“What is it?” they asked as they joined him.

“Sh!” was the whispered warning. “Look there!”

Then they saw. In the midst of the fairy-like glade, with its
mighty sides rising and falling by its heavy breathing as it slept,
lay a monstrous animal.

The glowing light of the fungi revealed with startling
distinctness the huge bulk of its body and the great, rhinoceros-like
head, which, armed with three fearful horns, was further protected by
a ridge of bony plates about the base of the skull.

It needed nought else to enable the explorers to identify the
creature.

“Triceratops!” gasped Garth and the baronet in a breath.

“Triceratops!” repeated Mervyn triumphantly; “one of the first
inhabitants of the globe! It seems too good to be true. That it has
been permitted for us to discover the monster here, in these wilds,
when the whole species was thought to be extinct eras ago, is a slice
of luck which we cannot too highly appreciate.”

“What a monstrous brute!” Seymour exclaimed. “Of course, I have
often read of the creature, but never, in the wildest stretch of my
imagination, did I dream of a monster so vast. Why, the brute must be
thirty-five feet long if it’s an inch!”

“And look at the armour plates along its back,” Garth added;
“nothing less than a six-inch shell would penetrate that hide!”

The professor, note-book in hand, was busily scribbling down a
description of the monster.

“Total length,” he murmured as he wrote, “thirty-five feet. I
think that is what you said, Seymour?”

“About that,” replied the baronet.

“Length of skull, eight feet,” Mervyn went on, standing
perilously close to the edge of the ridge, and leaning far over in his
eagerness to obtain a good view of the Triceratops.

“Take care!” Seymour cried sharply, “or you’ll fall.”

Scarcely had he spoken when the catastrophe he feared
happened.

The treacherous ground crumbled beneath the scientist’s feet,
and, amid an avalanche of loose stones and _debris,_ he pitched
headlong into the glade.

But for a fortunate chance he would assuredly have broken his
neck in the fall. Instead of striking the solid ground below, Mervyn
landed with a thud upon the back of the sleeping monster.

The shock awoke the creature, and, with a hoarse snort of rage,
it rose to its feet, shaking itself furiously to dislodge its
unnatural burden.

Terrible enough it had looked as it lay asleep, but now, in its
rage, its appearance was enough to daunt the boldest.

Small wonder that Mervyn was half mad with terror, as, clutching
desperately at the monster’s bony necklet, he strove to prevent the
brute unseating him, and pounding him to a jelly beneath its terrible
hoofs, which, even now, were trampling the floor of the glade in a
paroxysm of fury.

At length, finding himself utterly unable to get rid of the
encumbrance, the monster broke out of the glade at a lumbering trot,
and thundered across the plain which lay beyond.

As for Garth and Seymour, they stood for a few seconds as though
stunned. The thing had happened so suddenly that it had paralysed
their powers of action, dried up the fountain of their energies.

When at last they recovered their scattered wits, the two
scrambled recklessly down the side of the ridge and hurried out on to
the plain.

But the thunderous tread of the Triceratops had already died
away, and there was no sign of their friend.

“We must follow the trail,” Seymour muttered, pointing to the
broadly-defined track made by the monster’s hoofs, which stretched
away into the darkness.

“Yes,” Garth assented, with a quiver in his voice, “and may
Heaven grant we find him safe!”

The plain looked particularly gloomy and uninviting, owing to the
almost total absence of fungi, save for a few isolated clumps, whose
presence but made the twilight more gloomy by contrast.

Yet over it the twain must go if they would find their friend,
daring its hidden dangers, and braving all the terrors of this unknown
land. So, looking well to their weapons, the two comrades stepped
out.

Hardly had they taken half a dozen paces when once more that
thrilling, wolfish cry arose, but this time it came from somewhere
close at hand.

Seymour pulled up sharply, listening intently.

“By Jove! they’ve scented us!” he cried as the howl was repeated.
“Back into the valley; we shall stand a better chance there.”

Quick as a flash he turned, and leapt for the glade they had
left.

Garth, following, tripped over a trailing fungus, and, losing his
footing, pitched heavily to earth. Ere he could rise a bony hand
gripped his neck; he received a sharp blow on the head, and then
consciousness left him.

“Where are you, Garth?” Seymour called; “this is the way.”

Alarmed at receiving no answer, the baronet retraced his
steps.

“Garth!” he cried. “Hilton! Where are you, old chap?” But there
was no answer, save the echoes which seemed to mock; even the
wolf-like howls had ceased, and Seymour appeared to be the only living
thing in the whole ghostly underworld.

Anxiously he searched the ground around, but not a trace could he
find of his comrade. For over an hour he sought diligently, eagerly,
yet all his efforts were vain. It seemed as though the earth had
opened and swallowed the unfortunate inventor. Mervyn’s accident had
seemed terrible enough, but Garth’s disappearance eclipsed even that.
It was so appallingly mysterious!

Not a sound had Seymour heard but the wolf cries, yet his friend
had been snatched almost from under his nose, and that without the
baronet catching even a glimpse of his abductors.

“It’s maddening!” he burst forth at length. “Something must have
carried him off. He cannot have disappeared into thin air! I’ll fetch
Silas, and between the pair of us we may pick up some sort of a
trail.”

So ruminating, with his mind still exercised with the baffling
problem, he turned, climbed the ridge, and retraced his steps through
the jungle.

Suddenly he stopped, thinking he heard a footstep behind him; but
nothing could he see moving, and, telling himself that the
disappearance of his friend had shaken his nerve and made him
fanciful, he pressed on once more.

Three minutes later he pulled up again, and this time he knew
there was no mistake. Something was dogging his steps, moving when he
moved, and stopping when he came to a halt!

For an instant a wild, unreasoning fear swept over him, urging
him to break into a run, but, with an exclamation of disgust at his
own weakness, he shook it off, and moved forward again, cool,
determined, and watchful.

But once more behind him came those ghostly footsteps.

Roused to a fury by the grim persistency of the thing which was
tracking him, Seymour faced round with a jerk, and fired point-blank
into the fungi behind him. As the report of the rifle rang out, a
fearful death-scream awoke the echoes of the underworld, a scream so
full of diabolical rage and impotent fury that the usually iron-nerved
baronet trembled like a child as he heard it.

Controlling his agitation with some difficulty, he moved
cautiously towards the spot whence the cry had come; but, though he
searched long and well, he could see no sign of the creature he had
shot, save in one place, where the green of the moss was disfigured by
a dark, red stain.

At length he moved on again, with that fearful cry still ringing
through his ears, and his heart throbbing madly with a nameless
fear.

What creature was it, he wondered, that could give voice to a cry
like that? What animal could it be that tracked him with such devilish
cunning? Doubtless when he discovered that, he would have found the
key to the mysterious fate of the inventor. He shuddered still at the
mere thought of the cry.

Then, of a sudden, his heart seemed to stand still. Behind him,
tireless as ever, came the pad-pad of feet upon the moss!

So there were more than one of these creatures, and they meant to
track him down to the end. A cold sweat broke out upon Seymour.

If he could only see the Thing which menaced him; if he but knew
the extent, the nature of his danger!

Against visible foes he would have fought with the bull-dog
courage which was his chief characteristic, but against the phantom
inhabitants of this land of shadows he was helpless.

The jungle, hitherto silent and lifeless, seemed, to his excited
fancy, to be full of strange, ghostly sounds. Weird rustlings sounded
amid the gleaming vegetation, but above all these noises came the
sound of the relentless footsteps of his invisible pursuers.

A choking sob rose in Seymour’s throat, but he crushed it down
with a strong effort of will. It seemed so terrible that he, who had
come scatheless through so many dangers, should meet his death amid
these wilds, at the hands of the terrible creatures that inhabited the
jungles.

Yet, in spite of all, he was determined to sell his life dearly
if the chance of a fight came to him, and with that intention he swung
round suddenly, rifle at shoulder, and for the second time the report
of his weapon broke the silence.

At the sound a dark brown shadow leapt up from the shelter of the
dense growth, and, with a choking sob, fell back again.

It all happened too quickly for the baronet to catch more than a
glimpse of the Thing, but, as he moved forward to discover what
creature it was that had fallen to his aim, something flashed through
the twilight.

Startled, he pulled up, and the missile, humming past him, stuck
quivering in the ground ten paces to the rear.

_It was a great, broad-bladed spear!_

While yet the baronet stood hesitating, the wolfish howl he had
heard before arose from the jungle around him.

It rose, fell, and rose again, then died away in a series of
snarling yelps that made Seymour’s blood run cold.

What could these creatures be, he thought, that howled like
wolves, and yet used spears?

Once more that terrible chorus rose, until the whole underworld
became hideous with the sound.

At that Seymour turned and broke into a run, tearing through the
jungle like one possessed. And after him, spectre-like, flitted a
crowd of dusky figures, grim and menacing.




                         CHAPTER VIII.

                       THE ELK-HUNTERS.


FOR some time after the departure of their friends, Wilson and Haverly
sat yarning, the latter arousing the admiration of the engineer by his
thrilling stories of train robberies and Indian fighting on the early
railways of the States. Then their talk turned upon their absent
comrades, and the American had many a tale to tell of Seymour’s daring
in the face of dire peril.

So the time passed pleasantly enough, until suddenly, in the
midst of a particularly thrilling yarn, Haverly leapt to his feet and
strode to the door.

“What is it?” asked Wilson.

“Listen!” was the reply.

From somewhere in the jungle came a chorus of wolfish yelps,
succeeded by a faint cry, “Help!”

“It’s Seymour!” cried the engineer, and snatched up a rifle.

Silas darted out on deck, revolver in hand.

“Help!” The cry was repeated, this time much nearer than
before.

Quick as thought, Silas skimmed over the gangway, and leapt
ashore, closely followed by the engineer.

As their feet touched the shingle, some heavy body burst out of
the jungle.

It was the baronet! Gasping for breath and sweating at every pore
from his terrible exertions, he plunged madly down the beach, his eyes
fixed in a glassy stare of terror.

Suddenly he stumbled over a loose stone and fell heavily. It was
the most fortunate fall he ever had; for, as he pitched forward, three
great spears hummed out of the fungi, passing close over his prostrate
body.

Had he not tripped, he would certainly have been impaled by the
murderous weapons.

Emptying his revolver into the undergrowth to secure immunity
from further attack, Haverly assisted his friend aboard, and, after a
short rest, Seymour told his story.

“Wal!” exclaimed Silas, when the baronet had finished, “I allow
this licks all I ever heard! Mervyn carried off by a
tricera--what do you call it?--an’ Garth wiped clean out as
though he never existed, without you clappin’ eyes on the brutes that
attacked him.”

“What do you advise?” asked Seymour hoarsely; “we must act
quickly, whatever course we decide upon. There is a
chance--faint, I admit--that our friends are still alive,
and if we go well armed we may manage to effect their rescue.”

“And you don’t know what sort of brutes these are, that jumped
you?” the American questioned.

“Haven’t the least notion,” was the reply; “but I’ll admit they
fairly scared me. Those wolfish cries of theirs completely unmanned
me. There was something so devilish about the whole thing that my fear
got the better of me, and I bolted for my life.”

“Small blame to you,” replied Silas. “We heard a bit of the
entertainment here. But now for business. This is how I figure things
out. We’ll sink the boat, an’ trot her along a bit further up the
coast, in case any of the gentry that trailed you are hidin’ in the
mushroom bed there. Don’t think I funk meetin’ ’em; you know that
ain’t my style. But it won’t do to take no chances on a picnic of this
yer sort. With the lives of our two pards hangin’ on our efforts, I
guess we’ve got to hustle some. I assume you can find that gully you
mentioned again?”

“Blindfold!” returned Seymour.

“That’s well. If we don’t strike some kind of a trail, my name
ain’t Si. K. Haverly. You don’t mind stoppin’ aboard alone,
Wilson?”

“Certainly not,” answered the engineer; “but for Heaven’s sake be
careful. If you don’t return, and I am left alone, I think I shall go
mad in this ghostly hole!”

“I guess it’ll have to be a mighty smart nigger to get the drop
on me and Seymour,” Haverly asserted. “Just skip down to your engines,
like a good chap, an’ we’ll get a move on.”

Within a few moments the _Seal_--totally
submerged--was moving cautiously up the coast, under the able
guidance of the American, while Seymour hastily packed a couple of
knapsacks with provisions necessary for their expedition. Not knowing
for how long a time they might be absent, Seymour, with the
forethought of an old sportsman, stowed away the greatest possible
amount of food in the limited space at his command.

Then, filling a couple of cartridge belts, and chopping a handful
of cartridges into his pocket in addition, he judged the preparations
for the perilous undertaking to be complete.

For four miles the _Seal_ crept along the coast line, then
she was once more raised to the surface, and the two friends made
ready to disembark.

“Don’t shift the _Seal_ from here,” Silas said as they
stepped ashore. “If we are beaten back we shall make straight for the
boat.”

“You may depend on me,” Wilson called, and, at that, the two
would-be rescuers plunged into the jungle.

For an hour they pressed on, and, realising full well the need
for haste, they put forth every effort, while yet making their passage
through the fungi as noiseless as possible.

Scarce a word passed between them, and what little was said was
in whispers.

To Seymour, fresh from his terrible experience, every fungi-clump
concealed an imaginary foe, and every moment he expected to hear the
terrifying cry of his enemies.

But they reached the ridge in safety, and, with a final glance
round to assure themselves that they were not followed, they descended
into the valley, and passed out on to the plain.

Here Silas produced a small electric lantern, which, with his
usual forethought, he had brought with him; and, while Seymour kept a
sharp watch for enemies, animal or otherwise, he made a thorough
examination of the ground around the entrance to the valley.

The footsteps of the mighty Triceratops were plainly to be seen,
but of Garth or his captors there seemed no trace for a time.

Then suddenly a smothered cry left Haverly’s lips.

“Jupiter! I’ve got it!”

Seymour hurried to his side. In the ground at his feet, plainly
revealed by the light of the lantern, was the impression of a
horrible, ape-like foot, and close beside it was the imprint of a
boot.

The baronet gave a whistle of astonishment.

“The brute must have been close behind Garth when we turned for
the valley,” he said. “See, here are more footprints leading out
across the plain.”

With eyes bent upon the trail, the two comrades moved forward
over the spongy ground in the direction of the distant hills.

Two miles they covered, then a certain peculiarity about the
trail struck Haverly.

“Say, Seymour,” he remarked, “have you noticed? The footprints of
the critturs we’re followin’ run close alongside the trail of the
Triceratops. I reckon that looks considerable queer!”

“I think I can tell you what it means,” replied the baronet,
after a moment’s thought.

“Wal?” Haverly inquired.

“The brutes must have seen Mervyn carried off,” Seymour asserted,
“and have followed the trail in the hopes of his being pitched off the
animal’s back, when, of course, they could capture him, if he were
still alive, without much trouble.”

“I guess you’re right,” returned the American, and once more
silence fell between them.

Three hours went by, and then Silas called a halt.

Flinging themselves down in the shadow of an enormous
boulder--only one of many with which the plain was
dotted--they made a hasty meal.

They were sitting resting for a short time, ere resuming their
journey, when, sudden and terrible, the hideous wolf-cry they knew so
well trembled over the plain.

Thrice it was repeated; then, as the two men sprang to their feet
in expectation of an attack, the sound of running feet broke upon
their ears.

The next instant, through the twilight, loomed the monstrous form
of a gigantic elk.

“Jupiter!”

“Great Scott!”

The exclamations burst simultaneously from the two men, as the
huge bull--almost as large as an elephant--flashed past
them. His great tongue was lolling out, and his mighty sides heaved
madly, as the breath poured, hissing, through his nostrils.

He was evidently nearly spent, for, when he had covered a score
yards or so, he swung round and stood at bay, with his back against a
boulder almost opposite to the one in the shadow of which the rescuers
were flattening themselves, with their rifles at the ready.

His towering antlers gleamed like silver in the light of a great
fungus growing close at hand; yet, for all the vast size of the
creature, for all his great strength, there was something
indescribably pathetic in the droop of the proud head, and a great
feeling of pity rose in the hearts of the watchers for the hunted
brute.

“What a magnificent creature!” Seymour whispered; “but where are
its----”

His sentence ended in a choking gasp, and his face paled beneath
its tan, as, silent as phantoms, six sinister forms glided out of the
shadows.

So hideous were they in form that the two comrades stood as
though stunned, every energy being completely paralysed by the horror
of the things.

Had the creatures attacked Seymour and the Yankee at that moment
theirs would have been an easy victory, for neither man could have
lifted a weapon in defence; but they apparently had no idea of the
presence of other than themselves.

Their long, fearfully-distorted limbs, their hideous feet and
hands, armed with talon-like nails, their lean, emaciated bodies,
covered with coarse, brown hair; their low, receding foreheads, flat
noses, and immense, protruding, wolf-like fangs--all this,
crowned by a mass of thickly-matted hair, which hung almost to the
loins, seen in the dim, ghostly twilight of the underworld, made up a
picture of diabolical horror such as would be difficult, if not
impossible, to beat.

Their thick, coarse lips were drawn back in an everlasting snarl,
and their bloodshot eyes gleamed savagely as they sighted the
motionless figure of the giant elk.

“What are they?” Haverly whispered hoarsely, when the first shock
of their appearance had passed, “men or devils?”

“Heaven knows!” was the low answer. “They are more like wolves
than either!”

No scrap of clothing did the creatures wear, save a hide girdle,
in which was stuck a broad-bladed knife, fit companion to the
deadly-looking spear which each carried in its hand.

Straight towards the great ruminant the creatures glided, their
faces aglow with savage expectancy.

Half a dozen paces from their quarry they paused, and, squatting
on their haunches in a semicircle, raised a series of ghastly howls
which thrilled the two spectators.

The great bull trembled at the sound. Doubtless he knew these
wolfish brutes of old; perhaps had been hunted by them, and had
managed to shake them off. But now his time had come.

Planting his forefeet firmly, he stood with lowered head,
awaiting the end.

Suddenly one of the hunters rose. Gripping his spear firmly with
his teeth, he crouched for an instant, then leapt into the air.

The amazing height of his leap staggered the watchers, while
rousing a grudging admiration.

“The brute must have sinews like watch-springs!” Seymour
whispered, then----

A swift, upward flash of the great palmated antlers, a sound like
the ripping of sacking, and, with a fearful death-cry, the daring
leaper pitched heavily to the ground.

The elk had drawn first blood!

But it was his last effort in a hopeless struggle. Quick as
lightning another of the elk-hunters sprang.

High above the bull’s drooping head he leapt, and, ere the
ill-fated animal could make another move, the wolfish creature was
upon his back, stabbing out his life with his great spear.

A few moments of feeble struggling, and then the elk fell with a
crash, the life-blood pouring from his severed arteries.

Scarcely was he down ere the waiting four were upon him, rending
the still quivering flesh with their great nails.

“Poor brute!” Seymour muttered compassionately; “let those demons
have it, Silas.”

The reports of the two rifles rang out as one, and a couple of
the fearsome elk-hunters rolled over upon the carcase of their quarry,
the rest diving like a flash to cover behind it.

“I guess we’ll have to wipe them out now,” said the Yankee
grimly, “or they’ll bring a hull hornet’s nest about our ears in half
an hour.”

A spear flashed up from behind the carcase as he spoke, and,
missing Seymour by a hair’s-breadth, shivered itself to fragments
against the boulder.

“A close call,” remarked Silas.

“Close indeed,” Seymour returned. “They’ll have one of us next
time, sure as fate, if we remain here. Let us move round in opposite
directions, and outflank them. Down!” he hissed suddenly, pushing
Haverly violently to one side, as a second missile hummed towards
them.

His quick action saved the American, who would undoubtedly have
been transfixed by the great weapon but for that.

An instant later a hideous head poked up from behind the dead
elk.

Seymour let drive with a jerk, but, owing to the uncertain light,
missed, his shot striking a monstrous puff-ball growing within a few
feet of the spot whereon the carcase lay.

A vivid sheet of flame leapt from the fungus, followed by a
terrible explosion, the shock of which hurled Silas and the baronet
violently to the ground.




                         CHAPTER IX.

               THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE _SEAL._


SOME moments later, when the shock had somewhat passed, the two friends
rose, not a little dazed and bewildered.

But their astonishment knew no bounds when they saw that the dead
elk and its late hunters had vanished, blown to fragments by the
bursting of the explosive fungus. Even the boulder, in the shadow of
which the bull had met his doom, had been partly destroyed.

By what marvellous chance the two comrades had escaped the flying
fragments they themselves could not imagine, and they moved on their
way, feeling deeply thankful that they had escaped the fury of the
elk-hunters, and had also come safely through the explosion.

“I guess we’ll have, to be careful what we’re shootin’ at,”
remarked Haverly. “This pesky mushroom stuff seems to be made of
gunpowder!”

“It got us out of a tight corner, anyway,” returned Seymour; “we
should scarcely have come off scatheless but for that explosion. What
do you think of the natives of the underworld?”

“I guess they don’t improve on acquaintance,” was the answer.
“For sheer devilry they romp in an easy first. Heaven help Garth and
Mervyn if they’re in the power of them critters!”

“I reckon ‘wolf-men’ would be a suitable handle for the brutes,”
Silas went on, “with a fair marjority of the ‘wolf.’ They’re real
stunners! Say, I guess old Darwin could ha’ had a hull heap of missing
links if he’d only ha’ burrowed his way down here.”

“I wish the brutes were missing literally,” Seymour retorted.

“We’ll do our best to give ’em that same distinction,” replied
the Yankee. “I guess this old planet ’ud wobble along quite as well
without these lantern-jawed freaks trottin’ around in her innards.
Anyway, the population of this yer desirable location is going to find
itself considerable reduced at an early date if our two pards ain’t
handed over safe and sound. My barker’s kinder impatient
occasionally.”

Another hour went by, and still the dual tracks of Garth’s
captors and the great Triceratops stretched before them.

The plain grew more and more gloomy as they advanced, the fungi
failing entirely, so that the two had to grope their way as best they
could through the dim twilight of this subterranean world; and, though
haste was so necessary, Haverly dared not use his lantern, save
occasionally, when the trail grew indistinct, lest the light would
attract some of the hideous creatures whom he had well named
“Wolf-men.”

Suddenly the baronet stumbled over some bulky object lying beside
the track.

Recovering himself, he stooped and picked it up.

_It was the scientist’s specimen case._

“I assume the professor must have got pitched off somewhere
hereabouts,” remarked the Yankee. “You can gamble on it he’s in the
same boat as Garth. See, here’s the identical spot where he struck
earth,” pointing to a deep impression in the clayey soil.

“Perhaps the fall killed him!” Seymour suggested.

“It may be better for him if it did,” retorted Silas; “Heaven
alone knows what tortures these darned, red-haired freaks will be
trying on him if he’s a prisoner in their hands; but I guess they’ll
hardly have taken the trouble to cart his body off, if he’d been
killed by the drop, so let’s get a hustle on.”

Nothing loth, the baronet stepped out briskly again.

Now the trail of the wolf-men led over stony ground, and many
precious moments were lost in tracing the faint tracks, sometimes all
but invisible. Then it would pass through the midst of some quaking
morass, where a false step meant death, and that in a form so hideous
that even the boldest could not face it calmly. Yet they kept
tenaciously to their task, determined to do their utmost to rescue
their friends, or, failing that, to avenge them.

For the most part they proceeded in silence, with hearing
strained to catch the first sound of approaching foes; then suddenly
to their ears came the noise of rushing waters.

A few paces farther and a great, black chasm yawned before them,
splitting the plain in twain. At its depth they could only guess, but
in width it appeared to be about thirty feet, and from its black
depths arose the roar of a mighty torrent.

“See!” cried the baronet, “the ‘wolf-men,’ as you call them, must
have crossed here.”

He pointed to where a frail, hide rope bridge--formed by two
long strands united by numerous cross-ties after the manner of a rope
ladder--swayed giddily above the abyss.

“It will take a bit of nerve to cross that flimsy thing,” he went
on, “but I suppose there’s no other way; so here goes.”

He placed one foot carefully upon the first rung of the bridge,
and was about to commit his whole weight to it, when suddenly he was
dragged forcibly backward by his companion.

The next moment a knife flashed through the twilight on the
farther side of the chasm, and the hide bridge, severed from its
fastening, swished downward into the depths, and hung dangling against
the rocky wall.

Quick as thought the Yankee’s revolver spoke, and a dark figure,
leaping high into the air, hurtled over the brink of the abyss.

“I calculate he was a trifle too previous,” drawled Silas. “The
flash of his knife gave the show away, or you’d ha’ been down there by
now.”

Seymour gazed into the darkness below, then turned and gripped
his friend’s hand.

Not a word of thanks did he speak, but that grip expressed more
eloquently than words his gratitude to Haverly for the prompt action
which alone had saved him from a fearful death.

“I assume it’s a case of checkmate,” the American remarked after
a few moments, gazing ruefully at the dangling bridge. “We’ll have to
get back to the _Seal,_ and bring her round past the mouth of
this plaguey river.”

“I suppose there’s no chance of the chasm being narrower higher
up,” Seymour hazarded, “so that we might jump it?”

“Not an eyeful of a chance,” was the reply. “You can bet your
last dollar that if this yer land-crack was jumpable anywhere
hereabouts these wolfish brutes wouldn’t ha’ troubled to sling a
bridge across. I take it the sooner we get back to the old boat the
better for Garth and the professor. Say, what’s that?”

Far away on the plain beyond the chasm an arch of light arose,
flashing and scintillating with dazzling brilliance. High into the
darkness it towered, like a golden rainbow, and, as the two men
watched in amazement, against its shimmering surface appeared a number
of strange, black figures.

A few moments it hung thus, then vanished as mysteriously as it
had come.

“Wal,” remarked Silas, “I reckon that’s a real caution. What do
you make of it, William?”

But the baronet did not answer. He was puzzling over certain of
the figures--weird, animal-like forms--which had appeared
upon the arch.

Strangely familiar they seemed to him, yet, try as he might, he
could not call to mind where he had seen them before.

He was still pondering the matter when they turned to retrace
their steps towards the coast, and Haverly, though not knowing the
cause of his abstraction, forbore to question him.

A mile of the return journey they had covered when light came to
Seymour’s mind.

“I’ve got it” he cried.

“Got what?” asked the millionaire.

“The meaning of those signs on the arch,” was the answer. “I have
been trying to recall where I saw those figures before. It has just
flashed across me. Do you remember that visit Mervyn and I paid to an
island in the South Atlantic?”

“Ayuti?”

“The same. Well, it was there I saw the signs. Both Mervyn and I
learnt the language during our stay.”

“Then I take it you can read them hieroglyphics?”

“I can,” returned Seymour. “The six signs meant ‘_Leino yos
tragumee!_’”

“I’d be almighty obliged if you’d translate the same. I guess my
list of languages don’t include Ayuti.”

“It is a warning,” Seymour murmured reflectively, “and one that
we cannot afford to neglect, though I cannot imagine why it was given,
or why it should be in the language of Ayuti.”

“But the translation?”

“Let the white strangers beware!”

“Jupiter! That’s kinder queer,” cried Silas, startled for once
out of his composure. “The fireworks were mysterious enough, without
this message. I reckon the citizens of this yer location are educated
some, for all their peculiar appearance.”

“You surely don’t consider that the wolf-men were responsible for
the warning?” asked the baronet in surprise.

“Seems more like a threat than a warning to me,” Haverly
rejoined. “I guess they’d hardly hang a message up that all the
wolfish freaks in the underworld could see, if they intended to warn
us. No pard, you take----”

A screech awoke the echoes of the underworld; there was a
whirring of mighty wings, and out of the gloom swooped a monstrous
black shape, swift and terrible.

Seymour was knocked sprawling to the ground as the creature
flashed past him and vanished again into the darkness whence it had
emerged.

The millionaire stared in amazement, then, as his friend rose, he
found voice.

“I guess that’s the biggest bat I ever struck!”

“Bat!” ejaculated Seymour, “you don’t mean to say that was a
bat?”

“It was nothing more or less,” retorted Silas; “but here he comes
again; now’s your chance to get your own back.”

Simultaneously the two men pulled trigger, and the huge creature
swooping down upon them, flapped wildly for a moment, then sank
heavily to earth, beating the ground madly with its mighty wings.

Its eyes glared savagely at the two comrades, and it made a
futile effort to drag itself towards them, seeming to know that they
were the cause of its injury.

Half a dozen shots they fired into the great body ere the
creature lay still; then, when all movements of the wings had ceased,
they moved forward to examine the carcase.

It was, as Haverly had said, a gigantic bat or vampire, armed
with hyaena-like teeth and great curved claws that made it a terrible
enemy.

Its membranous wings, outstretched, could not have been less than
fifteen feet from tip to tip, and it would apparently have had little
difficulty in carrying off either of the comrades had it succeeded in
gripping one of them at its first swoop.

“What hideous monsters this underworld contains!” exclaimed the
baronet disgustedly, as they pushed on once more. “Mervyn would be in
raptures could he see that brute. Anything new or strange attracts him
like a magnet.”

“I reckon we’ll have to flicker if we’re to save him and Garth,”
returned Silas shortly, and increased his pace.

Pressing forward with redoubled speed, every nerve and muscle
strained to the utmost, they reached the glade.

A brief rest, then on again until they emerged upon the beach,
off which they had left their vessel.

Eagerly they looked for the welcome gleam of the searchlight. But
they looked in vain.

_The “Seal” had vanished!_

A despairing cry burst from the baronet as this fresh misfortune
became apparent.

What hope was there for Garth and Mervyn? What chance of their
ultimate rescue now?

Even Haverly grew depressed as he thought of the issues at stake.
It seemed as though fate itself were against them.

That now, while their comrades’ lives were perhaps trembling in
the balance, the vessel, upon whose aid they had relied, should fail
them, was a blow indeed.

“Perhaps Wilson’s been attacked, and had to put out from shore,”
Seymour suggested gloomily, after standing for some time in moody
silence; but the hopelessness of his tones belied his words. In his
heart he fully believed that the faithful _Seal_ had vanished for
ever.

Vividly to his mind came the adventure of a few days
before--the attack of the giant octopus. What if another of the
huge cephalopods had attacked the vessel, and had dragged both it and
the engineer below the surface!

He shuddered at the thought.

“I reckon we’ll be getting used to reverses shortly,” said the
Yankee bitterly.

“He may return,” Seymour answered.

“I wouldn’t gamble on it,” was the retort; “but we’ll camp here
awhile, and see if he turns up. If he don’t, I guess it’s a case!” He
finished with a significant gesture.

For ten long hours they waited on that dreary beach, waiting
vainly for the vessel that was their only hope in this land of eternal
twilight.

They slept and watched by turns; but no welcome flash from the
searchlight of the submarine made glad their aching eyes, no voice
answered their repeated hails.

At intervals they discharged their rifles, caring nought for the
risk they ran in so doing should any wolf-men still remain on this
side of the abyss.

But no answering report echoed over the water, and at length,
fully persuaded that their faithful vessel had disappeared for ever,
they turned reluctantly inland once more.




                         CHAPTER X.

            THE COMING OF THE GREAT FISH-LIZARD.


“HEAVEN grant they may return in safety!” muttered the engineer as his
two friends vanished amid the fungi.

For a while after their departure he amused himself by gazing at
the weird and glistening growths ashore; but ere long he grew tired of
the monotonous gleam of the things.

They were so uncanny, so spectral in their splendour.

Securely fastening the turret door, he went below, determined to
give his beloved engines a thorough clean.

Although to an unpractised eye the gleaming cranks and levers
appeared spotless, the engineer found sufficient to occupy his
attention for three hours, ascending at intervals during this period
to the turret to assure himself that all was well.

Only when the engines glistened like burnished silver did Wilson
cease his efforts; then, cleansing his grimy hands, he returned to the
wheelhouse, to await the return of his comrades.

Little did he think what the future held in store for him; little
he dreamed of the perils through which he was to pass ere he saw his
friends again!

Slowly the hours dragged by, and there came no sign from the
absent ones, and no sound broke the appalling, death-like silence of
the underworld.

Once Wilson thought he heard a faint explosion, but the sound was
too indistinct for him to judge with any certainty.

Within the boat and without all was silent as the grave.

To the lad’s excited imagination even the homely interior of the
_Seal_ seemed to partake of the ghostly character of her
surroundings. Every plate in the vessel he knew, every bolt had been
adjusted under his own supervision, yet he found himself continually
fancying that queer noises came from below.

The eternal ticking of the saloon clock seemed to intensify the
unnatural stillness. He craved for some noise--anything, he cared
not what--as thirsty men crave for water, yet no sound came to
him.

At length, unable to bear the strain longer, he flung open the
door, and stepped out on to the deck.

For some time he paced to and fro, the ring of his boots upon the
steel plates sounding cheerily in his ears.

Then suddenly he paused in his stride, and glanced sharply
astern.

One hundred yards away a strange, rippling eddy appeared on the
swell of the heaving water.

Remembering that the attack of the octopus had been heralded in
like fashion, Wilson bolted into the turret and closed the door. A
moment later, with face pressed against the glass, he was watching
eagerly for developments.

“If it’s another squid,” he muttered, “I’m afraid he’s a trifle
too late. That ripple gives the show away. By Jove! he’s keeping it
up,” looking with surprise at the violently eddying water.

Still the water boiled and hissed and foamed, racing round in an
ever-increasing circle.

Then, “Great Heaven!” burst from the lips of the engineer.
“Ichthyosaurus!”

Up in the midst of the eddy, with a rush and a swirl, appeared a
monstrous reptile. Never before had the engineer seen aught to equal
the thing; yet instinctively he knew what the creature was, recognised
it in an instant as the great fish-lizard, that old inhabitant of the
prehistoric seas.

Full two hundred feet the reptile was in length, and its body was
covered with great, overlapping, scaly plates. The gaping jaws
revealed a double row of yellow fangs, and its monstrous eyes glowed
like moons, as the brute fixed them curiously upon the motionless
vessel.

So for a few minutes it remained.

Then, in a flash, its curiosity turned to furious rage as it
noted an unfortunate movement of Wilson’s. But for that the creature
might have departed as it had come, silently and peaceably.

Its four mighty paddles churned the already racing water into a
mass of froth as, snorting furiously, it swept down upon the
_Seal._

Just for a moment the lad stood petrified. The suddenness of the
thing, and, above all, the fearful size of the attacker held him
spellbound.

He realised only too well the need for instant action if the
_Seal_ were to be saved, yet his trembling limbs refused to obey
the prompting of his brain.

But to him came the recollection of his friends’ dependence upon
the vessel; if she were destroyed his absent comrades were lost!

The thought gave him strength.

With a bound he leapt to the stairhead, and darted down to the
engine-room. Thrusting over the lever to the last notch, he dashed
back again into the wheelhouse, just as the _Seal,_ straining
under the full power of her engines, snapped her mooring cable like a
cotton thread and sped seaward.

Past the raging reptile she flashed like a meteor, and for a few
moments the engineer’s heart bounded with hope that the giant brute
would not give chase.

But not so easily was the ichthyosaurus shaken off. With a sweep
of his tail he turned and swung after the flying vessel.

Fast as the submarine was travelling, it soon became evident that
the reptile could travel faster. With a few powerful strokes he drew
alongside, and his mighty teeth snapped within an inch of the vessel’s
rail, Wilson turning the _Seal_ only just in time to avert
disaster.

This temporary failure appeared to increase the reptile’s rage,
and he swept forward again like a flash of light.

Four walls of green, foam-capped water poured from his thrashing
paddles, and washed clear over the submarine’s deck.

The monster’s tail, swinging, rising, and falling, lashed the
water with strokes that rang like the reports of guns.

Something must be done, and that quickly, Wilson thought. But
what? That was the question.

If that swinging tail once smote the _Seal,_ her course
would be ended on the instant. Stout as were her plates, they could
not stand a blow of that sort. Glancing desperately about him, the
engineer’s eye fell upon Seymour’s elephant gun.

It was a forlorn hope, yet, in his desperate plight, he
determined to try a shot with the great weapon.

Giving a turn to the wheel, to alter the course of the vessel, he
locked it, then took down the gun.

It was loaded, for, since the octopus’s attack, Seymour had
insisted on its being kept ready for action; so, opening the door
cautiously, Wilson stepped out. The rush of water, knee-deep, almost
swept him off his feet, but, bracing himself against the wheelhouse,
he raised his weapon and aimed carefully at one of the moonlike eyes
of his pursuer.

_Bang!_ The kick of the great gun almost dislocated the
lad’s shoulder, but the pain of this was as nothing compared to his
chagrin when he found that he had missed.

The terrific speed of the vessel and of her mighty enemy made
aiming exceedingly difficult, and, added to this, the elephant gun was
a weapon to which Wilson was entirely unaccustomed.

Once more he raised it to his shoulder, and fired the second
barrel.

This time the shell struck the reptile’s head, but glanced off
the gleaming scales without exploding.

“The brute must be made of steel,” the engineer muttered savagely
as he retired, disheartened by his failure. As the net result of his
effort he had succeeded in still further enraging his huge opponent,
and had badly bruised his own shoulder.

The floor of the turret was awash when he entered, but he cared
little for a discomfort of so trivial a character.

The peril of the moment completely dispelled all other thoughts
from his mind. As he once more grasped the wheel-spokes, a half-formed
resolution came over him--that, if he and the _Seal_ were to
be destroyed, the great reptile should perish with them.

He had partly turned the submarine for the purpose of ramming his
terrible enemy, when a filmy wisp of vapour drifted across the
deck.

He looked up quickly.

A moment later a vast cloud of blinding mist rolled down upon the
vessel, blotting out the surface of the water and enveloping pursued
and pursuer in a thick white veil.

“Thank God!” the engineer cried fervently, as the _Seal_
raced on into the friendly shelter of the mist.

Gradually the sound of the reptile’s paddles grew fainter. Like a
hunted hare the submarine twisted and doubled, ever drawing away from
her monstrous foe; yet, even when all sound of the brute had ceased,
Wilson still held on, determined not to fall foul again of the peril
he had so narrowly escaped.

But now danger arose from another source.

The _Seal’s_ excessive speed made travelling within the
enveloping mist highly dangerous. Each moment the engineer expected
some obstruction to loom before him--a rocky island, perhaps,
upon which the submarine would dash blindly and shiver herself to
fragments.

Dared he leave the _Seal_ to her own devices for a few
seconds, and slip below to slow the engines? He asked himself the
question over and over again, ere he summed up courage to loose the
wheel-spokes and make a quick dash for the engine-room.

Quick as thought he pulled back the lever, almost to its
resting-place, then raced to the stairs.

As he reached them there came a grating jar which shook the
vessel, and, with a crash that jerked him off his feet, the
_Seal_ came to a standstill.

Somewhat bruised by his fall, the engineer rose, and, retracing
his steps, entirely stopped the engines, after which he betook himself
once more to the turret, anxious to know the full extent of the
accident.

It was as he thought. He had slowed the engines a few moments too
late, and the vessel, racing madly forward by her own momentum, had
piled herself high and dry upon a shingly beach.

This much Wilson could discover by leaning over the rail, but the
mist was still too dense to allow him to make out the character of his
surroundings.

Whether he was anywhere near the spot from which he had started
he could not tell; but, realising that he could do nothing until the
mist lifted, he prepared himself some food and made a hearty meal.

As the hours went by, and there came no sign of the thinning of
the cloudy veil around, the engineer grew anxious.

What if his friends returned while he was still absent?
Naturally, after his promise they would instantly believe that the
vessel had been destroyed in some manner, and perhaps would leave the
beach, never to return.

The thought maddened him, and he had just determined to make an
effort to get the _Seal_ afloat again without waiting for the
lifting of the mist when, as suddenly as it had come, the cloud rolled
upward and vanished.

Then the full extent of his misfortune became apparent to the
engineer. The submarine had grounded for almost her entire length, and
it needed but a glance to tell him that her re-floating would be a
matter of great difficulty, if, indeed, it could be managed at
all.

By the character of the ground around Wilson surmised that he
must be far from his starting-place, and this afterwards proved to be
the case.

Before him lay a stretch of stony beach, perhaps one hundred
yards in width, and beyond that rose a towering wall of cliffs,
looming grim and gaunt through the twilight.

The engineer’s first movement was to start the engines at full
speed astern; but, though the propellers whirled madly, the vessel
remained motionless, and it became apparent that, despite his wish to
be moving, Wilson would have to wait for the turn of the tide ere
making any effort to once more float the _Seal._

Part of the time Wilson passed in making an examination of his
craft, both inside and out, and glad indeed was he to find that she
had sustained but little damage, and that only of a minor
character.

All too slowly the water rose, the incoming waves lapping the
submarine’s hull playfully as they danced and shivered in the rays of
the searchlight.

At intervals the engineer tried the engines, and at last, after a
long wait, the water rose high enough to answer his purpose.

A tremor passed through the vessel; her propellers churned and
thrashed; she bumped, rolled, then slid gently off the beach.

“Hurrah!” shouted Wilson, and flung up his cap. The _Seal_
was afloat once more. Over the rolling waves she flew at full speed,
the engineer’s one thought being to regain the beach from which the
attack of the great ichthyosaurus had driven him.

Two hours later, after a long search, Wilson found himself back
at the old mooring-place. Securely fastening the vessel, he stepped
ashore to stretch his limbs.

As he paced backward and forward across the beach, he wondered
whether his friends had returned from their expedition during his
absence.

Suddenly, as he turned to go on board again, he noticed something
gleaming in the sand, almost at his feet.

Stooping, he picked the shining object up. It was the baronet’s
revolver! The truth burst upon him in a flash.

“So they came back,” he muttered, “while I was away, for I know
Seymour took this with him when he went off the second time.”

Gloomy and depressed beyond measure by the discovery, he stepped
across the gangway. Then an idea struck him. Perhaps his friends were
still within hearing!

On the impulse of the moment he snatched down a rifle from the
rack and fired it into the air.

But no answering report came back to him. Again and again he
fired, but with no better result, and at length he gave up in
despair.

Then suddenly the silence was broken by a hideous clamour of
wolfish howls. Distant though they were, the cries almost froze the
blood in Wilson’s veins, so full were they of deadly menace.

Louder they grew, and it soon became evident to the engineer that
the creatures who uttered them were advancing towards the
_Seal._

He was hesitating whether to cast off the mooring-rope or not
when, out of the jungle, some three hundred yards from the vessel,
burst a number of figures.

Straight for the vessel they made, one in advance seeming to be
pursued by the others.

In a flash comprehension came to Wilson. Snatching up the
magazine rifle he had but just laid down, he bounded through the
doorway, crossed the deck at a leap, and sprang ashore.

As he did so the runner in advance raised his head, and a cry
trembled from his lips.

“For God’s sake, fire, Wilson!”

“Garth!” the engineer cried, then raised his weapon.




                         CHAPTER XI.

             HOW HILTON ESCAPED FROM THE WOLF-MEN.


THE report of the rifle was followed by a piercing death-scream,
and one of the pursuers dropped in his tracks.

The rest, four in number, raised a hideous howl and came on.

As they approached, Wilson got a full view of the creatures, and
the devilish horror of the Things paralysed him.

“Fire!” cried Garth again, and, stumbling forward almost to the
engineer’s feet, he fell headlong, utterly exhausted.

His fall roused Wilson from his stupor, and, raising his rifle
again, the engineer fired thrice in quick succession.

At the reports two more of the creatures fell, either dead or
badly wounded, but the remaining two, with a snarling yelp, leapt
close in to the attack.

One Wilson dropped almost at the muzzle of his rifle; then, ere
he could fire again, the knife of the last flashed straight and true
for his heart.

Quick as thought he leapt aside, but he was too late to escape
the blow entirely.

With a shock that staggered him, the great blade buried itself in
the fleshy part of his arm.

The sting of the knife seemed to rouse all the murderous hate in
the engineer’s nature, and dropping his rifle, he gripped his fearsome
opponent by the throat, and bore him, struggling furiously, to the
ground.

In vain the creature writhed and twisted; in vain he clawed and
tore at the engineer. Try as he would, he could not unloose that
vice-like grip.

He gnashed his yellow fangs in a paroxysm of impotent fury, but,
for the moment, Wilson seemed possessed of the strength of a
giant.

Letting the murder lust within him have full sway, the lad beat
his enemy’s head to a shapeless pulp against the stones of the
beach.

Only when all motion of the writhing body had ceased for ever did
Wilson relax his grip; then, as he staggered to his feet, a red mist
swam before his eyes, and he fell, swooning, across the corpse of his
hideous opponent.

When consciousness returned he found the inventor kneeling by his
side, endeavouring to staunch the gaping wound in his arm, from which
he had withdrawn the knife.

“That was a narrow shave,” he said, as Wilson attempted to sit
up.

“It was,” the engineer returned; “he almost had me, the brute!”
and he shuddered.

Rising with the help of his friend, he moved down the beach and
got aboard.

“Now for your wound,” Garth said, and, ripping up the sleeve of
Wilson’s jacket, he skilfully dressed and bandaged the gash.

“Where are Haverly and Seymour?” he questioned, when the engineer
was feeling somewhat more comfortable.

“They went off to find you and Mervyn,” was the reply.
Continuing, Wilson told him how Seymour had returned, and all that had
befallen the _Seal_ since.

“Great Scott!” Hilton ejaculated, “you’ve had a marvellous
escape. I don’t feel easy about that saurian though. The old gentleman
may take it into his head to turn up again, and we can’t expect the
mist to be on hand a second time. However, there’s no need to worry
about that until he comes.”

“How did you manage to escape?” the engineer asked.

“It’s too long a story to tell you now,” Hilton answered. “I’m
just dying for a few hours’ sleep so, if you feel fit enough to keep
watch, I’ll slip below for a time. Call me at once should anything
turn up,” he added, and, turning, left the turret.

A short rest, followed by a bath, quickly restored the inventor’s
vitality.

Re-entering the wheelhouse, he found that Wilson had spread an
appetising meal upon the lockers.

“I thought it best to bring the grub up here,” the engineer
explained, “so that we can keep a look-out while we eat.”

“Quite right, old man,” Garth returned, and at once fell to.

For a while they ate in silence, then, at a question from his
friend, Hilton told his story.

“No doubt Seymour explained how Mervyn was carted off?” he began
interrogatively, “and how we scrambled down into the valley after
him?”

Wilson nodded.

“Well,” Hilton continued, “we soon decided that the only course
open to us was to follow the trail of the Triceratops, on the chance
of Mervyn being pitched off the brute’s back. We had just started
when, close at hand, came a chorus of howls, as though a whole
menagerie of wolves were upon our track. Turning, we made for the
valley again. Seymour got safely in, but I tripped over a fungus and
fell; something caught me a crack on the head, and for a time I knew
no more.

“I came to with a splitting headache, and for a long time I could
remember nothing of the preceding events, so great was the pain of my
head. As my brain grew clearer, memory came back to me, and the
incidents of the last few hours flashed through my mind in a long
procession. Then, for the first time, I became aware of the fact that
I was being carried. Jolly good of Seymour, I thought, to cart me
along like this. I opened my eyes dreamily. Imagine my horror, if you
can, when I discovered that it was not Seymour who was carrying me,
but one of those Things!” Garth indicated the motionless forms which
still lay as they had fallen upon the beach.

“The creature bore me in its arms as easily as though I were a
child,” he went on, “and for some moments I felt too dazed by the
discovery of my terrible position to do aught but lie still. Then a
thought came to me that, if the creature were alone, I might manage to
escape from his grip. Vain hope! I gazed about me, only to find that a
few paces ahead were a dozen more of the brutes, who appeared to be
following a trail of some sort. I could see by the deep depressions in
the clayey ground that it was the trail of the Triceratops, but for
what reason they should follow the monstrous brute I could not
imagine--until I remembered Mervyn. Then I perceived their
motive.

“Sure enough, before we had gone much farther, the foremost of
the trackers set up a howl. The rest, and among them my bearer,
hurried forward. Beside the track, unconscious, with a great wound on
his temple, lay the professor. Picking him up, one of the brutes slung
him roughly over his shoulder; and the whole band set forward again at
a rapid trot. The rest of the journey seemed to me like some terrible
nightmare, with only one impression standing out clear in my mind, and
that was the hideous forms of the Things that flitted, spectre-like,
before me.

“But all things have an end, and this journey was no exception to
the rule. Ere long the creatures pulled up on the brink of a ravine,
from the depths of which arose a sound of a mighty torrent. Above this
chasm hung a frail hide bridge, and I shuddered as I became aware that
my captors were preparing to cross.

“Gripping Mervyn more firmly, the creature who carried him
stepped upon the swaying ropes. Luckily, the professor was still
unconscious, or I do not doubt he would have made some hasty action,
the result of which would have been disastrous in the extreme. I
marvelled how the creature, burdened as he was, kept his precarious
balance, but he managed it somehow, and at length laid down his
captive upon the farther side of the gorge, while he awaited the
crossing of his fellows.

“Then came my turn. My bearer advanced to the head of the bridge,
and had already placed one foot upon it, when, wildly furious at the
appalling prospect before me, I writhed out of his arms. For an
instant I had some mad hope of making a run for it, but before I could
take a step the brute had me again. Recklessly I struggled, determined
that I would not be taken across that abyss, to meet a terrible death
at the hands of these wolfish creatures. Far rather leap into the
depths, and perish in the dark waters below!

“But the creature had a grip like a Polar bear. Struggle as I
would, I could not again escape from his arms, and, at length, with my
ribs almost cracking beneath the strain, I ceased my efforts and lay
passive. With a hideous chuckle, which made me long to shoot him, he
raised me again, and began the passage of the bridge. Still as death I
lay until he had almost reached the centre. Then, when his grip was
somewhat relaxed, and all his efforts were centred upon keeping his
balance, I kicked out strongly. The sudden move, as I had intended it
should, completely destroyed our equilibrium. The bridge seemed to
sway from beneath us, and we hurtled into space.

“I remember my captor relaxing his grip of my body to make a
desperate clutch at the swinging ropes; a terrible fall which appeared
almost endless in duration; the roaring of many waters; then came a
shock, which knocked me senseless for the second time since leaving
the boat. But I am wearying you with my yarn?”

“Nothing of the kind,” returned Wilson eagerly; “your tale’s
every bit as good as a book!”

“To resume, then,” continued the inventor. “The next thing I
recollect is awaking from my swoon on the sandy beach at the mouth of
the river. How it came about that I was not drowned amid the rushing
waters I cannot make out, even now. It seems incredible that I should
have been carried, helpless as I was, through the foaming rapids of
the gorge, and washed safely ashore at the river-mouth. Yet the fact
remains.

“For some considerable time I lay, drenched and thoroughly
exhausted, upon the sand; then, when my strength had returned in some
measure, I rose, and, though still very faint, made my way along the
beach, knowing that by following the coastline I must, sooner or
later, come across the _Seal._ As my blood began to circulate
more briskly my faintness vanished, and soon I felt as well as
ever.

“Save for the discomfort of my wet clothes, I really believe I
should have enjoyed my tramp. The thought that I had succeeded in
escaping from the clutches of the brutes who had captured me gave me
great satisfaction. I will hurry on, I thought, and, if Seymour has
returned, we will get up a rescue party at once. Then it will not be
long before we have Mervyn out of the power of these wolfish savages.
You see, I had forgotten that a considerable time must have elapsed
since my fall; that I must have lain unconscious for many hours.

“On I tramped, but as the time went by, and still no _Seal_
came in sight, I grew very uneasy. As I rounded each bend in the
coastline I looked eagerly out for the glare of the searchlight. But
never a glimmer did I see. Hours passed, and I grew faint with hunger,
yet still toiled on, hoping that in a little while my quest would be
ended. At length my hunger became unbearable. Plucking several fleshy
fungi, I tore off the thick outer skin and bolted the pulp eagerly,
caring little whether they were of a poisonous character or not, so
that the gnawing pain at my stomach was relieved.

“To my surprise, they proved not merely palatable, but
stimulating. The stagnant blood began to course with fresh vigour
through my veins, and I arose, refreshed and strengthened, to resume
my quest. It was pleasing to think that, at any rate, I need not
starve, even if I could not find the boat for a time. But should I
ever find her at all? The question, flashing through my mind of a
sudden, almost caused my heart to stand still.

“What if she had been moved from her old mooring-place, and taken
I knew not where? The thought made me desperate, and I raced madly
forward, shouting occasionally in hopes of hearing an answering hail.
Suddenly I came out upon the beach there. I recognised the spot in an
instant, but my worst fears were realised when I saw that the
_Seal_ was gone.

“For awhile my rage and despair knew no bounds, and I raced up
and down the beach like a madman, feeling that I was hopelessly lost
in this subterranean world. Presently I grew calmer, and began to look
at my position from the standpoint of common-sense. It was terrible
enough in all conscience. Alone, entirely defenceless--for I had
lost my revolver when I fell into the hands of the savages--in a
land inhabited by monstrous beasts and wolf-like men, it was a
situation, you will admit, that would have tried the stoutest
heart.

“Remember that then I fully believed the boat had gone for
ever.

“Suddenly, as I sat thinking out my future movements, a weird
howl broke upon my ears. In a fright I started up, and rushed off at
headlong speed down the shore, determined that I would not again be
taken. For how long I kept on I cannot tell, but I know that at last,
footsore and completely worn out, I flung myself down upon the sand
and fell fast asleep. I awoke ravenously hungry, and my first action
was to make a hearty attack upon a fungus. That done, I felt
better.

“Telling myself that I had been a fool to allow the cry of the
savages to startle me, I commenced to retrace my steps. I had covered
perhaps a mile, certainly not more, when, rounding a monstrous
boulder, I came plump upon those fellows”--and he pointed to the
beach again.

“They were squatting in an angle of the rock, eagerly tearing at
a carcase of some sort. For the moment they did not notice me, and I
was hoping to get past unobserved, when, as luck would have it, I
kicked against a stone. In a flash the brutes were up and after me.
Thinking to escape them amid the fungi, I plunged into the jungle. I
ran as I had never run before, but I could not shake them off. The
beasts seemed absolutely tireless.

“I had almost given up hope when I heard the reports of your
rifle. The sounds gave me fresh strength, and I dashed furiously on
until I emerged yonder. The rest you know.”

Garth rose as he finished his story, and glanced out through the
glass.

Then a startling cry burst from him.

“Great Heaven! Look there, Tom!”

Wilson turned quickly.

Through the ghostly twilight, a cable’s length astern, loomed the
monstrous form and vast, glaring orbs of the great fish-lizard.




                         CHAPTER XII.

                   “GEHARI--THE WILY ONE.”


“I OPINE it’s got to be done.”

Once more Silas and the baronet stood upon the brink of the great
abyss which had barred further progress upon their first journey.

“You see, it’s this way,” Haverly went on: “there’s just a
glimmer of a chance that Garth and Mervyn are still alive. It ain’t
the general thing with savages to kill their prisoners off-hand, and I
guess these wolf-men are no exception to the rule. That being so, we
may still be in time to pull this job off if we adopt my plan. You’ll
allow that if we’ve got to foot it twenty or thirty miles along the
edge of this yer crevice, we’re safe to arrive considerable too late
for business?”

“Tramping along the brink on the chance of finding a place
sufficiently narrow for us to jump is utterly out of the question,”
replied Seymour. “Your plan is really the only feasible one, although
it sounds decidedly risky.”

“Then here goes,” cried the millionaire. He flung himself down
upon the very verge of the chasm, and, leaning far over, hauled up the
dangling ropes which had formed the bridge.

With Seymour’s aid he cut the fastenings that bound it to the
rocky brink; then the twain applied themselves to the task of
unlashing the cross-ties, a piece of work that proved very tedious,
and which was accomplished with no little difficulty.

It was finished at length, though, and then Haverly skilfully
knotted the two long strands, each of which was about thirty feet in
length, testing the knots again and again to assure himself of their
firmness.

“I guess that’ll hold,” he remarked; “if it gives at all it won’t
be at the knots.”

At one end of this hide rope he made a running noose, and,
coiling it lasso-fashion about his arm, he rose.

“Now for a suitable rock to sling it over,” he went on, “and then
we’ll have a first-class bridge: a bit fragile, perhaps, but ‘needs
must when the old man drives,’ you know.”

Along the edge of the gorge the two men strode, searching
carefully for an out-jutting spur of rock upon the opposite side.

For a time their efforts were unrewarded, and Seymour began to
grow impatient. Every instant was of priceless value; each moment the
odds against their being able to carry out their desperate plan of
rescue increased.

Then suddenly they came in sight of a crag which appeared as
though it had been made for the purpose.

Whirling his roughly made lasso above his head, the Yankee made a
cast.

But the noose fell short, and the rope swished downward into the
gorge.

“Better luck next time,” Silas muttered, as he recoiled it.

Once more he threw the noose, and this time fortune attended his
efforts. The rope settled over the rocky spur, and was at once pulled
taut.

“I guess we’ll have to risk the rock cuttin’ the hide,” the
Yankee said, as he securely fastened his end of the rope to an
adjacent boulder.

Creeping to the verge, he took a firm grip of the hide with both
hands, and lowered himself over into the gorge.

The frail rope creaked ominously beneath his weight, as, hand
over hand, he commenced to drag himself across that yawning gulf.

Each instant it seemed as though the swaying thread on which his
life depended would snap. Beads of sweat stood out upon Seymour’s
forehead as he watched his friend’s perilous progress.

The American’s lithe body swayed and danced like a puppet, as his
hands clasped and unclasped upon the rope.

Halfway across he paused for a brief rest, then on he toiled once
more, until he reached the crag to which the rope was fastened.

With a supreme effort he dragged himself upon the rock, and lay
panting awhile as the result of his tremendous exertions.

When he had somewhat recovered, he rose, and made a careful
examination of the rope at the point where it encircled the crag.

“Unlash it for a moment, Seymour,” he called, his voice echoing
strangely from the depths of the chasm.

As the baronet complied with his request, Silas removed the
noose. Taking off his jacket, he wrapped it closely around the rock,
replacing the rope over it.

“I guess that’ll keep it from wearing through,” he said. “If
you’ll do the same your side, it will lessen the risk of it
snapping.”

Sir William followed his example, then launched himself
cautiously over the brink. Inch by inch, foot by foot, he advanced,
though the rope cut his hands like a knife. His arms seemed to be
leaving their sockets through the strain, and his eyes grew dim and
bloodshot, yet he still dragged onward.

Longingly he gazed upon the opposite lip of the gorge, where
Haverly sat at ease. Would he be able to hold out? It seemed doubtful,
for his strength was ebbing fast. His great weight made his crossing
ten times more difficult than the lighter-built Yankee’s had been.

His goal appeared to recede as he advanced. What would he not
give to rest his aching arms for just one moment?

“Courage!” cried his friend, and the word gave him strength.

Haverly had made the passage; why not he?

Slowly the distance between him and his goal lessened; ten feet,
nine--he would soon be in safety now--eight;
then----

_Crack!_ A pistol-like report echoed across the gorge.

“Grip for your life!” cried the Yankee; “the rope’s giving!”

_Crack!_ Again it sounded, like the knell of doom in
Seymour’s throbbing ears.

The next moment the rope parted behind him, and he dropped like a
stone into the depths. Instinctively his clutch tightened upon the
hide.

[Illustration: “THE NEXT MOMENT THE ROPE PARTED BEHIND HIM”(_p. 93._)]

A swift rush through the air, then, with a shock that forced a
groan of agony from his bloodless lips, he struck the canyon wall.

For a few seconds he hung, twisting and swaying, at the end of
the rope, until his feet found hold on a narrow ledge in the face of
the rock. On to this he drew himself.

For the moment he was safe.

As he stood there, gasping and panting, feeling as though he had
not a whole bone in his body, the glare of Haverly’s lantern pierced
the gloom.

Looking upward, Seymour saw his friend’s face peering anxiously
down from the cliff top.

“It’s all right, Silas,” he panted; “I’ll be with you at soon as
I’ve got my wind.”

“Jupiter!” exclaimed the American, “I reckoned you’d passed in
your checks for sure that time. It was a narrow squeak! Take your
time,” he continued, as the baronet commenced to haul himself up.
“Don’t overdo it.”

Four minutes later Seymour’s head appeared above the edge of the
cliff, and, with the millionaire’s ready help, he dragged himself over
into safety.

“I wouldn’t go through that again for a king’s ransom,” he
said.

“I guess you’d hardly come out of it so well another time,”
returned Silas; “it’s the closest call I’ve struck for a considerable
stretch. Say when you’re ready and we’ll hustle.”

“I’m ready at once,” was the answer.

A little over half an hour it took the two friends to pick up the
trail of the wolf-men, then they pushed on once more at their utmost
speed.

The character of the country changed entirely as they advanced,
the level plain giving place to a series of rolling ridges, which made
progress extremely difficult.

Added to this, the temperature appeared to be gradually rising,
and soon their bodies were bathed in perspiration.

“Warm work,” remarked Haverly, pausing on the crest of a ridge to
mop his forehead.

“Too warm to be pleasant,” replied his friend. “I should imagine
that we are approaching a subterranean fire of some sort. What’s
that?” he broke off sharply.

A shrill scream, thrilling with agony, rose from the ravine at
their feet.

“Look to your shootin’ iron,” said the Yankee; “sounds as if
you’ll need it.”

He jerked his own revolver from his pocket as he spoke.

“I must have lost my barker,” Seymour muttered, feeling through
his pockets.

“I guess your rifle will manage,” was the reply.

Once more the cry arose, and at that they commenced the descent
of the ridge.

As they neared the base, two wildly-grappling forms loomed
through the twilight. In a moment Haverly switched on the light of his
lantern, and focussed its rays upon the combatants.

Struggling desperately in the coils of a monstrous serpent was
one of the fearsome wolf-men.

Three of the reptile’s great glistening folds encircled the
savage’s body; the mighty jaws gaped expectantly above him, while the
beadlike eyes were fixed in a fascinating stare upon the unfortunate
creature.

“We can’t stand by and see him crushed to death by that brute,”
cried the baronet impulsively, “even though he is a wolf-man.”

“Best not to interfere,” returned the Yankee shortly.

At that instant the wolf-man, attracted by the light, turned his
head towards the two friends and raised his hands imploringly, while
from his lips came another agonised scream.

That settled the question for Seymour. Quick as thought he raised
his rifle and fired. At the report the great, yawning head vanished,
shattered to atoms, and the body, relaxing its grip of the savage,
thrashed up the ravine as though still endowed with life.

As it vanished into the gloom the wolf-man rose, rushed forward,
and cast himself down at Seymour’s feet.

“I’ve no small notion that we’ll strike trouble over this job,”
said Haverly ominously, “and that before a great while either. What
the Barnum we’re to do with this long-shanked freak I know no more’n
Caesar.”

“He may prove useful,” the baronet suggested.

“He may,” was the Yankee’s unpromising answer, “but I guess the
odds lie the other way. Hi, Pharaoh!”--addressing the cringing
savage--“get up from there right now. You’re black enough without
wiping your face in the mud.”

As though conscious that he was addressed, the creature raised
his head, and glared fiercely at Haverly.

“Get up,” the latter repeated roughly; then, seizing the wolf-man
by his girdle, jerked him to his feet.

A baleful light flashed from the creature’s eyes, and, for an
instant, it appeared as though he was about to spring at the
millionaire’s throat, but he checked himself, and well it was for him
that he did so.

“He’s got neither knife nor spear,” Seymour said, “so he cannot
be very dangerous.”

“Umph!” Silas snorted, “I wouldn’t trust the brute out of sight.
I guess we’ll have to keep a tight hand over him, or he’ll be settin’
a hull crowd of his pards on our trail in a brace of shakes.”

“Gehari!”

The harsh, guttural cry came from the wolf-man’s throat, and he
beat his breast with his clenched hand.

“Gehari!” he repeated, fixing his piercing eyes on Seymour’s
face.

“What’s he jawing about?” asked Silas.

“Ayuti again,” replied the baronet. “However came these brutes to
speak that language?”

“I reckon it don’t matter a heap,” retorted the Yankee, “so’s we
can turn it to our advantage.”

“Gehari!” For the third time the word broke upon the ears of the
two friends.

“What the plague does he mean by his eternal ‘gehari’?” asked
Haverly.

“It must be his name,” was the reply, “but it isn’t exactly a
classy title. The word means ‘the wily one.’”

“Jupiter!” cried Haverly with a grin, “that kind of gives the
show away. I guess he can’t grumble the handle don’t fit him, for he’s
got ‘wily’ writ large all over him. Say, couldn’t you get no news of
our pards off the fellow?”

Turning, Seymour put a few brief questions to the wolf-man.

“What’s he say?” asked Silas as he finished.

“He professes to know nothing of two white prisoners, but he says
that all captives are sacrificed to the sacred beast of his people in
the temple of Ramouni.”

“Then tell him to lead on to this yer temple, quick as he knows
how,” the Yankee snapped, “if he wants to keep his skin entire.”

The baronet interpreted the words in their full significance, and
at once the savage started off across the bed of the ravine at a
trot.

Up the opposite ridge he clambered, at a pace that severely taxed
the powers of the rescuers. Within a few moments they topped the
crest.

Before them the plain stretched level as a table for half a
league; and beyond rose the fungi-clad heights they had first sighted
from the boat.

Onward they pressed until they stood at the foot of the range;
and here, deciding to seek a few hours’ rest ere entering upon the
final stage of their perilous journey, the two friends passed into a
small cave amid the rocks. And with them, closely watched by the alert
American, went Gehari--the wily one.




                         CHAPTER XIII.

                      THE FATE OF MERVYN.


BUT what of Professor Mervyn? How was he faring the while his friends
were making such strenuous efforts to effect his rescue?

For a time his terror at finding himself in so perilous a
position completely overcame him.

With each stride of his monstrous steed he was being borne
farther and farther from his friends; deeper and deeper into the
unknown wilds of this subterranean world. He knew that ere long,
unless he took prompt action, he would be carried beyond all reach of
aid, yet, so great was the fear that gripped him, for a time he could
do nought, save cling convulsively to the armoured hide of the brute
he rode.

As his first panic subsided, and his brain resumed its sway of
his trembling body, he began to cast about for some means of escape
from his predicament.

Full twenty feet he was from the ground, and the Triceratops was
travelling at the rate of at least thirty miles an hour, so that a
leap could not be other than dangerous. Yet it must be done if he
would ever see his friends again.

The thought that perhaps he might break a limb in descending
deterred him for some time, but at length he summoned up courage to
make the attempt.

To do so, however, he must first rise to a standing position upon
the huge back of the Triceratops, in order to obtain sufficient spring
to leap clear of the pounding hoofs.

This feat he accomplished, after considerable difficulty; then,
while he stood essaying to leap, the brute beneath him swerved
suddenly to the right.

It might have been that the scientist’s movements irritated the
creature, and so caused it to change its course, or it may have been
but a whim on its part.

However it was, the sudden move destroyed the professor’s
balance; he was flung headlong and dropped, in a stunned and bleeding
heap, beside the track.

Nought he knew of the coming of the wolf-men who had already
captured Garth; nought of the passage of the bridge; even the rough
journey thence to the caves of the savages did not rouse him.

When he did at length return to a sense of things around him, two
impressions forced themselves upon his brain. One was the sensation
that utter, impenetrable darkness shut him in--darkness, thick
and tangible; the other, that every bone in his body had been broken
and re-set.

Of the twain, the former gave him the more uneasiness.

His aches and pains, he knew, were the result of his fall, but
this other he could not explain.

Where was he, that this darkness surrounded him? Surely, if he
lay where he had fallen, the twilight of the underworld would be about
him?

Then of a sudden the thought that he was blind swept over him.
_The shock of his fall had perhaps destroyed his sight!_

“Oh, God!” he cried despairingly, and raised his hands.

The clank of metal startled him, and he became conscious of
something which, in his state of semi-bewilderment, he had not felt
before.

His arms were chained at the wrists!

A low gasp escaped him at this discovery, yet with it came a
feeling of relief. The darkness, then, was the result of his
surroundings, and not of any accident to his eyes. But into whose
hands had he fallen? What beings were they who held him captive?

As yet he was unaware of the existence of the wolf-men, and it
was well that he knew nothing of the horrors, or surely his brain
would have given way beneath the strain of his terrible situation
during the long hours he spent in the darkness of his prison.

His first action was to attempt to slip the chain from his
wrists, but this he found before long to be an utter impossibility.
Evidently the creatures who had fastened him had a shrewd idea as to
the method of securing a prisoner.

Luckily, his feet were not in a like plight, so that, after a
time, he made shift to rise, and, with manacled hands outstretched
before him, feel his way about his prison.

As nearly as he could judge, his cell was about four yards in
length by rather less than half this in width. Its rock walls,
rough-hewn and rugged for the most part, were, in one particular
place, smooth as glass.

Carefully Mervyn passed his fingers over this slab, suspecting
that it was the door to his cell yet not a crack could he find.

The rock there seemed not less solid than elsewhere. Again and
again he tried, but never with the same result.

As the hours dragged by, and no one came to him, the scientist
began to think that his captors had forgotten his existence.

Whoever they were, whatever they were, they surely could not
intend him to be entombed alive? They would scarcely have troubled to
chain him had they meant him to be shut away here for ever.

So thinking, Mervyn raised his voice in a shout.

The sound rang round the walls of his prison in an appalling
uproar, yet apparently it was unheard without.

Allowing some moments to elapse, he repeated his effort.

The cell rang again with his cry, but still there came no answer,
and at last he flung himself down upon the floor again.

Scarcely had he done so ere to his ears came the creaking of
machinery, and a dazzling light flooded his cell.

Looking up, he saw that the stone slab, which he believed to be
the door, had been pulled aside, and in the doorway, his features lit
up with a look of fiendish glee, stood a man--but such a man!

Tall he was, and lean as a greyhound. Yet his bare, brown arms
looked strong as iron; from his shoulders a fur mantle fell in
graceful folds to his feet; his face--distorted now by its
malevolent expression into the semblance of a fiend--must have
been pleasing once, if not handsome. But passion had left its mark
upon the features, and the eyes, cold and merciless in their glitter,
betrayed the hideous cruelty of their owner’s nature.

Upon the forehead of the man, bound in place by a tiny metal
chain, was a stone, the like of which Mervyn had never seen
before.

In fashion it was like a rough-cut diamond, but much larger than
any gem ever discovered in the mines of the upper world, and from its
glowing heart proceeded the dazzling light which illumined the
cell.

All this Mervyn noted in the first few seconds of his
surprise.

A little while he sat gazing at the man, then, scrambling to his
feet, stood upright before him.

“Wabozi!” The word rang mockingly from the lips of the fellow,
and the scientist recognised it in a moment.

“How comes this fellow to speak Ayuti?” he questioned mentally.
“Perhaps----”

“Wabozi, zea!”

The mocking voice, this time with a note of menace in it, broke
sharply in upon his reflections.

Quick as thought Mervyn answered in the same tongue, using the
same words, “Wabozi, zea!” (“Greeting, dog!”)

“So,” continued his captor, “thou knowest the language of the
underworld? ’Tis well. Thou wilt have need of it ere long, when I
question thee concerning thy presence in my kingdom. Know you that I
am Nordhu, High Priest of Ramouni, Ruler of the Under-world! Who are
ye? Take heed that ye speak naught but the truth, for I know more than
ye think.”

A faint hope flickered up in the scientist’s breast that, by
telling his story in its fulness, the priest might be induced to set
him free, that he might return to his friends.

So he began narrating the misadventures and accidents which
landed him in so unfortunate a position.

But never an atom of interest did the priest show. His features
were inscrutable as a mask.

“What is that to me?” he asked, as Mervyn concluded with a plea
for his freedom; “what need was there for ye to seek out this secret
place in your upper world, which ye call the ‘Pole’?”

“None,” was the scientist’s answer, “save that it was a mystery,
and we were minded to solve it.”

“Granted there were need for that,” pursued the priest, “there
were none for ye to set foot upon my land--the land of my
people.”

The arrogance of the fellow was fast arousing Mervyn’s temper,
yet he strove to keep it in check, unwilling to make an open enemy of
the man he had--all unwittingly--offended.

“We knew not that the land was inhabited,” he explained, “and
even had we, we could not have known that the law forbade the landing
of strangers. Our desire now is but to return to our own world.”

“Doubtless,” was the mocking answer; “but ere ye return, ye must
recompense me for the loss of those of my people whom thy friends have
slain. Hearest thou?”

“Ay!” returned Mervyn angrily, “yet remember, if any of thy
savages have been slain, they must first have attacked my friends. But
how know ye that any are slain?”

“Cease thy baying, dog!” snapped the priest in answer, “lest I am
tempted to deal hardly by ye. Listen! I am minded to know more of
these fire-weapons ye use. Show me the secret and ye are free.”

For an instant the professor hesitated. Here was a chance at
which his heart leapt, yet he feared to take it. On the one hand was
life and liberty; on the other, death, and that as terrible as the
priest of Ramouni could make it for his helpless prisoner.

What if he showed Nordhu the secret he wished to know?

He would be arming the people of the underworld with weapons that
would make them the equals of any nation on the face of the globe; but
would there be harm in so doing?

While he stood wavering the priest clapped his hands, and, into
the light of the flashing jewel, slid two of the fearful wolf-men.

It was the scientist’s first view of the creatures, and his brain
reeled with the horror of the things.

His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, his limbs trembled
beneath him.

Nordhu grinned broadly at the obvious terror of his victim.

A wave of his hand, and the two wolfish figures vanished into the
gloom again.

“Well?” the priest demanded, “will ye show me the secret? Five
millions have I of these people; what think ye of them? Would’st like
to be given into their hands, that they might make sport with ye?”

At the words Mervyn’s terror vanished; in its place came a cool,
dauntless courage that surprised even himself.

Better that he should be torn to pieces by these fearsome brutes
than that he should be the primary cause of arming them with the
weapons of civilised warfare. Should the brutes ever find their way to
the upper world, they would overwhelm the whole globe.

“No,” he returned, drawing himself up, “I will not show ye the
secret of the fire-weapons. Do with me as thou wilt.”

“So,” snarled the priest, “ye defy me. Bolder wills than thine
have I overcome. ’Tis an evil moment for ye when ye cross Nordhu.”

He bent his piercing eyes upon Mervyn, and his look seemed to
sear the scientist’s very soul.

With all the force of his brain Mervyn struggled against that
fascinating gaze. It was a contest of wills.

Could the priest but succeed in bending his prisoner’s will to
his this once, hereafter the unfortunate man would be as clay in the
hands of the potter.

Knowing this, Mervyn fought on, although the desire to submit
grew almost overpowering. Never before had he taken part in so fierce
a struggle. His eyes seemed starting from his head beneath the strain,
and still the merciless ones of his enemy glared into his brain.

Then, when he was almost upon the point of yielding, the gaze of
the priest changed to a look of baffled fury.

“So ye resist the supremacy of my will,” he hissed. “So be it; I
have other methods. But mark this: if thou wilt not yield me this
secret, upon which I have set my heart, I will make thee wish that
thou had’st never been born.”

“Do your worst,” returned Mervyn doggedly. “Rather would I be
torn limb from limb than reveal to you the secret of our weapons.”

A sneering laugh broke from the priest.

“Dragged limb from limb, sayest thou?” he cried. “That were an
easy death to the one I will give thee if thou wilt not obey me.”

Once more he clapped his hands, and the two savages
reappeared.

“Bring him forth,” he commanded, and the wolf-men, their faces
aglow with diabolical cruelty, hustled Mervyn out of the cell.

Following the priest, a guard on either side of him, the
scientist moved down the passage on to which the door of the cell gave
access.

It was apparently a natural tunnel in the rock, rough-hewn in
places where it had been too narrow to admit of the passage of the
savages. From it, on either side, opened galleries, which seemed to
run deep into the bowels of the earth.

Up these openings, as captive and captors passed them, came
strange sounds, boomings and clangings, as of a mighty forge, and at
times a lurid glow would flash up for an instant, then die away
again.

Past all these openings the priest went, pausing at length before
the open doorway of a rock chamber.

“Enter,” he commanded, and, realising the futility of resistance,
the scientist obeyed.

The light of the priest’s stone illumined every corner of the
chamber. A rough rectangle it was in shape, about twenty feet by
twelve. Across the floor, parallel with, and about a couple of feet
from, the doorway, ran a strange crack, not more than three inches in
width at its widest part.

Over this Mervyn stepped, then turned and faced his captors.

“I will give thee time to decide,” Nordhu said, “whether ye will
do my bidding or be delivered to the sacred beast of Ramouni. See,
here is food”--flinging a couple of mushroom-like fungi towards
his prisoner--“eat, and think well over your answer. Thy fate is
in thine own hands.”

“Stand back against the further wall,” he added, a moment later.
Without a word Mervyn obeyed. As he did so Nordhu stamped with his
foot upon the floor of the passage. Instantly, from the crack in the
floor leapt a dazzling sheet of flame, forming an impenetrable barrier
between the scientist and the doorway. Almost to the roof the flaming
wall towered, darting and flashing in innumerable little tongues.

The heat from the barrier was terrible; its glare seemed to
shrivel Mervyn’s eyes, and his ears throbbed with the roaring of the
flames.

The fungi lay untasted at his side, and he sat with his head
buried in his hands, the personification of despair.

His fate was in his own hands, so the priest had said; his own it
was to decide whether he should earn freedom or a terrible death.

A subtle temptation came to him as he sat there in the fiery
cell, to yield to circumstances, to drift with the tide.

Almost it overcame him, but to his aid came another thought. What
guarantee had he that Nordhu would fulfil his promise and set him free
if he obeyed him? Would not the priest rather keep him captive, that
he might wring from him knowledge of other things besides
firearms?

It was scarcely likely that he would allow such a prize as Mervyn
would prove to slip through his fingers, promise or no promise.

“No,” the scientist muttered; “he can shrivel me to a cinder if
he likes. I will not obey him!” So was his determination taken.




                         CHAPTER XIV.

                    “RAHEE THE TERRIBLE!”


“WHAT sayest thou? Wilt live or die?”

Many hours had passed since Mervyn made his decision.

The flaming barrier had sunk back into the depths whence it
sprang, and Nordhu stood once more before his captive.

The scientist faced the priest boldly.

“This is my answer,” he cried: “I utterly refuse to reveal to you
any of the things you wish to know; but hear this ere ye destroy me: I
have friends who will exact a terrible vengeance if I be harmed. Not
all your hordes of wolfish followers will save you from their
fury.”

“Think you to fright me with such talk?” returned the priest
scornfully. “What doth hinder me to take your friends captive also,
and put them to the torture? Are they such mighty warriors that ye
think they can stand against the hosts of the underworld? I know of
their movements. I know that they be approaching the haunts of my
people in hope to rescue their brother. I have warned them by a fire
message, but I fear me they will not heed. Though they force an
entrance into our caverns, they shall never return, I swear it by
Ramouni, and by Rahee, sacred beast of Ramouni! Soon will I have all
of ye safely in my power, and it may be that I can wrest the secret
from one, if ye are stubborn. But come, Rahee waits.”

Stepping over the fire-crack, Mervyn passed out of the
chamber.

On once more down the tunnel the priest and prisoner made their
way, and behind, silent and terrible, came the two wolfish guards.
Round numberless bends and curves they went, sometimes crossing a huge
vaulted chamber, to plunge into a tunnel on the farther side. And ever
around them, from the numerous galleries on either hand, came the
sounds of machinery. At length they reached a doorway, before which
hung a curtain of skins. This Nordhu pulled aside, and the four passed
through into a dazzling glare of fungi light.

So brilliant was the glow that it paled the light of the priest’s
stone, and, for a few seconds, Mervyn was compelled to veil his eyes
with his manacled hands. Presently, as they became accustomed to the
glare, he was able to take note of his surroundings.

He was standing in a vast natural amphitheatre in the heart of
the mountain range. Around him, ledge upon ledge, terrace after
terrace, rose the cliffs, and every cranny of the towering walls was
crowded with fungi. Everywhere the luminous growths flourished, the
floor of the amphitheatre alone being free from them.

But not for long was Mervyn allowed to stand gazing upon this
scene.

“Come,” snapped the priest, and moved on across the floor.

Soon before them loomed a gigantic idol, rudely carved in
stone.

It was a monstrous, misshapen, half-human figure with but one
eye, and that in the centre of its forehead. Immediately in front
stood a flat stone slab, which evidently served as an altar, and
Mervyn shuddered as he noted the dark stains upon the surface of the
stone.

Doubtless many a score of victims had been sacrificed beneath the
murderous knife of Nordhu upon that slab; many a savage had gone
screaming to his death to satisfy the lust of the devilish priest.

The two guards had instantly prostrated themselves before the
monstrosity, and now lay upon their faces, muttering some doggerel or
other in praise of the image.

Nordhu himself bowed low, then turned furiously upon his
prisoner.

“Kneel!” he screamed, “kneel to Ramouni, that ye may hear his
will.”

But the scientist stood rigid as the idol itself. He knew well
that he was face to face with death, and he was not minded that his
last few moments of life should be spent in bowing himself before the
repulsive figure which served these people as a god.

“Dost hear?” thundered the priest; “kneel, ye white dog, before
the god of my people.”

“I will not kneel,” Mervyn answered calmly, “to this misshapen
block of stone that ye call a god. Think you to deceive me with this
craven figure! If it be a god, let it speak.”

“So,” returned Nordhu mockingly, “ye would fain hear Ramouni
speak? Hearken then.”

Raising his arms above his head, he gabbled out a long formula,
punctuated with sundry bowings and scrapings that made Mervyn long to
kick the fellow. But the yearning to do violence to the priest’s
person vanished, and the scientist stood absolutely dumbfounded, as a
thin, cracked voice from the lips of the idol answered Nordhu’s
plea.

“Let the white stranger be delivered unto Rahee, the sacred
beast.”

“’Tis well, oh Ramouni,” replied the priest, “it shall be done.
Well, art satisfied?” he continued, turning to Mervyn.

“No,” cried the latter; “I am persuaded that the idol speaks but
by a trick.”

An expression of fiendish rage swept over the face of the priest,
and he raised his clenched fist threateningly above his victim. For an
instant it seemed as though he would strike Mervyn to the earth, but
he restrained his fury.

“Hound!” he hissed frenziedly, “dost dare to say Ramouni hath no
voice?”

“I go further,” pursued Mervyn firmly--to him in a flash had
come the revelation of Nordhu’s trickery--“I know the means by
which ye make the idol speak, and will expose you to your people.
Think you that you alone can give Ramouni voice? Listen!”

Once more a voice came from the image, but this time different
indeed in tone; no weak, piping voice this, but strong and of full
volume.

“Hark ye, Nordhu,” come the words--and at the sound of them
the two wolfish worshippers raised themselves, staring in astonishment
at the lips of the god--“do no harm to this white stranger, I
command ye. It is my will that he should depart in peace. See to it,
lest my anger be visited upon my people!”

It was Mervyn’s last card, his final effort in his struggle
against death.

Himself a ventriloquist of no mean ability, the scientist had
quickly perceived the method by which the crafty priest gave speech to
Ramouni. A faint hope flickered up in his mind that, by means of his
talent, he might compel Nordhu to release him.

Vain hope! One moment the priest stood as though turned to stone,
the next his clenched fist shot out, and Mervyn dropped like a
log.

Ere he could rise again the priest, tearing the hide girdle from
the loins of the nearest savage, was upon him, and, binding the filthy
strip of skin firmly across his mouth, effectually gagged the
prostrate scientist.

For an instant it seemed as though the two wolf-men were about to
interfere. Doubtless they were afraid that they would suffer for
Nordhu’s rash action if Ramouni fulfilled his threat; but the high
priest was quite ready for the emergency.

With consummate skill he flung his voice between the lips of the
image.

“Thou hast done well, O priest,” came the piping tones. “I did
but try thee, whether thou wert faithful to me or no. Let my people
make merry over the death of this white stranger, for he is mine
enemy.”

Every word of this speech Mervyn heard, as he struggled painfully
to his feet; yet he was powerless to resist the devilish schemes of
the merciless monster beside him. With a fiendish grin overspreading
his features, the priest raised his voice in a piercing cry:

“Ayoki! Ayoki!”

The word pealed twice from his lips, and, ere the echoes had
died, into the temple filed a score of dark figures. Right up to the
altar they glided, moving with scarce a sound, and formed a semicircle
about the high priest and his prisoner.

At their advent the wolf-men rose and vanished, seeming glad to
leave the presence of the image, which their ignorant superstitious
minds credited with supernatural powers.

The newcomers, each of whom was clad somewhat scantily in a
coarse skin mantle, were creatures of the same type as the high
priest, save that, if anything, their faces were more brutalised and
repulsive. They glared fiercely at the scientist as they stood waiting
for Nordhu to speak.

“Priests of Ramouni,” he began at last, “our god hath decided
that this white stranger shall be delivered unto Rahee, the sacred
beast. Let the people of the underworld be summoned.”

Instantly one of the priests raised a horn to his lips.

As the weird note trembled through the temple, the whole band
closed about Mervyn and hustled him forward towards the further end of
the amphitheatre, where stretched a line of bars. Straight towards
this barrier the scientist was thrust and driven, until he was close
enough to see that beside it stood a huge stone windlass.

Here the priests halted, and once again the blast of the horn
echoed amid the cliffs.

At that a multitude of sinister forms poured into the vast
enclosure. Rank upon rank, they thronged in and took their places
silently, until the whole floor of the temple, up to within a few
yards of the spot where stood Nordhu and the priests, was covered with
a heaving sea of bodies.

As he noted the wolfish forms of the creatures, their terrible
aspect, Mervyn, despite his terror, felt thankful that he had not
revealed to Nordhu the secret he so longed to know.

Fervently he prayed that his comrades might not fall into the
hands of the devilish priest through any mad attempt to rescue
him.

The hopelessness of any such effort, the utter impossibility of
it, was plain to him. An army would be overwhelmed in a few moments by
these countless hordes! What chance, then, had his friends? At most
they were but four in number, and, with all their daring, they would
not be able to pluck him from out the clutches of the priest.

So thinking, the scientist commended his soul to his Maker,
waiting, pale faced but undaunted in spirit, for the terrible death
which he knew would soon be his.

What form it would take he knew not; but he was aware that
somewhere behind that row of bars lurked the beast to whose murderous
appetite he was to be sacrificed. The suspense was terrible. Anything
was better than this drawn-out agony, and he was glad when, suddenly,
the high priest raised his hand.

Instantly a thunderous shout of “Nordhu! Nordhu!” pealed upward
from a myriad throats. It ceased abruptly, and a tense, brooding
silence followed, broken a few moments later by the harsh voice of the
chief priest.

With many violent gestures he harangued his people, and Mervyn
listened with fast-beating heart as Nordhu pronounced his doom.

As his voice trailed off into silence, half a dozen of the
priests sprang forward to the windlass, while the rest, opening a gate
in the barrier, thrust Mervyn into the enclosure beyond. Then the
scientist observed that there was a second row of bars within the den,
forming a barrier before the mouth of a large cave in the temple wall.
The use of the windlass without became apparent to him in a
moment.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the huge wheel turned
beneath the united efforts of the priests, and the rails--the
only barrier between the captive and the so-called sacred beast of the
wolf-men--rose, until the mouth of the cave was uncovered.

As the great windlass ceased to move, another thunderous shout
swelled up from the ranks of the savages.

“Hail, Rahee! Rahee the terrible!”

On the instant, as though in answer to the cry, a sound came from
the depths of the cave. The beast was coming forth!

Fascinated, Mervyn stood watching for the appearance of the
redoubtable Rahee.

_“My God”_

Like the wail of a soul in torment, the despairing cry trembled
from the captive scientist’s lips as the sacred beast emerged from the
cavern.

Never in all his wildest dreams had he imagined that so hideous a
creature could exist. Long afterwards the terror of the brute haunted
him. Its glaring eyes seemed to be ever before him, and the gnashing
of its jaws dinned in his ears for days.

With a stealthy, sidelong motion the spider-like brute crept
towards its fascinated victim. Every hair on its great, brown body
bristled with fury; each of its eight, claw-armed legs seemed to
quiver with eagerness as it advanced.

The horror of the awful thing stunned Mervyn--held him
powerless, as though he were fixed to the floor. He could do naught
but stare.

Then suddenly a wave of fury swept over him, and with might and
main he strove to release his hands from the manacles. Like a madman
he fought and tore, but the chains held him like a vice, and
presently, with bleeding hands and wrists, he ceased his efforts.

Bowing his head that he might not see the grim form of his
destroyer, he stood awaiting his doom.

Yet at that moment, although he knew it not, help was at
hand.

Even while he thought himself within an ace of Eternity; when the
great spider, but a few yards from its victim, was crouching for a
spring, and the savage hordes in the temple were watching eagerly for
the final scene of the tragedy, a shout came pealing downward from
above.

Aroused, Mervyn looked up. The sight that met his eyes sent the
hope rushing back into his heart, and set every nerve in his body
tingling with a wild desire to live.




                         CHAPTER XV.

                    FOR A FRIEND’S LIFE.


“SAY, Seymour?”

“Well?” inquired the baronet sleepily.

“I guess it’s time to be moving.”

Yawning, Seymour rose and stretched himself.

“Just rouse Pharaoh there,” Haverly went on, as he slung his
rifle over his shoulder.

Moving over to a corner of the cave, the baronet prodded the
sleeping savage in the ribs. With a guttural cry the creature rose,
shook himself like a dog, and stood awaiting orders.

“I guess you’d better drop it to him as we want to strike for
this yer temple right now,” drawled the Yankee.

Seymour interpreted the message, whereupon Gehari affirmed, with
many vigorous movements of his hands, that he could lead the great
chief and his friend by a secret road, known only to himself and to
one other who was dead, which would take them right to the den of the
sacred beast.

“Lead on, then,” cried Seymour, “but beware how you deal with us.
Serve us well, and you shall be rewarded; betray us, and you shall die
by the fire-sticks.”

He tapped his rifle significantly as he spoke, and the savage,
having been a witness of the death of the great serpent, seemed to
fully comprehend.

He flung himself down upon the cavern floor and pressed his
forehead to the baronet’s boots; then, rising, he moved swiftly
outside.

The two rescuers followed, Haverly covering with his revolver the
hideous form of their savage guide.

Amid the boulders which lined the base of the hills the three
threaded their way, darting into hiding occasionally to escape the
notice of some passing savage.

For perhaps a mile they moved in this fashion, then Gehari turned
into a narrow gully, between two enormous peaks.

So high were the walls on either side that the defile was dark as
midnight, and the American was strongly tempted to use his
lantern.

“What an ideal spot for an ambush!” Seymour remarked in a
whisper.

“That’s so,” returned Haverly in the same low tone; “I’ll be
considerable relieved when we’re through.”

Stumbling and tripping over the loose stones which formed the bed
of the gully, barking their shins against projecting boulders, the two
toiled on after their wolfish leader.

They could but dimly discern the form of the savage in the gloom
ahead, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that they managed
to keep in touch with him. Had Gehari chosen to have deserted them,
nothing would have been easier. But the thought seemed never to enter
the savage’s mind, for he flitted on in front, tireless as ever.

Then of a sudden before them loomed a towering wall of rock,
apparently blank.

The defile had ended.

Had Gehari played them false? the twain wondered. Had he led them
into a _cul-de-sac_?

Quick as thought Haverly produced his lantern, and an instant
later the glare of the electric light shattered the darkness.

“Zu!” The low, buzzing sound came from the lips of the wolf-man,
and he pointed to a dark aperture which showed low down in the face of
the cliffs.

Into this, with much wriggling of limbs, he proceeded to crawl,
beckoning the two friends to follow.

“Looks a bit risky,” Seymour demurred, “but we’ll have to go the
whole hog now.”

He dropped to his knees as he spoke, and disappeared after the
savage.

“It’s all right, Silas,” his voice came back after a moment,
“there’s standing room inside. Just pass me the lantern, and then you
can follow.”

Reassured by his comrade’s words, Haverly passed through the
opening, to find himself in a cave of considerable dimensions. Across
the floor of this the rescuers moved, still preceded by the savage,
and plunged into a natural tunnel on the further side.

Half an hour’s steady progress along this, sometimes crawling on
hands and knees where the passage was too narrow to admit of their
upright advance, and then the Yankee shut off the light of his lantern
with a snap.

Before them a brilliant, silvery glow was visible. Half a dozen
paces, and they emerged from the passage into a flood of fungi
light.

A cry of rage burst from Seymour.

They were standing upon a narrow ledge in the cliffs which formed
the temple walls. Twenty feet below them was the den of Rahee, in
which their friend was awaiting his doom. The sight of the devilish
brute advancing upon the professor roused all the fury in their
natures against the savage creatures who had delivered him to such a
fate.

In a delirious rage, Seymour raised his rifle. Another instant
and Rahee the terrible would have been no more; but, ere the baronet
could fire, Silas gripped his arm.

“Don’t plug the brute,” he cried sharply, “it’s the only thing
that’ll keep those fiends back when they tumble to our game. I’m goin’
down.”

Ere Seymour could restrain him, Silas had laid down his rifle,
swung himself over the edge, and, with a cheery shout to Mervyn,
commenced the descent. From ledge to ledge the wiry American
descended, as cool and collected as though it were an everyday matter
for him to venture into the den of a giant spider. A hoarse roar of
rage rolled up from the assembled wolf-men as they became aware of the
Yankee’s daring move; but Nordhu looked on calmly, confident that
Rahee would destroy rescuer as well as prisoner, which event would
have well satisfied the murderous lust of the priest.

But it was not to be!

Rahee had paused in his spring as he saw this new development,
seemingly startled by the barefaced audacity of the intruder.
Doubtless it was the first time that any had entered his den
voluntarily.

His pause gave the American just the interval he needed to carry
out his plan. Descending the last few feet with a jump, he rushed
between the monstrous spider and his victim. Quickly he forced a link
of the chain which bound the scientist’s wrists with his sheath-knife,
then pushed his friend sharply aside.

“Flicker,” he cried, “for your very life. I’ll keep this brute in
check.”

With his heart beating madly against his ribs, the professor
bounded across the rocky floor, and, never even pausing to remove the
gag from about his mouth, commenced the ascent of the cliff.

Haverly seemed likely to pay dearly for his heroic action.
Enraged by the escape of his victim, Rahee launched himself upon the
American. Like a flash the latter skipped aside, and the spider landed
with a thud upon the spot which his agile enemy had but just
quitted.

With a hoarse gurgle of fury the brute swung round and leapt
again, missing his mark by a bare three inches as Haverly darted aside
once more.

[Illustration: “THE BRUTE SWUNG ROUND AND LEAPT AGAIN, MISSING
                       HIS MARK BY A BARE THREE INCHES”    (_p. 116._)]

“Whew!” the Yankee whistled, “that was a close call!”

Just then a glad shout from above told him that his friend was
safe, and that he too might venture to make his escape from this foul
den. But, even as he turned to put this thought into execution, Rahee
the terrible rose once more in a spring.

Bang! The report of Seymour’s rifle echoed through the great
amphitheatre, and one of the spider’s glaring orbs went out like an
extinguished candle.

Swerving in his leap beneath the shock, Rahee missed his victim
by a couple of feet. Ere he could gather himself together for another
spring, Silas had reached the wall and was clambering upward into
safety.

Halfway up the American paused and looked back. The great spider
was lying motionless beside the gate of his den, giving no sign of
life save an occasional snap of his mighty jaws.

As Haverly resumed his climb the voice of the high priest rang
out in a thunderous order to the wolf-men. What the command was Silas,
of course, could not tell, but he noted that the savages instantly
thronged towards the exits, and his alert brain quickly perceived the
danger.

“Hustle!” he roared to his friends above; “the brutes are going
round to outflank us. I’ll be with you presently.”

“Right!” Seymour called in return; then he and Mervyn vanished
into the tunnel.

Three minutes later Haverly reached the ledge. He was drawing
himself up on to it when something dark shot downward, striking him
full in the face. With a groan he toppled back, swayed for an instant,
lost his balance, and pitched heavily into the den.

As he lay, almost stunned by the shock of his fall, a fiendish
chuckle floated down to him from the ledge above. Looking up he saw
the hideous face of Gehari peering down upon him, every feature aglow
with malevolent triumph.

With a jerk the American drew his revolver and fired at the
grinning mask; but the wolf-man promptly ducked, and the shot passed
harmlessly over his head.

The shot had one effect, however; it aroused the great spider. As
Haverly struggled to his feet the brute leapt towards him, its
remaining eye gleaming wickedly.

Though still somewhat dazed as the result of his fall, Silas had
yet the presence of mind to jump aside; but he was just a second too
late. A great, hairy leg struck his shoulder; he was sent reeling to
the floor, and his weapon, flying from his grasp, skimmed between the
bars of the den far out into the temple.

Save for his sheath-knife the Yankee was entirely
defenceless!

With this weapon, however, poor though it was, he prepared to
meet his terrible foe. He could see that his only chance was to take
the creature in the rear, to stab it from behind.

Once let him get within the grip of those terrible claws and no
power on earth could save him.

A gurgle from Rahee put him upon his guard, and again he evaded
the clutch of the giant spider by a bare hand’s-breadth; but he had no
opportunity to take the offensive. The brute was far too agile in his
movements to give Silas the chance he needed, and a savage chuckle
burst from the wolfish brute, who watched the scene from above, as he
saw Rahee preparing for another leap.

But the chuckle died in his throat, and a hoarse scream of terror
rang out over the temple as he felt himself seized from behind.

Struggling and clawing, he was swung from his feet, lifted high
above the ledge, then hurled with the full force of Seymour’s arms
into the den below.

He struck the floor with a crash, two feet in front of the
crouching spider, and in an instant the brute was upon him.

With the screams of the dying savage ringing in his ears, Haverly
mounted the wall again, and this time the baronet assisted him up the
last few feet of the ascent until he stood on the floor of the
passage.

Here, turning for an instant, Silas looked back into the den.

Gehari had paid a terrible penalty for his treachery!

“Come,” cried Seymour, and the Yankee, sickened by the sight of
the ghastly tragedy, followed him.

“What brought you back here, anyway?” he inquired as they hurried
on.

“I missed the savage,” Seymour explained, “and guessed he was up
to some mischief or other. He’s paid a fearful price for his little
trick.”

“I reckon it was a near thing for me,” Silas admitted. “I was
just crawlin’ on to the ledge when the brute lashed out with his fist
and tumbled me back into the den again. You fixed him proper.”

Ere long the two reached the end of the tunnel, where Mervyn
awaited them.

“We’ll have to hustle considerable,” remarked Haverly, “if we’re
to get through. I guess the wolf-men won’t lose any time in strikin’
our trail.”

He started off down the gully as he spoke, and the others
followed, pressing on as fast as the difficult nature of the ground
would allow.

“Which way?” asked Mervyn as they reached the mouth of the
gorge.

“To the left, and run like blazes,” cried Haverly, “or we’ll be
seeing the inside of the temple again ’fore long.”

Scarcely had he spoken ere from behind came the long-drawn howl
they knew so well.

The wolf-men were in pursuit!




                         CHAPTER XVI.

              HOW HAVERLY CHECKED THE STAMPEDE.


FOR half an hour the fugitives raced on, every muscle straining in a
mad effort to outdistance their pitiless pursuers. Their feet seemed
shod with lead as they turned and twisted among the boulders; their
breath came and went in great, panting gasps that shook their bodies,
yet for all their frenzied endeavours, their relentless enemies drew
nearer. Foot by foot, yard by yard, the wolfish creatures gained upon
them.

Then, in the grim wall of cliffs upon their left, appeared the
dark mouth of a canyon.

“Quick!” gasped the Yankee; “in here with you!”

Like a flash the fugitives turned, and--with what was almost
their last effort--plunged into the great cleft that split the
range of hills in twain. Six yards from the entrance they swung round
and stood at bay, Seymour and the millionaire fingering the triggers
of their rifles.

Some time passed, but there came no sign of their pursuers; even
their howls had ceased, and the three grew puzzled to account for the
strange silence. It was not natural! They knew the character of the
wolf-men too well by this time to think for a moment that they had
given up the pursuit--had abandoned the chase! What could be the
meaning of their sudden silence?

“They’ve got some devil’s card up their sleeve,” Silas muttered.
“I guess they ain’t gone dumb all of a sudden for nothing. Say,
there’d be no harm in prospecting a bit further along this gully? If
there’s no back entrance, we’ll be in a darned awkward position.”

“You’re right,” assented the baronet. “Mervyn, if you’re in want
of a feed, you can peck a bit as we go along.”

Cautiously they crept along the canyon, pausing occasionally to
listen for any sound of their foes. But the underworld might have been
deserted for all they could hear. Never had the silence been more
profound.

The cliffs on either side rose steep and inaccessible as the wall
of a house. Not a crevice or foothold of any description presented
itself in the face of the towering walls. As straight were they as
though the hills had been split asunder by the stroke of some giant
sword. Here and there, at the base of the cliffs, grew a solitary
fungus or a cluster of puff-balls, the weird, bloated forms of these
latter betraying nothing of their terrible explosive power.

For an hour, perhaps, the three men moved forward, plunging
deeper and deeper into the heart of the hills, and still there came no
sound from the wolf-men. They had almost begun to
believe--incredible though it seemed--that they had shaken
off their pursuers. What else could be the meaning of their
inaction?

Had they known of the _coup_ which, even then, the crafty
Nordhu was preparing against them, they would have lost little time in
making their way out of the gorge. As it was, they took their ease,
resting at intervals during their journey. Their future movements they
had not decided upon, their time being fully taken up with the
exchange of their experiences.

The loss of the _Seal_ seemed to the professor an
overwhelming blow.

“We are lost indeed without the vessel,” he remarked
gloomily.

“I guess if there’s a road out of these infernal regions, we
shouldn’t ha’ struck it with the _Seal,”_ was Haverly’s sharp
answer; “but that ain’t the trouble at present. You say you’ve seen
nothin’ of Garth?”

“Not a sign,” was the reply.

“Wal, that’s a licker! Say, Seymour, what do you make of it?”

“He’s either been murdered by the savages or else he has
escaped,” answered the baronet.

“Put your money on the last of them two; I calculate they’d
hardly be likely to knock him on the head, seeing as how all prisoners
are reserved for spider-meat. Anyway, we’ll assume he’s got clear,
though what he’ll do now the _Seal’s_ gone, Heaven alone
knows!”

“What of Wilson?” asked Mervyn suddenly.

“When we know his fate,” returned Seymour, “the mystery of the
_Seal’s_ disappearance will be a mystery no longer.”

Hereafter silence fell upon the trio. Each man’s thoughts were
busy with the things of the future. Would they ever find a way out of
this underworld, or were they doomed to wander in its ghostly wilds
until death released them? At the moment their prospect was not an
alluring one!

Without any settled plan for the future, save to put as great a
distance as possible between themselves and the wolf-men, they seemed
helpless. Haverly’s active mind revolved all the expedients which
presented themselves, yet, even to him, the case seemed almost
hopeless.

“Say, professor,” he cried, breaking the long silence, “ain’t you
got----”

His sentence was never finished, for at that instant, from far
behind, came a series of hideous yelps. Softened by distance though
they were, the sounds were frightful enough to the ears of the
fugitives.

“They’ve struck our trail again,” remarked Seymour, stopping for
a moment. Then a puzzled expression passed over his features, as a
low, rumbling roar, not unlike far-away thunder, rolled up out of the
distance, accompanied by a further series of wolfish cries.

“I opine we’re going to strike trouble very shortly,” averred
Silas, “though I allow I don’t hardly tumble to the meanin’ of this
yer rumbling.”

Quickly the rumbling grew into the pounding of giant hoofs, and
the ground shook beneath the fugitives’ feet.

“A stampede!” the baronet cried. “The devils have stampeded a
herd of animals! Run for your lives!”

But his friends needed no urging. They ran as men with the fear
of death upon them, gazing eagerly to right and left in hope of
finding some cave or cleft in the cliffs in which they might hide.

But never a crack or a crevice appeared in the iron walls, and
ever the pitiless thunder of the great hoofs drew nearer. It seemed as
though nought could save the ill-fated trio from the vengeance which
the devilish priest had designed for them. Then, almost at the last
moment, an inspiration flashed into Haverly’s mind.

He pulled up short, and, drawing his sheath-knife, sprang to
where grew half a dozen or more huge puff-balls. Three of these he
detached, handling them with great care. Carrying them out into the
very centre of the gorge, he piled them in a heap.

His friends had stopped their flight as they noted his strange
actions, and now stood watching him, Seymour admiringly, Mervyn with
blank astonishment depicted on every feature.

“You’re a genius, Silas!” exclaimed the baronet, as, under the
American’s orders, they placed a safe distance between themselves and
the puff-balls. “I should never have thought of that.”

“But surely,” Mervyn began, “you don’t mean to say that those
things are explosive? Why----”

“It was one of them same that bust the elk-hunters we told you
about, anyway,” retorted the Yankee, his voice almost lost in the
thunder of hoofs.

The next instant a dozen huge forms loomed through the twilight,
racing three abreast down the gorge. The foremost of them were almost
upon the fungi pile, when Silas and the baronet fired, their shots
crashing simultaneously into the puff-balls. A dazzling sheet of flame
leapt high above the pile, illuminating for a moment the great shaggy
bodies and huge curved tusks of the stampeding animals.

“_Mammoths!”_ gasped the scientist.

His exclamation was drowned in the shrill trumpeting of the
terrified pachyderms, which was drowned in turn by the thunderous roar
of the explosion as the puff-balls did their work.

The fugitives, flung violently to the earth by the shock, were
scarcely conscious of what followed. The ground rocked furiously
beneath them, creating a violent nausea, which left them sick for
hours; immense masses of rock, torn from the face of the cliffs by the
frightful force of the explosion, crashed heavily into the gorge, and
above all the terrible uproar rang the shrill screaming of the dying
animals.

But the din ceased at length, and then the three comrades
staggered to their feet. Badly shaken they were, but otherwise they
had received no hurt, and they gave thanks as only men can who have
escaped from the very jaws of death.

The vengeance of the high priest of the wolf-men had failed!

“I guess we scored that time,” Silas said; “but I’m sorry for the
tuskers. It was real cute of the niggers to stampede the brutes.”

“Thanks to you and the puff-balls,” put in Seymour, “the trick
didn’t work.”

Mervyn had not yet recovered from his stupefaction at the
marvellous explosive agent which was hidden away in the quaint fungi;
but when he did at last find voice he could scarcely find words to
express his wonder.

“It passes all belief,” he cried, “that such curious growths
should have so deadly a power! They are natural bombs!”

The scene of the explosion entirely bore out this statement. The
gorge was completely blocked by an enormous mass of _debris,_
still quivering flesh and rock splinters being mingled in sickening
confusion. Of all the herd of monster quadrupeds not one had escaped
annihilation.

Turning, the three friends strode forward on their way, Mervyn
dilating as they went on the subject of the explosive fungi.

“I guess them niggers’ll be considerable riled,” Haverly asserted
with a chuckle, breaking in on the scientist’s discourse. “It ’ud be
almighty elevating to see the old priest’s face when he knows we’ve
pulled through an’ that his trick’s gone bust.”

“The fellow possesses terrible power,” Mervyn returned. “He
almost succeeded in hypnotising me, though I struggled against him
with all the force of my will. I tremble now to think of what might
have happened had he effected his purpose.”

“Great Scott!” Seymour ejaculated. “Though I only saw him from a
distance, it struck me that he had remarkably weird eyes, but I never
imagined that the fellow was a hypnotist. We must fight shy of him for
the future.”

“I guess it’s goin’ to take us all our time,” drawled the Yankee.
“You can gamble on it the old man’ll lose no time in gettin’ on our
trail again.”

“You think he’ll pursue, then?” queried the baronet.

“Think!” Haverly repeated. “I guess we can put it stronger than
that. It’s a dead cert. the galoot’ll be on our trail again within a
couple of hours, an’ then there’ll be a circus.”

“The heap of _debris_ may check pursuit for a time,”
suggested Mervyn.

“It may,” was the dubious reply, “but I doubt it. I calculate if
you could pile the hull range of the Rockies way back there it
wouldn’t stop them wolf-men for more than a second or two. Their
shanks seemed to be built of watch-springs. Anyway, with that old
priest urgin’ ’em on, it’ll be little short of an earthquake as’ll
check ’em. What the blazes is that?”

A scream rang out through the silence, menacing and terrible.

“Vampires!” cried Seymour, and examined the breech of his rifle.
As he snapped to the lever an immense vampire dropped swiftly downward
through the twilight. On the instant the baronet fired, and the brute,
lurching, recovered itself with difficulty, and flapped out of
sight.

“Whatever was it?” gasped the scientist, amazed at the vast size
of the creature, of whose shape he had caught but a fleeting
glimpse.

“A vampire,” Seymour replied; “the same kind of brute that
attacked Silas and me as we were returning to the boat.”

“I had forgotten for the moment,” returned Mervyn. “What terrible
brutes they are! Who would have dreamed that such creatures existed?
Truly this----”

“Jupiter! If this don’t lick all! I guess we must ha’ struck a
blamed cemetery!”

There was good cause for the Yankee’s interruption, for, rounding
a curve of the gorge, the adventurers had come suddenly upon a valley.
On either hand towered monster fungi, their unearthly radiance making
the valley as light as day; and between the growths the ground was
thickly covered with bones.

Everywhere the bleached and ghastly relics lay, a veritable
harvest of death.

The bones were, for the most part, those of animals, but here and
there among them a human skull grinned up mockingly at the
intruders.

“What can it mean?” the Professor asked in a hoarse whisper,
stepping cautiously amid the gleaming piles.

“I assume this is the feedin’ ground of the vampires,” the Yankee
answered. As he spoke there was a rustle amid a fungi-clump some yards
away, and a huge, black form emerged, to flap heavily away into the
shadow of the surrounding cliffs. Parting the fungi, Haverly peered
down at the spot whence the creature had arisen.

Lying with outstretched limbs, its ghastly outline revealed with
hideous distinctness by the glistening growth around, was the carcase
of a wolf-man.

But something else caught the Yankee’s eye. In the hand of the
savage, tightly clenched in the stiffened fingers, was a white
handkerchief!

A whistle of astonishment escaped Silas. What brought the
wolf-man with that in his possession? Kneeling, Haverly forced open
the hand of the dead savage, and, removing the handkerchief, held it
out for the inspection of his friends.

“It’s Wilson’s,” cried Seymour. “See, here are his initials,”
pointing to the letters, “T. W.” embroidered in one corner. “How the
dickens did it get here?” he continued.

“Perhaps the savage had something to do with Wilson’s
disappearance?” suggested the scientist; but Haverly shook his head.
He was busy trying to figure out the puzzle, which as yet defied
him.

“I allow it beats me,” he admitted at length. “What brings the
engineer so far from the coast?”

“He may not have been here at all,” Seymour replied.

“I guess this handkerchief ain’t walked here!”

“What about the savage?” persisted the baronet.

“You can gamble on it as he picked it up. Say, has it struck you
as bein’ kinder peculiar that we should find the nose-rag in this yer
valley?”

“You mean?” interrogatively.

“Have the vampires had anything to do with it?”

“Heaven forbid!” cried Seymour; “the thought’s too horrible!”

“We shall see,” the Yankee answered as they moved on again.




                         CHAPTER XVII.

                      A DUEL TO THE DEATH.


TO return to Garth and the engineer.

For a few seconds they could do naught but gaze helplessly at the
approaching monster; then all the fighting spirit of the inventor
rose, and he prepared to resist to the death, if need be.

Darting out on deck, he cast off the mooring-rope, bellowing the
while to Wilson to start the engines. Within three minutes of the
appearance of the great fish-lizard, the _Seal,_ passing close to
the towering side of the brute, flashed seaward at her topmost
speed.

And now began a chase in the like of which Garth had never taken
part before. With all his skill at the wheel he could but barely keep
the _Seal_ away from her monstrous enemy. The reptile seemed bent
on the destruction of the craft this time. He spared no effort to
overtake her. Perhaps his previous failure had rendered him the more
furious?

With every plate on his body gleaming with a brilliant,
phosphorescent light, he swept on. His breath hissed through his
gaping nostrils like steam from the escape valve of an engine, and his
mighty paddles were buried beneath a smother of foam.

Swiftly he overhauled the flying vessel, until he was almost
alongside; then, swift and sure, he snapped at the _Seal’s_ rail.
Quickly as Garth turned the faithful craft, he was a moment too late.
The great fangs closed upon the polished steel bar, and, with a jerk
that almost overturned the boat, a six-foot length of rail was torn
bodily from its boltings.

The narrowness of the escape brought the sweat pouring from the
inventor’s body. Apparently the shock had not injured the saurian, for
he swept on again in pursuit, giving utterance to a booming roar as he
advanced.

A dangerous gleam came into Garth’s eyes as he noted the grim
persistency of the monstrous reptile. Staving off a second attack of
the brute by a quick turn of the wheel, the inventor took down the
tube.

“Stand by to reverse her when she strikes,” he cried. “I’m going
to ram the brute.”

“Be careful!” warned Wilson in return, and then Garth dropped the
tube.

Bringing the _Seal_ round in a perilously close circle, he
steered her straight and true for her monstrous enemy’s side. This
offensive movement seemed to puzzle the saurian, and he attempted to
avoid the swooping vessel.

But she was too quick for him. With a shock that almost jerked
Garth from his feet, the vessel’s sharp prow struck the reptile’s
heaving side, about midway between the two starboard paddles. A
crimson torrent spurted from the wound, deluging the _Seal’s_
bright plates, and turning her spotless deck into a veritable
shambles.

On the instant Wilson flung over his levers, and, under reversed
engines, the submarine leapt back from her stricken foe. Yet, quick as
she moved, the great tail of the ichthyosaurus moved quicker. With a
stroke like that of a steam hammer, it struck the _Seal’s_ hull
just below water, starting a couple of plates, through the interstices
of which the water commenced to pour in an ever-increasing stream.

Though sorely stricken the great fish-lizard was not yet
defeated. Swinging round, he churned after the retreating vessel, his
roar changed to a shrill screaming.

Again the inventor signalled for full speed ahead, and, for the
second time, the vessel plunged down upon her relentless pursuer. With
marvellous swiftness the huge brute swerved from his course, but
Garth, with a turn of the wheel, followed his movement. The inventor
was determined that he would finish this reptile once and for all.

The bleeding side of the creature offered an excellent mark, and
straight for this Garth drove the vessel. Like a rocket she shot
forward, and the saurian’s ribs snapped like matchwood as once more
she struck the towering carcase.

There came a terrible death-cry from the huge reptile; then, as
the _Seal_ drew slowly away, the brute leapt clear out of the
water, and fell with a thunderous crash across the submarine’s deck. A
savage exclamation burst from Garth as the _Seal_ commenced to
sink beneath the enormous weight of the monster’s body. The brute’s
paddles were thrashing madly in its death flurry, and the booming
strokes of the giant tail seemed to make the whole underworld
ring.

Alarmed by the uproar, the engineer came rushing up into the
turret.

“What’s happened?” he cried; then his eye took in the peril of
the situation. The water was fast closing over the _Seal,_ and,
despite all his efforts, Garth could not shake her clear of the dying
saurian. Once let her touch bottom with that great weight across her
deck, and no power on earth could raise her again.

“Sink her!” Garth cried at length, turning to his friend, “it’s
our only chance. If we can’t get her clear of this brute we’re
done.”

Quick as thought Wilson darted below again, and a moment later
the throb of the pumps broke upon the ears of the inventor.

Would it be possible for the vessel to sink from under her
monstrous burden?

Anxiously Garth looked out into the swirling waters, but the
saurian appeared to sink quite as fast as the _Seal._ The strokes
of the brute’s paddles, though now feebler, were yet enough to
occasion the inventor no small uneasiness.

Neither forward nor backward could the vessel move, although
urged on by the full power of her engines. The enormous weight across
her deck held her almost motionless.

So the minutes dragged by, each one fraught with the suspense of
a lifetime, and there came no change for the better in the situation
of the _Seal_ and her occupants, save that the last spark of life
had flickered from the monster, and he lay still in death. Yet even
this was something to be thankful for. While he lived there had ever
been a danger that, by some random stroke of his paddles, he might
have smashed in one or other of the vessel’s deck-plates. Now that
danger was past.

But still the vessel sank in the crimsoned waters. Soon, unless
this sea was of unusual depth, she must touch bottom; and then--a
slow, lingering death for the two men aboard her--death by
suffocation, deep down in the gloomy depths of this subterranean
sea.

The lonely vigil grew too much for Garth at last, and, placing
the tube to his lips, he summoned the engineer.

“It’s no use,” he remarked hopelessly, as the latter entered the
wheelhouse; “we might as well let things take their course. The
brute’s jammed too firmly across the deck for us to move him.”

“It’s what Silas would call ‘checkmate,’ then?” questioned
Wilson.

“That’s it; but it seems jolly hard, just as we’d bested the
brute, too. How’s that crack going on where his tail caught us?”

“I’ve fixed the door of the room--it’s Mervyn’s study, you
know, where the smash is--so that the water cannot spread to
other places. I say, it was a good thing we decided to have
water-tight doors to all the compartments!”

But Garth did not answer. He was gazing fixedly outside. The
water, stained until now to a crimson hue by the life-blood of the
saurian, was clearing rapidly.

“Look!” the inventor cried suddenly. Wilson followed the
direction of his gaze. Close alongside a jagged, black rock was
thrusting itself upward as the vessel sank.

“If the brute’s body will only catch on that we may escape after
all,” Garth cried excitedly. “Get below again, Tom, old man, and start
your engines like blazes when you hear me ring.”

The next few moments were full of painful anxiety to the engineer
as he waited, gripping his levers, for the signal which should tell
him that the vessel was free. It came at length, and a wild huzza
almost escaped him as he felt the _Seal_ begin to move. Ere long
she was sweeping through the water at her usual pace, and then Wilson
felt free to raise her. When she reached the surface the lad rejoined
his comrade in the turret.

“Thank heaven we came through all right!” Garth breathed
fervently. “That squeak was narrow enough to turn one’s hair grey. But
for that rock we’d have been done, sure as fate. The brute’s head
caught against it, and the old boat simply dropped from under. How’s
your arm?”

“Aches badly,” was the reply. “I knocked it as I went down the
last time.”

“That’s bad. I’ll dress it soon as ever we get back.”

Straight for the beach Garth steered the _Seal,_ running her
aground in preparation for repairing the damages sustained in the
struggle with the saurian. Then, when Wilson’s wound was redressed,
Garth rolled up his sleeves and disappeared below, leaving the
engineer to keep watch.

For awhile Tom sat listening to the clang of the inventor’s tools
as he refixed the damaged plates. He knew well that the job would be a
difficult one for Garth to carry out alone, yet his wounded arm
precluded him from assisting in the work. So, though he would far
rather have been below, plying wrench or hammer, he had perforce to
remain inactive.

Time dragged heavily. Outside nothing seemed stirring. Long since
he had given up hope that his friends would return. Doubtless by now,
if still alive, they were far away in the heart of this mysterious
underworld.

Suddenly a screech floated across the water, breaking in upon his
meditation.

“What’s that?” he muttered to himself, and striding to the door,
opened it cautiously, wondering what fresh attack the strange cry
heralded. Again it came, and at that he stepped out on deck, his
revolver ready for action.

Then through the gloom flashed some monstrous flying creature,
and Wilson fired almost point-blank at the swooping body. But a blow
from the creature’s wing knocked his weapon from his hand, and felled
him like a log to the deck. As he struggled to rise, the brute’s great
teeth fixed themselves in his shoulder; he was borne swiftly aloft,
his terrified cries for help falling vainly on the ears of Garth, who,
alarmed by the shot, came rushing up from below just in time to catch
a glimpse of the disappearing form of his friend.

For a time the unhappy engineer became unconscious, recovering
from one swoon only to fall into another. He remembered nothing of his
terrible journey; his mind was a complete blank until the shock of a
fall roused him, and he opened his eyes.

He was lying upon a carpet of spongy moss. Around, entirely
enclosing the spot where he lay, towered a forest of fungi. Of his
captor he could at first see nothing, and, thinking to make his escape
if the brute had vanished, he sat up and peered cautiously around.
Then, as his glance strayed upward, a shudder passed through his
frame.

Twenty feet above, his soaring wings almost grazing the topmost
branching arms of the fungi, hovered the great vampire. As the brute
noted the engineer’s movement, its savage eyes glared threateningly,
and Wilson subsided, trembling.

Still as death he lay waiting, wondering why the fearsome brute
did not at once attack him, instead of hovering there in mid-air. His
curiosity was quickly satisfied.

Like a flash a second vampire swooped into view and hurled itself
upon Wilson’s ghoulish guardian. In an instant the twain were fighting
tooth and nail, their mighty wings raising a deafening clamour.

Not a move dared the lad make, fearing that the great bats might
unite forces against him did they see him stirring. Round and round
the brutes circled, rocking, reeling in their frenzied efforts to
destroy each other. Now they sank until they were whirling but a few
feet above Wilson’s head; anon, they would soar into the gloom far
beyond his sight.

For an hour the duel raged, the creatures’ efforts growing
feebler as the time went on, while the crimson rain which sprinkled
down over the engineer bore grim testimony to the sanguinary nature of
the struggle.

Suddenly, with a shrill scream, one of the vampires pitched
heavily earthward. Its adversary swayed unsteadily for a moment, then
fluttered to the ground beside it.

In a second Tom was upon his feet. Knife in hand, he moved
towards his foes. One was already dead, and the other, too exhausted
to move and bleeding from a score of wounds, fell an easy prey to the
engineer’s weapon.

Feeling deeply thankful for his escape from a terrible death, the
lad stood looking down on the carcases for a few moments; then,
striding forward over the moss, he plunged through the encircling
fungi. As he emerged from the glistening growths a startled cry
escaped him.

The ground before him was thickly covered with bones!

At the sight of the ghastly relics his already overstrained
nerves almost gave way, but, exerting all his self-control, he pulled
himself together and strode down the valley, hoping ere long to regain
the coast.




                         CHAPTER XVIII.

                        THE SINKING POOL.


FOR some time Wilson plodded on, his one idea being to escape from the
ghostly valley. The weirdness of the place, enclosed as it was on every
side by towering cliffs, its unnatural stillness, and, above all, the
grim remains with which the ground was littered, sent an uncanny thrill
through the engineer; and, despite his resolution, he found himself
continually glancing backward, to make certain that no spectral form
was dogging his steps.

All unconsciously he was moving in exactly the opposite direction
to that he wished to take, straying farther at each step into the
interior of the underworld. The valley seemed to be endless, and the
lonely traveller grew tired after awhile of the eternal monotony of
the scene around. More, he grew afraid; afraid that he would never
find his way out of these ghostly wilds, where reigned an everlasting
silence--afraid that he would never again see the _Seal_ or
the comrade from whom he had been snatched so suddenly.

The fear grew. Try as he might he could not shake it off. It
seemed to be gripping his heart with icy fingers, paralysing his every
energy, and turning him into a craven coward. He started at his own
footsteps. The shadow of a boulder, cast in a grotesque, distorted
form by the fungi light upon the ground at his feet, brought him up
with a jump, and only with great difficulty did he restrain a cry.

The valley seemed to grow full of strange sounds. Ghostly voices
whispered in his ears, hideous faces peered out from the shelter of
the fungi.

He was in the grip of a terror such as he had never known
before!

Then, upon the heels of this wholly imaginary fear, came a real
one. Footsteps--stealthy, all but noiseless
footsteps--sounded behind him, He glanced backward. A score of
yards behind him a black shadow was moving, a shapeless smudge against
the green of the moss.

For one terrible instant his heart seemed to stop beating. What
was the _Thing?_

Nearer it crept, sliding from shadow to shadow with a sinister
movement horrible to witness. And still the lad stood motionless, his
very soul withered by the fear that gripped him.

Nearer still--but a few feet separated the thing from the
engineer; then the latter recovered the use of his limbs, and, with a
wild yell of terror, dashed madly down the valley. As he did so, the
creature behind rose from its crouching position, disclosing to view
the hideous form of a wolf-man.

A moment the savage stood gazing after the rapidly-vanishing
Wilson, then, picking up something the latter had dropped, he turned
without troubling to give chase, and, plunging in among the fungi,
disappeared.

Like a hunted stag Wilson bounded over the ground, all other
thoughts lost in the one mad desire to get away from the creature
behind. He never turned to look if the brute was following. He rushed
on blindly, madly, the fear that gripped him lending him fictitious
strength. He knew nothing, saw nothing, until, utterly exhausted, his
trembling limbs refused to carry him farther, and he dropped full
length upon the ground.

A long while he lay where he had fallen, too wearied to move,
thoroughly disgusted with himself for so allowing fear to overcome
him. When at last he arose he was astonished at his surroundings.
Although he had no recollection of so doing, he must, in his flight,
have emerged from the valley of bones, for he was in a gloomy defile,
between towering cliffs.

From which direction he had come he could not tell, but, trusting
to luck, he strode forward into the darkness of the defile.

His terror had gone, but it had left him weak and trembling as
with an ague. Not a single fungus grew in the gloomy gorge; not even
the twilight peculiar to this strange subterranean world relieved its
dark obscurity. Yet, despite this absence of light, Wilson felt safer
than amid the fungi. If the darkness concealed dangers, it also hid
him from the sight of Lurking enemies.

For a little over a mile he strode on between the cliffs, then a
bright light ahead warned him that he was approaching the end of the
defile.

Redoubling his caution as he advanced, he soon emerged from the
gorge into another valley, much smaller than the one he had left, but
lit by the same weird growths. At first he hesitated to advance into
the light, the memory of his recent fright being still very vivid;
but, putting a bold face on the matter, he moved forward at length
from the shadow of the cliffs.

As he stepped into the light of the luminous growths, clear and
distinct to his ears came the clang of a bell.

He pulled up short in sheer astonishment, and stood listening for
a repetition of the sound.

Clang! Once more it rang across the valley. Drawing his
sheath-knife, Wilson moved forward, determined to investigate the
mystery. What could be the meaning of the sound, he pondered? Had he
reached the haunts of the wolf-men, and was the ringing of the bell
some signal? Whatever it was he was resolved to get to the bottom of
it.

Clang! For the third time the musical note echoed amid the
cliffs. The sound seemed to rise from a dense thicket of fungi, which
covered the further end of the valley, and towards this the engineer
hurried. Amid the towering growths he threaded his way, moving
cautiously, having no wish to fall foul of any savages; then, with a
low exclamation, he checked himself upon the edge of a clearing.

Before him, tottering in the last stage of decay, rose a ruined
building. Gaunt and ghostly, its roofless walls stood, the relics of
some past civilisation. Fascinated, Wilson moved nearer. What was the
history of this crumbling pile, the one sign of civilised life that he
had seen in this underworld? For what purpose had it been erected, and
by whom?

The pillars, which once had graced its front, lay half buried in
the spongy ground. Climbing fungi ran riot in the gaping cracks in its
walls, and its stone pavement was covered with a carpet of moss. Its
air of desolate grandeur strongly impressed Wilson, and for a while he
forgot what had brought him thither.

His engineer’s eye took in the monstrous size of the blocks which
had formed the walls, and he marvelled how they could have been raised
to their places. Surely they who erected such a building must have
been men of gigantic stature and strength, unless indeed they were
equipped with the appliances of modern engineering?

Dare he enter? The place seemed as deserted as the grave. If
there were savages about, they would, without a doubt, have shown
themselves ere now. He longed to examine the ruins more closely. There
appeared to be no danger, and, if it came to that, he was not safe
where he stood. Thus reasoning, curiosity got the better of his
prudence, and he strode across the clearing.

Just outside the great arch that had once been the doorway he
paused, and stood for a moment with ears strained for any sound from
within; but the place was wrapped in silence as in a shroud, and,
reassured, he crossed the threshold.

There was danger in his enterprise other than that from savages.
At any moment a block of stone might come crashing from the walls,
and, were he beneath such, his career would be ended on the spot.
Knowing this, he made his examination as brief as possible, keeping
well back from the walls.

The building appeared to have been used as a temple at one time,
for in the centre stood a stone altar. Time, the destroyer, had not
quite obliterated the rude hieroglyphics with which the side of the
sacrificial slab had been covered, but Wilson could not gain from them
the information he so much desired. To him they were mere meaningless
scratches. Mervyn, perhaps, could have read in them the life-history
of the builders of the place; but the engineer’s education did not
include the sign languages of defunct races.

Suddenly, clear as ever through the silence, came the
bell-note.

The sound recalled to Wilson the object of his search, the
mysterious bell-ringer. Not a little curious as to the identity of the
being, whoever it was, he thoroughly examined the interior of the
temple--but in vain. The place was entirely deserted. Not a hole
was there large enough to conceal a dog, yet the engineer was certain
the sound came from the building.

Was there a vault beneath the temple? It seemed probable, but how
came it that the sound was so distinct if the ringer were underground?
The thing puzzled him.

Determined to solve the mystery, he examined the moss-grown flags
of the floor, but with no better result. Outside the building, when he
essayed to search there, failure still attended his efforts. The time
flew by, and, though at intervals the musical peal still fell upon his
ears, he was no nearer the discovery of the mysterious being; bell and
ringer seemed invisible.

Probably he would never have hit upon the true solution of the
mystery but for an accident. As he moved amidst the fallen blocks
which strewed the ground at the base of the walls, he stumbled and
fell, whereupon, from the shelter of a stone close by, scuttled an
enormous beetle. The creature was almost a foot in length, and its
branched antennae, held over its back as it ran, beat furiously upon
its metallic body-covering, thus producing the clanging sound which
had puzzled Wilson for so long.

“Well, I’m hanged!” was the engineer’s graceful exclamation as he
rose; “to think that it’s only a beetle, after all! But now ‘to get a
move on,’ as Silas would say,” and with that he turned his back upon
the mysterious temple and resumed his way.

Around the valley he tramped, but no opening could he find in the
encircling wall of cliffs, and soon he found himself back at the
defile by which he had entered. Loth though he was to return to the
valley of bones, there was nothing else to be done.

So through the gorge he hurried, and stood once more, ere long,
in the feeding ground of the vampires. He paused a while to consider
his course, deciding at length to move along the base of the cliffs
until he came to some gorge or pass which would lead him out of this
weird valley. To this end he started off at a swinging stride, keeping
a sharp look-out for vampires as he went. Before he had covered many
yards a distant report broke upon his ears, followed by an explosion,
which awoke every echo in the valley.

At the sound, hope leapt into his heart. That first was surely
the report of a rifle, which meant that his friends--whom he had
deemed lost--were within a few miles of him. Instantly he started
off at a run in the direction whence the sound had come. No further
reports reached him, yet he did not doubt that he should be able to
find his comrades. Occasionally he shouted as he ran on, hoping to
attract their attention should they be anywhere within hearing.

He took little heed to his steps as he went, tripping and
stumbling among the scattered bones, but ever pressing forward. Had he
been more cautious the accident that befel him might have been
avoided.

He was moving through a thick clump of fungi, when once more the
report of a rifle echoed across the valley. At that he quickened his
pace, raising his voice in a lusty shout as he did so. But there came
no answering hail. His friends were as yet too far distant to hear his
call. Then straining every muscle in his headlong race, he suddenly
burst out of the fungi. Before him, almost at his feet, its placid
surface unbroken by a single ripple, lay an eerie-looking pool. Its
banks rose steeply from the water’s edge, making it impossible to note
its presence until close upon it. Wilson, striving in vain to check
himself, blundered over the brink and pitched with a splash into the
water, eight feet below.

He was a good swimmer, and, though unfortunate, the situation did
not cause him the least uneasiness. His wounded arm was now healing
rapidly, thanks to Garth’s attentions, so he anticipated little
difficulty in escaping from the pool. With a couple of strokes he
reached the bank, but failed to touch bottom. Evidently the pool was
of considerable depth.

Digging his fingers into the side, he commenced to claw his way
up. He was almost clear of the water when the rotten earth crumbled
beneath his clutch, and he fell backward, sousing clear under.

“Hang it!” he gasped as he rose spluttering. “I must try another
place.”

Treading water for a moment he looked round for a place where the
bank would be easy to scale. A spot quickly caught his eye, and
towards this he was about to strike out, when a strange phenomenon
startled him. _The bank appeared to be rising slowly out of the
water!_

He could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes. The sides
of the pond had not been more than eight feet in height when first he
struck the water; of that he was perfectly sure; yet now, at the very
lowest point, they were twelve feet, and seemed to be getting higher
each moment.

Was he the victim of some delusion? He rubbed his eyes, he
pinched his arm to assure himself that he was not dreaming.

Then, with startling suddenness the truth came to him.

_The water of the pool was slowly sinking!_




                         CHAPTER XIX.

                        THE FIRE GULF.


THE shock of this discovery aroused him to action. Swimming to the spot
he had picked out, he commenced once more to scale the bank. Eight feet
he climbed; his goal was almost within reach, when, without warning,
the whole face of the bank to which he was clinging gave way, and he
plunged down again into the water, the earth rattling over him as he fell.

He was somewhat alarmed when he rose again. The water was still
steadily sinking, and he was no nearer escape than at his first
attempt. Indeed, he was further from his object, for the lower the
water sank the higher he would have to climb. Escape from the pool did
not appear so easy as it had done some time before.

Once more he made an attempt to scale the side, but with no
better luck than before. After this he contented himself with treading
water for a time, reserving his energies for a final effort.

How much lower was the water going to sink? he wondered. It was
twenty feet below the level of the valley now, and its motion had not
yet ceased.

He thought nothing of the strangeness of the phenomenon. His mind
was centred upon escaping from his alarming predicament.

Suddenly the water began to swirl and eddy. He was expecting each
instant to be sucked down into some dark hole, when, with a dull roar,
that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth, the water
foamed upward.

Five minutes later it was as Wilson had found it, a silent,
somewhat ghostly-looking pool, scarce a ripple remaining to tell of
its recent movement.

Now or never! thought the engineer.

Exerting all his remaining strength, he made a desperate effort
to ascend the slippery bank. Again and again he tried, but ever with
the same result. Failure, heartbreaking failure! And upon it all,
while he rested from his last attempt, the water began to sink
again.

At that his courage failed. He had almost decided to let himself
sink beneath the surface, and so end the apparently hopeless struggle,
when the sound of voices fell upon his ears--the voices of his
friends.

The blood rushed madly through his veins at the sound, and a cry
for help rang from his lips. An instant later--it seemed an hour
to the unfortunate lad--the form of the baronet appeared on the
brink of the pool.

“Great Scott!” he cried as he saw Wilson’s white, despairing face
looking up at him; then he plunged in to his friend’s assistance.

With Seymour’s strong arm about him the pool lost its terrors for
Wilson. Together the two sank with the water, not attempting to do
aught but keep afloat until it rose again. When it once more reached
its highest level, Seymour assisted his friend to scale the bank,
while Haverly, leaning far over from above, quickly dragged him into
safety.

But the baronet’s escape had yet to be accomplished, and seemed
likely to prove a lengthier job than Wilson’s. He made no attempt to
climb unassisted, recognising the futility of such a course after the
engineer’s experience. Instead, he set his wits to work to evolve a
method of escape.

Rope they had none, and at first thought it appeared as though
there was nought at hand they could use in place of one. Presently
Haverly’s inventive genius found an expedient.

“Your belts!” he cried. “I guess we can manage it.”

He tore off his own as he spoke and buckled it to those which
Mervyn and Wilson tendered. Within a few seconds Seymour had been
hauled up out of the pool, and the four friends--so strangely
reunited--were resting upon the brink of the funnel that had so
nearly become Wilson’s tomb.

Mervyn had eyes for nothing but the curious phenomenon of the
sinking water, until the engineer recovered sufficiently from the
effects of his immersion to tell his story. Then even the motion of
the pool ceased to interest him, when Wilson told of the great
ichthyosaurus, and how Garth slew it, of the vampires, the
bell-beetle, and the ruined temple in the valley.

The professor drank in every word.

“We must see this temple,” he cried as the engineer concluded;
“it’s the chance of a lifetime. Where is this valley you speak of? Can
you find it again?”

“Yes, I can find it,” was the dubious reply; “but will it be safe
to hang about here?”

“It’s worth the risk,” Mervyn returned eagerly; “let us move on
without delay.”

Seymour and the Yankee, although they knew that the course
suggested by the scientist was not the most prudent one, had not the
heart to refuse him; so they rose, and, under the guidance of the
engineer, moved on up the valley.

“I guess we’ve got to be slick over this deal,” the millionaire
remarked, “an’ then we’ll strike for the _Seal_ right away. If
the old boat can’t carry us out of this darned underworld, we’ll be
considerable safer aboard her than knockin’ around here.”

“How about the abyss?” Seymour questioned, “you forget the bridge
is gone.”

“Not for a second,” retorted Silas. “I calculate we’ve got to
pull for the mouth of that there river and take to the water. How much
further to this yer location of yours, Wilson?”

“We’re close upon the defile now,” answered the engineer; “but
it’s a good mile through to the valley, and----”

He broke off abruptly, as the weird howl of the wolf-men trembled
out of the distance.

“I guess this picnic’s off,” snapped the American. “Mervyn, we’ll
postpone this visit to Wilson’s temple, if you don’t object. The
niggers must ha’ struck our trail again, and I take it none of us are
real anxious to be trapped in a blind gully?”

The force of Haverly’s remark was plain to each of his friends.
Even Mervyn, whose scientific zeal would have carried him onward,
dared not drag his comrades into danger. Had he been alone he would
have turned aside into the valley of the ruins at all costs, and
doubtless would have lost his life in consequence.

“We’ve got to find a road out of this,” Silas went on, “an’ real
smart, too. Them brutes’ll be on our heels in half an hour. I should
advise as we hustle some.”

With that he broke into a trot, and his comrades followed his
example. The cliffs on either side closed in steadily as they
advanced, and it soon became evident that they were approaching a
pass, or that the valley would end in a blank wall. What the latter
meant they knew only too well.

Their supply of cartridges would not last for long. Surrounded by
a shrieking mob of savages, it would not be long ere sheer numbers
would carry the day.

The air grew strangely oppressive as they raced on, and a strong
smell of sulphur came to their nostrils. What these signs portended
they did not stop to consider. “Faster!” was all the cry, and, spurred
onward by the yelping cries of their pursuers--each moment
getting nearer--they put forth every effort.

Suddenly a gasping cry broke from Seymour.

“A pass!”

Just ahead of them was the mouth of a gorge, and into this they
plunged. Impenetrable darkness surrounded them, hedged them about as
with a wall, until, of a sudden, the triangular beam from Haverly’s
lantern dispelled the gloom, and made progress practicable. Every
nerve, every muscle was strained to the uttermost, yet the savage
cries of their murderous pursuers drew nearer moment by moment. It was
a hopeless race; indeed, it could not be otherwise, pitted as they
were against such runners as the wolf-men; but if it came to the
worst, they could stand at bay until their ammunition gave out, and
afterwards--death by their own hands, rather than fall into the
power of the devilish priest.

Their throats were choked with sulphur, their tongues dry and
cracked, and the heat became intense as they advanced.

Yet they still held on, until, dashing furiously round an angle
in the wall of the gorge, they stopped dead, petrified by the terrific
grandeur of the scene before them.

To right and left the cliffs still towered, beetling and immense;
but ahead the gorge broke sheer away in a mighty chasm. And, two
hundred feet below, its molten bosom heaving, and falling in giant
waves, rolled a sea of liquid fire. All else the fugitives forgot;
they could do nought but stare, until their eyes could look no longer
upon the glaring flood.

“Stupendous!” Mervyn gasped, veiling his eyes. “Saw you ever the
like before?”

The chasm appeared to be about sixty feet in width, but the
cliffs prevented them judging of its length. As their eyes became more
accustomed to the glare they discovered that from the rocky ground at
their feet the span of a stone bridge ran out, its unfinished end
hanging about one third the way across the great gulf. The dazzling
glow had prevented their perceiving it before.

This occasioned them less surprise than might have been the case
had they not heard Wilson’s story of the ruined building in the
valley; yet, for all that, they stood amazed before this mighty work.
Unfinished though it appeared to be, it excited their wonder no less
than their admiration. What beings were they who could span this
fearful gulf with a structure that would have reflected credit upon
the finest engineer in the civilised world? Not the wolf-men, of a
certainty! Creatures of their brutish intellect could never have
planned and carried out so stupendous an enterprise; and if not they,
then what other beings dwelt in this wild and ghostly land?

“Look!” cried Seymour suddenly, “it is a drawbridge! The centre
span is drawn up.”

It was true! The bridge was not imperfect, as they had
supposed.

From the further side of the gorge a second span ran out, and
above the end of this the centre span towered, secured by chains.

“It’s what you might call real picturesque,” drawled Silas, “but
I guess it’s fixed us proper. We’re trapped like rats. Say, Mervyn,
you’d better take this knife,” and he handed his sheath-knife to the
unarmed scientist.

As he did so, from close at hand arose the hunting cry of the
wolf-men.

“Keep well within the shelter of the rocks there,” said Seymour
to Mervyn and the engineer, then moved a few paces into the gorge.
Haverly took his place beside him, and together they awaited the
coming of the foe.

Four minutes passed--minutes so full of suspense that each
seemed like an hour--and then the foremost of the pursuers dashed
round the curve. He paused as he noted the grim figures, standing
motionless as statues in the shadow of the cliffs. Before ever he
could retreat, a shot from Seymour’s weapon stretched him dead upon
his back, his piercing death-cry ringing shrilly in the ears of his
fellows as they rushed into view.

With a fiendish clamour of yells they swept down upon the
fugitives, their spears raised threateningly.

“Fire!” the baronet cried, and at that the rattle of the magazine
rifles broke out, the cliffs flinging back the echoes in a deafening
uproar.

Crack! Crack! Even the brutish courage of the wolf-men quailed
before that leaden hail. They retired precipitately, leaving eight of
their number dead upon the ground.

“That’s the style,” the Yankee said cheerily, refilling the
magazine of his weapon from his rapidly-vanishing store of cartridges;
“we’ll teach ’em a lesson ’fore we go under.”

“We must keep them back at all costs,” rejoined Seymour. “Once
they get close in they’ll sweep us over into the chasm by sheer force.
How are you two feeling?” turning to the non-combatants.

“Out of it,” the twain replied together. “I wish we had weapons,”
Mervyn went on, “that we might take a hand in the game.”

“On your guard!” Silas burst out; “here they come again, full
rip.”

Around the bend a horde of wolf-men came charging, uttering their
weird, long-drawn howl. Evidently the brutes thought to intimidate the
fugitives by their fearsome cry. But the baronet’s nerve was never
more steady than at that moment, and Haverly’s splendid courage did
not fail him. Shot after shot they poured into that yelling horde,
with a coolness and precision that excited their two friends’ keenest
admiration.

Savage after savage fell to rise no more; and still the levers of
the repeaters worked for dear life--still the fiendish forms
rushed through the glare, almost up to the smoking muzzles of the
rifles, ere once more they fell back in a disorganised mob.

The pile of dead they left behind bore witness to the deadly
accuracy of the two friends’ aim.

“Hot work,” the baronet panted, mopping his sweat-covered brow.
He thrust his hand into his pocket, then withdrew it with a startled
exclamation. An instant he fumbled with his cartridge belt, his face
paling the while.

“I say,” he asked hoarsely, “how many cartridges have you
left?”

The Yankee put his hand to his belt.

“Jupiter!” he gasped, “not a blame one.”

“Then God help us!” Seymour returned. “I’ve fired my last!”

A groan broke from the scientist as he heard the words. “We’re
done, then?” he said bitterly.

“Not by a hull piece,” Silas replied. “It’s clubbed guns for the
next scrap, an’ hit hard as you know how. I guess this is where your
tooth-picks’ll come in, professor,” and, reversing his rifle, the
American gripped it firmly by the muzzle.

Seymour followed his example. Despite the millionaire’s bold
words, each man felt that the end was near; that the next rush of the
savages would sweep them into the fire gulf. Taken alive they were
determined not to be, even though they had to leap over the brink into
the glowing depths below to escape capture.

Suddenly, while they stood awaiting the end, a sound floated
across to them from the further side of the gulf.

_It was the baying of a hound!_




                         CHAPTER XX.

                   THE LAST OF THE AYUTIS.


FOR a moment the familiar sound, heard in the trackless wilds of the
underworld, set each man’s heart throbbing with a mad yearning for home.

Home! Would they ever again look upon the glorious blue of the
vault of heaven? Ever more behold the glowing splendour of the sun?
Would they again set eyes upon the white cliffs of the Homeland, whose
shores they had left so full of hope and enthusiasm?

Like the death-knell of their hopes rang the thrilling cry of
their enemies as they moved once more to the attack.

But their two previous receptions had taught the wolf-men a
lesson. No mad charge did they make this time. Evidently they had
conceived a wholesome dread of firearms. Stealthily the creatures
crept forward, seeming to wonder why the fire-weapons of these mighty
white strangers were silent.

When they discovered that the rifles were not only silent, but
useless, the end would not be long in coming.

The glare from the fire gulf lit up the hideous features of the
savages with startling effect, giving them an even more diabolical
expression, if that were possible. Nearer they came, gaining courage
with every yard they advanced, their bloodshot eyes rolling horribly.
Then suddenly, in a veritable living avalanche, they hurled themselves
upon the gallant quartette.

The rifle butts rose and fell with sickening monotony, and at
each stroke a wolf-man crashed to earth. The knives flashed like
lightning through the crimson glare as Wilson and the scientist flung
themselves pell-mell into the combat.

The engineer, plunging his weapon into the breast of a savage,
tore the spear from his grasp, and fell to with this new tool with
tremendous energy. Back and forth the struggling group swayed, one
moment perilously close to the brink of the fire gulf, the next many
yards away.

But the fight was too hot to last.

Slowly the four were beaten backward; then Wilson went down with
a jagged wound in his thigh, and Mervyn, stumbling over his prostrate
body, was struck senseless by a blow from the flat of a spear.

Another instant and Seymour and the Yankee would have fallen
before the weapons of their foes, but, in the nick of time, a shout
came pealing across the gulf.

“Aswani!” (“Courage!”)

At the word the wolf-men wavered in their attack, and a cry arose
from their midst, “Yos toreal Ayuti!” (“The last of the Ayutis!”)

While they hesitated the drawbridge fell with a clang across the
abyss, and over it an elk came galloping, his antlers gleaming like
gold in the ruddy glow from the gulf. But it was not upon this
magnificent creature that the gaze of the savages was fixed.

No: for astride the elk rode a man taller than any of the sons of
earth, and his form was as that of a god. A battle-axe flashed in his
right hand, and at his back swung a great embossed shield. This latter
he unslung as he came on.

Checking his giant steed at the end of the bridge by the pressure
of his knee, he sprang to earth and hurled himself upon the wolf-men.
Like a thing of life his great axe whirred and hissed, and before it
the savages fell as grain before the sickle.

For a while the two comrades stood astounded by this unexpected
reinforcement. Their case had appeared so hopeless, so utterly
desperate, that they had resigned themselves to destruction. They had
not expected to accomplish aught, even by their most strenuous
exertions. To sell their lives as dearly as possible had been their
only object. But now, by the timely arrival of this gigantic stranger,
whom the wolf-men called “The last of the Ayutis,” the tables had been
completely turned upon their enemies.

Against the Ayuti’s great flashing blade the savages hurled
themselves in vain. Vainly they cut and hewed, vainly they hacked and
slashed. Cut and thrust alike fell harmless; their spears shivered
themselves to fragments against the Ayuti’s shield. At every sweeping
stroke of the great axe a savage crashed to earth.

Amid the hideous, misshapen forms of the wolf-men the Ayuti
towered as a god among demons, and ever and anon a thrilling war-cry
pealed from his lips, ringing clear as a bell above the din. Not all
their ferocious courage could serve Nordhu’s savages now, nor could
their cunning aid them. Their gigantic enemy seemed to be wholly
without fear.

[Illustration: “AMID THE HIDEOUS FORMS OF THE WOLF-MEN AYUTI TOWERED
AS A GOD”(_p. 149._)]

The pile of dead grew, and soon, of all the wolfish horde which
had first attacked the fugitives, but a dozen were left. These, seeing
that all was lost, that further fighting was in vain, turned to
flee.

“Not one must escape!” roared the Ayuti, leaping forward in
pursuit, and Seymour, translating the words to the American, followed
him. Within five minutes not a savage remained on his feet. What the
axe of the Ayuti had missed the rifle butts had accounted for.

For a few moments hereafter the three men stood leaning on their
weapons, and now the two fugitives had a closer view of their splendid
rescuer. Over seven feet he was in stature; his splendid limbs were
left partly bare by the skin cloak which he wore suspended from one
shoulder. His curling hair fell in rich masses to his shoulders, and
his skin was little darker than the baronet’s own. The beauty of his
features, his exquisitely-proportioned form, and the grace of his
every movement made up a picture of god-like majesty, before which the
two friends felt inclined to bow the knee.

Instead of doing this, however, Seymour held out his hand.

“Friend,” he said in Ayuti, and there was a strange break in his
voice, “we cannot thank you for the service you have rendered us.”

“’Tis naught,” replied the Ayuti, grasping the proffered hand
warmly; “I would that I might aid ye again. But, see, thy brothers
still sleep. They must be awakened.”

An application of the spirit flask carried by Haverly quickly
aroused the two senseless men. Then, while the American dressed the
engineer’s wounded leg, Seymour told the Ayuti of the means of their
coming to this weird land, and of all that had befallen them
since.

A long recital it was, but deeply interesting, and the eyes of
the giant glowed with admiration as the baronet proceeded.

“Ye are men indeed,” he cried, when the story was finished, and
once more gripped Seymour’s hand. “Fairhair, thou and I must be
brethren, for thou art a man after my own heart. What say ye?”

“Gladly,” answered the baronet, smiling at the Ayuti’s quaint
reference to his golden hair and beard. “By what name are ye
called?”

“I am Chenobi, which should have been king of the city of Ayuti,”
was the reply; “but I am the last of my race, a king without subjects.
See, Fairhair, let us cast this carrion into the gulf of fire, that
Nordhu discover not the manner of your escape.”

With that the Ayuti commenced to pitch the bodies of the slain
wolf-men over the brink of the abyss. Overcoming his repugnance with
an effort, Seymour aided him in his horrible task, the Yankee also
lending a hand when he had made Wilson comfortable.

Then suddenly, at a moment when all seemed to be well, when all
danger appeared to be past, a catastrophe happened that appalled them.
Silas had stooped to grasp a corpse which lay almost on the verge of
the gulf, when, without a scrap of warning, the savage--who had
evidently been playing ’possum in hope of effecting his
escape--grabbed for his ankles. Taken entirely by surprise, the
Yankee tripped, lost his balance, and fell headlong over the
brink.

The Ayuti was the first to recover from the shock of this
terrible thing. With a roar of fury, he strode forward, gripped the
shivering savage by his girdle, and swung him, screaming madly, far
out into the abyss.

Fascinated, the adventurers watched his fall. Twice he turned
over in mid-air, then his body seemed to shrivel up in that terrible
heat, and it was naught but a cinder that struck the glowing sea
below.

“The dog!” Chenobi cried, a fearful passion blazing in his eyes,
“the cursed dog, may----”

A startled cry from Seymour checked his further utterance.

“Great heaven! Look!”

Shading their eyes from the glare, his friends looked over the
brink, the Ayuti, though not understanding the words, following their
example. On a ledge in the wall of the abyss, twenty feet below, lay
the senseless form of Haverly. His limbs dangled perilously over the
edge of the narrow shelf, and it was apparent to all that the
slightest movement would precipitate him into the molten billows which
rolled far beneath. At any moment he might come to and attempt to sit
up; then--his comrades shivered at the thought.

Yet how was his deliverance to be accomplished? Even had they a
rope, who would dare to descend into that fiery gulf, to dangle over
that flaming sea?

Chenobi answered the question in a fashion that sent a thrill
through the three spectators of his daring action.

Launching himself over the brink of the precipice, the Ayuti
began to make his way down to the ledge. Breathlessly his new friends
watched his perilous progress. From crag to crag he swung, at times
having the greatest difficulty in finding foothold. Once he slipped,
and the watchers gasped and averted their eyes, seeing him in
imagination hurtling into the raging sea below. But he recovered
himself, and, with splendid perseverance, continued the descent.

To the watchers it seemed an age ere he reached his goal and
stood beside the unconscious American. Then a new difficulty arose,
another predicament had to be faced.

How was he to get Haverly up the face of the cliff?

That he would need both hands free for his return journey was
absolutely certain. For a few moments Chenobi stood, thinking out the
best method by which to effect his purpose; then to his mind came a
daring idea. Unloosing the girdle which confined his skin cloak at the
waist, he bent down, passed it beneath Haverly’s belt, and rebuckled
it. First testing both straps to satisfy himself that they were
perfectly secure, he commenced to lift the American from the
ledge.

To any but one of his gigantic strength the attempt would have
ended in failure, and probably a swift and terrible death. The ledge
was very little over a foot in width, and it seemed utterly impossible
for the Ayuti to raise the dead weight of the unconscious man. But now
his magnificent strength revealed itself.

His mighty muscles stood up like knotted ropes beneath the skin;
his shoulders cracked again with the strain of his effort. Yet he
accomplished his purpose; slowly he raised his senseless burden until
he could stand once more upright on the ledge, with his back to the
cliff, and with Haverly dangling before him at the end of the
girdle.

“What a man!” Seymour cried admiringly, as he watched eagerly for
the Ayuti’s next move. “He’s a veritable Hercules!”

“Never have I seen so fine a man!” Mervyn exclaimed. “What a
noble race these people must have been! But, see, he is moving
again.”

Although their eyes ached with the glare, the watchers could not
tear their gaze from the scene below. There was a fearful attraction
about Chenobi’s heroic efforts. All natural law seemed to proclaim
that what he was about to attempt was an impossibility.

“He’ll never do it,” Wilson groaned, forgetting the pain of his
wounded limb in his anxiety. “Haverly’s weight will drag him over as
soon as he begins to climb.”

“We shall see presently,” the baronet answered; “if anyone can do
it he can.”

Gripping the American by the waist with his left arm, Chenobi
slipped the looped girdle about his own neck. Another pause of a few
seconds, and then, relaxing his grip of the limp body, he took all the
weight upon his neck. The strain must have been tremendous, yet he
kept his balance; more, he commenced to turn round upon the
ledge--thrusting Haverly behind him as he did so--until he
stood facing the cliff, ready for his climb.

The first part of his task had been accomplished in safety; but
what of the next? Would not the weight of his swinging burden drag him
backward, as Wilson had said? It would soon be seen, for now Chenobi
was commencing his perilous journey. Hand over hand he clawed his way
up, moving deliberately, and as one who was sure of his ground.

How he finished that fearful climb the spectators never knew,
for, appalled by the peril of his position, they retired from the edge
of the cliff, not daring to look lest they should see the daring
climber fall headlong into the fiery sea below. Each moment they
expected to hear a cry of alarm from the abyss--evidence that
Chenobi had lost his balance--but it never came. Soon the Ayuti’s
head appeared above the cliff top, and Seymour leapt forward to
relieve him of his burden. Haverly was saved!

Staggering a few paces from the edge, Chenobi flung himself down
upon the rocky ground, exhausted but triumphant. And here he lay for a
time, while Mervyn and the baronet used their utmost endeavours to
restore their senseless friend. Half an hour passed ere the American
came round, and for long afterwards he was weak and ill as a result of
his terrible experience. His gratitude, when he knew of Chenobi’s
heroism, was touching to behold; yet he said little. Only his eyes
showed how deeply grateful he felt.

Seeing him moving, the Ayuti rose and came towards him, whereupon
Silas tottered to his feet and held out his hand.

“Shake!” he said, and Seymour translated his words. “You’re a
white man all through!”

Chenobi showed all his magnificent teeth in a smile of pleasure,
as he gripped the Yankee’s hand; then turned to where the great elk
still stood, motionless as though carved in stone.

“Muswani!” he cried, “kneel!”

At the words the giant brute dropped to its knees. Lifting the
engineer, whose wounded limb made walking a matter of great
difficulty, Chenobi placed him across the elk’s back, himself mounting
behind. A further word of command, and the Ayuti’s strange steed rose
and stepped out upon the bridge.

“Come!” Chenobi cried, and the three friends followed across the
fire gulf.




                         CHAPTER XXI.

                         “SUNSHINE!”


THE great flags of the bridge felt almost red-hot to the feet of the
adventurers, but they trudged bravely forward through the glare, Seymour
supporting Haverly as they went. There was no parapet to the bridge, and
the sight of the molten flood below, visible to right and left as far as
the eye could see, sent a thrill through each of the trio.

The massive span, which had seemed so solid a structure viewed
from the gorge, now appeared a very flimsy affair, dwarfed to
nothingness by the stupendous dimensions of the great fire gulf. With
their eyes fixed upon the giant form of their guide, the three
comrades moved on as steadfastly as possible. Over the vast, vibrating
sheet of metal that formed the drawbridge they tramped, and glad
indeed were they when they had crossed the last span, and their feet
touched solid ground.

Here the Ayuti dismounted and strode to where a great lever
projected from the masonry of the bridge. This he pulled over, and
instantly, with a clanging rattle, the drawbridge swung upward into
place.

“Now that your foes are all destroyed,” he remarked, turning to
the baronet, “Nordhu, the priest, will not know whether ye have
escaped or no.”

But he was wrong; for, as the party once more moved on, a
wolf-man crept from his hiding place amid the rocks on the opposite
side of the gorge. A moment he stood there in the glare, shaking his
spear menacingly towards the retreating figures of the fugitives, then
turned and vanished into the gloom of the defile.

Forward went the adventurers, the glow from the fire gulf growing
fainter as they advanced, until the towers and walls of a city loomed
before them through the twilight. The sight aroused the interest of
the scientist. Hitherto he had moved in an apathetic manner, very
different from his usual brisk style. His nerves had received so rude
a shock that he was as yet scarcely himself. Even the sight of
Chenobi’s monstrous steed--rare though the creature was--had
failed to arouse him. But now, with the walls of the mysterious
subterranean city within sight, his scientific zeal revived.

Instinctively he felt for his note-book, forgetting for the
moment that he had lost it in his adventure with the Triceratops.

“Don’t worry,” Seymour said, noting his look of disappointment;
“I happen to have one on me that will suit you down to the ground.”
Forthwith he produced a bulky pocket-book, at sight of which Mervyn’s
eyes glistened.

“Many thanks!” he cried, taking it, and at once commenced to
scribble down a graphic description of the giant elk.

Ere long the party passed through a great gateway, the stone gate
of which had fallen from its hinges, and now lay crumbling in the
dust. On either hand towered the palaces of the Ayutis, now, alas,
tottering to decay. Built of some dazzling white stone, they gleamed
through the twilight as though bathed in a flood of moonlight; the
effect--accentuated by the silence of the whole place--being
indescribably weird. The footsteps of the adventurers raised a volley
of echoes from the deserted streets as they moved over the pavement,
and from ahead at intervals came the muffled baying of hounds.

The Ayuti was strangely silent as he strode beside Muswani, the
elk--he had not mounted since raising the drawbridge. Perhaps he
was thinking of the time when the streets had rung with the voices of
his people, when the palaces had throbbed with life.

Although he was burning to question their guide concerning the
past history of the city, Mervyn forbore, fearing by some indiscreet
query to offend him. But he need not have feared. The Ayuti’s grief
for the desolation of his city had long since lost its acuteness, and
he had resigned himself to a life of solitude, living for but one
object, which, later on, he revealed to the baronet. What fearful fate
had overtaken the inhabitants of the place, the explorers could not
imagine. It could have been no ordinary catastrophe that wiped out the
Ayutis. That they had become extinct, save for Chenobi, by natural
means, none would believe.

So, while each puzzled his brain for a solution to the problem,
they passed into a vast square, in the centre of which stood a great
temple. Around this the Ayuti led them to the further side. The
familiar style of the architecture struck Wilson at once. The building
was almost a duplicate of the one he had discovered in the valley,
save that it was many times larger, and that here a huge flight of
steps led upward to a broad terrace which ran the whole length of the
temple front. And upon this latter, looming gaunt and spectral through
the twilight, towered a monstrous idol.

“Wait!” Chenobi commanded. He lifted the engineer from his mount,
and led Muswani through a door in the temple wall at the base of the
steps, his entry being greeted by a clamorous baying. In a few moments
he reappeared and, picking up the engineer as one might a child,
commenced to ascend the steps. Climbing close upon his heels, his
new-found friends soon reached the terrace. Here they passed behind
the colossal figure of the god and entered the temple.

A murmur of astonishment went up as they crossed the threshold.
The whole vast hall was ablaze with a dazzling radiance, unearthly as
it was brilliant. The origin of the light became apparent at once. In
the centre of the temple floor was a huge basin, wherein bubbled a
strange, phosphorescent liquid, like nothing the explorers had ever
seen before. On one side it overflowed, and ran in a glistening stream
across the floor, to disappear in a dark recess in the wall.

The scientist, his first surprise over, would have moved forward
to examine this uncanny liquid more closely, but Chenobi restrained
him.

“Nay,” he said gravely, “there is death in the stream of light!
None can touch it and live. Sit ye here awhile, till I prepare
food.”

With that the Ayuti passed out of the building, leaving his
friend wondering wherein lay the deadly power of the extraordinary
liquid.

“There seems no end to the marvels of this weird land,” Mervyn
remarked. “If ever we return to the upper world, what a tale we shall
have to tell.”

Haverly closed one eye.

“You’ve got considerable standing amongst science men,
professor,” he said, “but I guess you’ll have a real stiff job to make
’em believe you. A yarn of this sort ain’t goin’ to be sucked down as
gospel all at once.”

“You wouldn’t have me keep silent?” retorted the scientist,
somewhat indignantly. “Knowing what we do it would be little short of
a crime to suppress our knowledge.”

“That’s so,” returned the Yankee imperturbably, “but I’d sooner
you face the music than me. If we ever manage to burrow our way back
to daylight, I guess your yarn’ll kinder upset some of the accepted
theories as to the way the inside of this yer planet’s built.”

“No doubt,” Mervyn answered, “yet that will not deter me. My
first work will be to write a book on the underworld.”

“Bravo!” Seymour cried; “I like your pluck, Mervyn. When we have
found Garth and the boat, we can consult Chenobi about getting back to
the upper world. If there should be any way out of this gloomy hole
the Ayuti is sure to know of it.”

“What if there is no exit?” the engineer asked anxiously.

“In that case I guess we’ll have to make ourselves at home down
here,” the Yankee replied, “though I allow the prospect ain’t over
cheerful. However, I calculate your humble has kept his end up in
tighter situations than the present--darned tighter situations,
sonny. Say, I hope our new pard won’t expect us to dress for dinner. I
guess my portmanteau ain’t come along yet.”

“Oh, he’ll excuse your not turning up in evening dress,” Seymour
replied laughing. “But seriously, Silas, what chance do you think we
have of getting back to the upper world?”

“Wal, I guess that’s a question as ain’t to be answered all of a
sudden,” the Yankee returned; “it kinder needs figurin’ out some.
Hullo! here comes our pard with a hull heap of grub. I calculate we’ll
postpone this yer confab till we’ve refreshed the inner man.”

As he spoke the king re-entered the temple, bearing on a metal
tray some strips of dried venison. These, together with a number of
small edible fungi, he placed before his guests, bidding them eat.

Strange though the food was to their taste, it was none the less
welcome, and they felt greatly refreshed at the conclusion of the
meal.

Hereafter for some hours they slept, Chenobi keeping guard the
while upon the terrace.

When next they looked upon the Ayuti he wore a metal band about
his forehead, and in the centre glowed a great stone, similar in
form--as Mervyn took pains to inform them--to that which
Nordhu, the priest, wore, but much larger. It was the symbol of
Chenobi’s kingly rank.

“Would ye look upon the city?” he asked as they rose yawning.
Mervyn answered at once in the affirmative.

“How about Wilson?” Seymour questioned.

“Oh, I can manage to hobble a bit,” replied the lad cheerfully;
“my leg’s going on finely.”

“Don’t overdo it, lad,” the baronet warned. “If the wound breaks
out afresh it will be the very deuce of a job to get it to heal. I’ll
stay here with you if you’re not feeling fit.”

“I’m feeling fit enough,” replied Tom; “if one of you will help
me down the steps, I can manage the rest.”

Seymour whispered a few words to the Ayuti, whereupon the giant
advanced, smiling broadly, and took the engineer in his great
arms.

“Here, I say, I can walk now, you know,” the latter remonstrated;
but his friends laughingly told him to hold his tongue.

With the light from the king’s jewel flashing before them, they
passed out on to the terrace and so down the steps. At the bottom
Chenobi put the engineer down, and, detaching a massive key from his
girdle, thrust it into the door through which he had taken the elk. It
turned easily in the lock, and, flinging open the door, the king
passed through.

An odour as of a stable greeted the nostrils of the explorers as
they followed him, and once more the baying of hounds came to their
ears. Down a steep incline they went, until they stood within a large
chamber. At the further end of this four great hounds lay, chained to
the wall. They were something like bloodhounds in build, but of
tremendous size, being much larger than mastiffs. Seymour, who was
somewhat of an authority on dogs, could not restrain his
admiration.

“What splendid brutes!” he cried, and moved fearlessly forward to
make their acquaintance. Within a few moments he was on excellent
terms with the great creatures, they receiving his advances with
pleasing friendliness.

The others could not at first bring themselves to approach the
monstrous dogs. They were so fearsome in their strength; but at
length, on Chenobi assuring them that they need not fear, they moved
closer.

“I guess these ’ud take the shine out of some I’ve observed,”
remarked the Yankee, patting one of the great heads, “and I’ve seen
some fairish-sized ones, too.”

“They’re immense,” Seymour replied.

Stepping to a recess in the wall, the king dragged forth the
carcase of some small animal--probably a fawn--and this he
flung to the hounds; then, leaving them feeding, the party passed
through the chamber into a second, much larger. This, they could see,
had evidently once been used as a stable, for by the light from the
Ayuti’s stone they observed that a row of stalls ran along each side.
These, built throughout of stone--even the feeding troughs being
of the same material--were empty save for one, wherein the great
elk was chained. He greeted his master with a thunderous bellow, and
Mervyn at once approached to get another view of the magnificent
creature. Whilst the scientist stood lost in admiration Seymour
questioned Chenobi concerning the purpose for which the stables had
been built.

“My people kept elk,” the Ayuti replied. “Threescore there were,
whereon rode the body-guard of the king. Muswani is the last, as I am
the last of the Ayutis. But come, let us move forward again.”

Into a third chamber they went, and in this were great stone
tanks, filled to the brim with clear, sparkling water.

“Marvellous!” Mervyn cried, as he examined the massive masonry of
the tanks and the conduits which fed them. “What an intelligent race
these people must have been! Whence comes the water?” he asked of
Chenobi.

“I know not,” was the reply, “save that it comes
underground.”

Out of the tank chamber the Ayuti led them, by a small doorway,
into a narrow passage. This they followed for some distance, ever
descending as they moved on, with the temperature steadily rising each
moment. At length they emerged into another vault-like chamber, and a
cry of astonishment burst from the four explorers.

Along one side of this hall a number of metal doors were set in
the rough-hewn rock which formed the wall. The sight of these,
together with the intense heat of the place, quickly revealed to the
comrades the purpose for which the chamber had once been used. It was
the ancient cooking-place of the city.

“The heat comes from the gulf of fire,” explained the Ayuti, as
he flung open one of the oven doors that his friends might examine the
interior.

“It’s a cute dodge,” the Yankee drawled admiringly. “I assume
this rock forms the wall of the fire gulf, an’ they get their heat
natural-like, without havin’ to stoke up.”

“I wondered where Chenobi managed to dry his meat,” the scientist
mused; “the thing’s clear now. Truly these Ayutis had no lack of
inventive genius!”

Retracing their steps to the outer door, the little band crossed
the square and entered one of the surrounding buildings,
which--so Chenobi informed them--had been the palace of the
kings. Here, as elsewhere--save for the temple, which appeared
well preserved--time had laid its destroying hand, but there
still remained much of the former beauty of the place. The pillars of
its bold front were covered with carving that would not have disgraced
the exterior of a cathedral, and the broad flight of steps leading up
to it, though cracked and broken in places, still added somewhat to
the dignity of its appearance.

These steps Wilson managed to climb, refusing the Ayuti’s offer
of assistance. Across an inlaid pavement they went, and through a
great entrance hall, in which stood numerous cunningly-carved statues.
Some of these stone effigies had fallen from their pedestals, and now
lay crumbling amid the dirt which ages of neglect had deposited over
the floor. Assuredly, if Professor Mervyn ever wrote his proposed work
on the wonders of the underworld, he would have no lack of matter. A
description of the palace alone would almost have filled a volume. The
throne-room they saw, with its curiously canopied throne, whereon a
long line of kings had sat in royal state; the musicians’ gallery,
from which sweet music had beguiled kingly ears grown weary with the
pleading of innumerable malcontents; the banquet hall also, with its
great stone tables, around which many a merry company had gathered.
But now all were silent as the grave! The gay crowds which once had
thronged these halls had vanished, and, ere many years had passed, the
Ayutis would have ceased to exist; with Chenobi, the king, their
dynasty and race alike ended.

Such thoughts as these poured into the minds of the adventurers
as they moved through the silent halls. There seemed something
uncanny, unnatural, about the place. It was as though the spirits of
the long since dead still hovered round, and it was with a feeling of
relief that the party left the palace.

Mervyn, his scientific zeal unquenched, was for visiting other of
the buildings, but the united voices of his comrades were against
this.

“No,” Seymour said, “if you go at all you must go alone. I’ve had
quite enough of these ghostly halls. What say you, Silas?”

“The same,” replied the American. “The place kinder gets on your
nerves. I shouldn’t advise you to poke around by yourself, Mervyn.
There don’t seem any danger, but I wouldn’t put my money on it. If
that old priest ain’t on our trail again before long my name ain’t Si.
K. Haverly!”

Seymour slipped his arm through that of Chenobi, and, with the
others close behind, they recrossed the square and ascended to the
terrace. Here for some time the party occupied themselves in examining
the colossal figure of the great idol. High above the flat roof of the
temple the monstrous image towered. Through the twilight they could
make out little of its features, but this much they observed, that it
had but one eye, of enormous size, and placed in the centre of its
forehead.

The singularity of this coincidence struck Mervyn at once. How it
came about that a people so obviously intelligent as the Ayutis should
worship the same deity as the wolfish barbarians of Nordhu he could
not imagine. But, further, not alone was it the same in form, the
inscription on the base of the altar proclaimed that the name was the
same. Translated, it ran thus: “To Ramouni, God of Light. Worship and
honour.”

Turning, the scientist questioned the Ayuti concerning the
ancient worship of the dead race. Ere the king could answer a
startling cry broke from Seymour:

“Great Scott! Sunshine!”

A ray of light stabbed the darkness like a golden sword, striking
full upon the monstrous eye of Ramouni, which flashed and scintillated
with a dazzling lustre.

“Sunshine!” echoed the others in a breath, and then, somewhere in
the interior of the image, a bell began to toll. Astounded, the
explorers stood gazing at the wonderful beam of light.

“It comes through a passage in the dead fire-mountain,” Chenobi
volunteered, “and lasts for but a few moments. See, it fades
already.”

Even as he spoke the tolling of the bell ceased, and the sunlight
vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving the twilight of the
underworld the more gloomy for its brief visit.




                         CHAPTER XXII.

                   THE TERROR OF THE JUNGLE.


“IS there, then, a way out of this underworld?”

Seymour’s voice betrayed his agitation as he put this question to
Chenobi. So much depended on the Ayuti’s answer that each of the
adventurers held their breath to listen.

“Yea,” came the reply, “there is a passage through the heart of
the dead fire-mountain, by which my people entered this land, but it
lies far away through the jungle.”

Rapidly Seymour translated this intelligence to Wilson and the
American.

“I guess we’ll strike for this yer passage right now,” cried
Haverly. “If it pans out all right we can come back and look for
Garth; if it don’t, we’ll be no worse off than we are now. What do you
say, professor?”

“Why not find Garth first?” suggested the scientist
cautiously.

“Wal, it’s this way,” returned Silas; “I reckon it’ll hardly be
safe to prospect for Hilton’s trail for a considerable period yet. We
must give them niggers a chance to settle down some. I guess they’re
too almighty riled at the present moment to be pleasant neighbours.
Seein’ as how our rifles are useless, it ’ud be worse than madness to
go pokin’ along the coast again; so I’d advise as we visit the Ayuti’s
fire-mountain an’ give the wolfies a chance to forget us.”

“That they’ll never do,” retorted Mervyn; “yet there is a good
deal in what you say. If Nordhu discovers that we have escaped he will
be mad with fury, and it may be well that we should be beyond his
reach for a time.”

“Then you’ll go?” questioned the baronet eagerly.

“Silas has succeeded in convincing me that it will be for the
best,” Mervyn answered smiling, “but we must leave the arranging of
the matter to Chenobi.”

The latter, who had been watching the faces of the speakers
intently during this conversation, pricked up his ears at the mention
of his own name.

“We wish to seek this passage ye speak of,” Seymour told him, “if
it be possible. Can you guide us thither?”

“Ay,” returned the Ayuti, “but the jungle is full of monstrous
beasts, terrible to look upon, and your fire-weapons, ye say, are
useless. Think well ere ye decide, for it is a perilous journey. Once
only have I been, yet I have not forgotten the track.”

“Have you no weapons you could lend us?” the baronet asked.

“I have but the spears taken from the wolf-people,” was the
king’s reply; “to them ye are welcome. I would I could supply ye with
worthier weapons, but I have none save my own.”

“The spears will do,” cried Seymour; “they are deadly enough
tools in the hands of a determined man.”

“Ye speak truly,” Chenobi answered, “yet they are scarce the
weapons for such warriors as ye. Howbeit, since we have no other, they
must needs do.”

And so the perilous expedition was decided upon. Little the
explorers thought, as they made ready for their trip, of the perils
they were soon to face, or they would scarcely have gone about their
preparations so light-heartedly.

Ere the sunlight had flashed again upon the eye of Ramouni they
had left the city, and were making their way over the plain on which
it stood towards the distant gleaming line that marked the beginning
of the great jungle.

Chenobi was mounted upon the back of the great elk, and behind
him rode Wilson, his limb being still somewhat stiff, though healing
rapidly. The air of the underworld seemed to have a peculiarly
beneficent effect upon wounds.

Beside the track the four great hounds ranged, nose to ground,
occasionally giving voice to a deep-throated bay as they struck the
trail of some wild animals. But the well-trained brutes never strayed
beyond their master’s call, a word from him bringing them to heel in a
moment.

The ground gradually rose as the party advanced, until they
topped a low ridge, on the crest of which they paused a while to rest.
Scarce three hundred yards away, like a wall of light, arose the
towering growths of the jungle. The vast size of the fungi amazed the
adventurers. Those they had already seen on the other side of the fire
gulf were but pigmies compared with these.

“Say,” the Yankee drawled, “I reckon some of them fellows ’ud
make good lighthouses.”

“Excellent,” returned Mervyn; “but I am afraid they would not
take kindly to the climate of the upper world. The sunlight would
shrivel them up directly.”

“No chance to float a company, you see, Silas,” said the baronet
laughing, “were you thinking of starting a ‘Luminous Fungi Supply
Syndicate’?”

“Wal, scarcely,” the Yankee returned; “I guess a mushroom
business ain’t exactly in my line. Say, I wonder if we’re goin’ to
knock up against any of Nordhu’s crowd this trip? I reckon it ’ud be
kinder awkward if they jumped us in the jungle there.”

“We’ll give ’em a stiff fight for their money if they do,”
rejoined Seymour, his fingers tightening upon the haft of his spear as
he spoke.

“I guess I’d feel considerable more comfortable with a gun in my
pocket,” resumed Silas. “Tooth-picks like these yer are all right in
their way, but when it comes to a scrap, give me a barker. There’s a
sorter tonic in the feel of a shootin’ iron. Makes you feel real
good!”

“What an old fire-eater you are, Silas!” laughed Wilson; “I
believe you’re spoiling for a fight now.”

“I guess not, sonny,” was the reply. “Your Uncle Sile as had
enough scrappin’ to last him for a considerable period. Say, Mervyn,
this yer picnic of yours has panned out rich in the way of trouble. If
we’d a gone lookin’ for that same commodity we couldn’t ha’ struck a
bigger pile, an’ I calculate we ain’t through yet, not by a hull
heap.”

“That we’re not,” agreed the baronet, “and it strikes me we shall
have the very old lad of a job to find the _Seal_ again. If we
had but a few rounds of ammunition apiece I should not care for all
the wolf-men in the underworld, but without it we are no better armed
than the savages themselves. Still, we’ve got to see this job through.
Garth must be found in spite of Nordhu’s savages.”

“That’s so,” replied Haverly. “As I figure it out, the sooner we
strike Garth’s trail--after we’re through with the present
deal--the better for him an’ us. This yer old underworld ain’t so
dusty, but I guess I prefer the daylight. It’s kinder more
natural-like. Down here you never know when to go to bed, and I’m
blamed if you know what time you’re getting up. Why, it might be
midnight at the present period, for all we know--midnight, pards,
an’ we a-waltzin’ around here ’stead of bein’ tucked away snug in our
little beds. I guess we’ll be developin’ inter real giddy young
night-howlers if we have to hang out long in this yer location. Say,
William, I reckon it’s about time we were progressin’ some. If you’ll
kinder intimate the same to our big pard, we’ll get a move on.”

A few moments later the party plunged in amid the fungi, the
great elk trampling a broad passage which made progress easy for the
three on foot.

Never had the explorers seen anything to equal this subterranean
jungle. The tropical forests of the upper world, with all their floral
magnificence, could not compare with the weird beauty of this
wonderland. To the mind of the scientist it seemed almost a shame that
such superb growths should be produced only to flourish where the eye
of man could never drink in the wondrous beauty of their varied
forms.

The ground was hidden beneath a mass of trailing fungi, which
rioted in luxurious confusion between the larger growths. From its
shelter as the party passed numerous small creatures broke, to scurry
into the denser growth on either side. A bell-beetle, its antennae
clanging furiously, flashed across the track almost beneath the hoofs
of Muswani, and disappeared ere Mervyn could catch more than a bare
glimpse of its form.

“I must have one of those fellows,” the scientist cried
enthusiastically. “If either of you should see another, just knock it
over with the butt of your spear.”

As he spoke a second started up almost at his feet. Quickly he
pounced upon it, but he released it even more quickly, giving
utterance to an exclamation of pain. The creature had bitten his hand
severely.

“The brute!” gasped the scientist, binding his handkerchief about
the wound, “he’s got jaws like a vice! What’s the matter?” This latter
to Chenobi, who had pulled up and leapt from his steed.

“Poison!” the Ayuti cried in his own tongue. “I should have
warned you. The bite of the bell-beetle is death!”

“Great heaven!” the scientist gasped; “I did not know. Is there
no hope?”

His comrades did not, could not, answer. With haggard faces they
looked on, while the king fought the deadly stupor that fast stole
over their friend.

Lowering Mervyn gently to the ground, the Ayuti tore up a small,
flat fungus from among a number of others growing close by. This he
forced between his patient’s teeth, bidding him eat. Mechanically the
scientist obeyed.

His three friends were horrified at the terrible power of the
beetle’s venom. Though scarce three minutes had passed since Mervyn
had been bitten, his lower limbs were already paralysed, and the
poison seemed fast mounting to his brain. He appeared unconscious of
anything around him, gazing upward with eyes death-like in their
glassy stare; the slow movement of his jaws as he munched at the
fungi, and the twitching of his eyelids, alone telling that he
lived.

Piece after piece of fungi Chenobi forced between the unwilling
lips, almost ramming it down the scientist’s throat. But, for all his
efforts, Mervyn seemed to grow steadily worse, and, as the moments
passed, his three comrades--helpless to check the action of the
subtle foe working in his veins--watched with dimmed eyes the
grey hue of death mounting to his forehead.

His lips grew blue and pinched, his eyelids ceased to twitch, and
it appeared to the watchers as though the last spark of life had
vanished.

Suddenly Chenobi rose, and at that Wilson cried out, thinking
that the king had given up hope. But he was mistaken. Plunging in amid
the fungi, Chenobi slashed off the top of a peculiar palm-like growth,
and with this he returned to the side of the motionless scientist.
First dipping the point of his knife-blade in the juicy sap which
oozed from the fungus, he gashed Mervyn’s arm. Thrice he repeated this
mysterious operation, then bound a handkerchief tightly over the
gashes.

What this strange method of injection might mean the comrades
could not tell. Sufficient for them to know that the Ayuti was doing
all in his power to give back life to their friend. They felt that
this was Chenobi’s last effort. If it failed, Mervyn was lost. With
bated breath they watched for some movement from the silent form at
their feet. Even the great hounds seemed to be aware of the nearness
of death, for they lay quiet, only occasionally giving voice to a low
whine.

Each of the three comrades passed through a lifetime of suspense
during the few moments that Mervyn’s fate trembled in the balance. The
engineer, dismounting from Muswani, had drawn close in, and now stood
beside Seymour. Slowly the minutes dragged by, until, of a sudden, a
cry came from Chenobi.

“He lives!” Rapidly the baronet interpreted the joyful news to
his friends, and a thankful prayer went up from each man’s heart as
they saw that the words were true.

All too slowly for them the life came back into Mervyn’s
enfeebled frame, and it was not until two hours had passed that he was
anything like himself again. Even then he was very shaky, and Wilson
insisted on him riding behind Chenobi when he felt well enough to
proceed.

Nothing the scientist remembered of his experience. He knew
naught of what had taken place since the king had lowered him to the
ground. The action of the venom had been painless, and, but for
Chenobi’s prompt surgery, Mervyn would have drifted away over the
Borderland into the Great Silence.

His hand trembled as he gripped that of his saviour, and murmured
a few stammering words of thanks, to which Chenobi replied with a
quaint Ayuti proverb, whereat the others, when Seymour had translated,
laughed uproariously.

The inevitable reaction after the suspense had set in, and each
man felt ready to sing for joy that their beloved chief had been
restored to them.

Ere long, with the scientist mounted in Wilson’s place, the party
were again on the move, Haverly and Seymour beguiling the journey with
many a jest.

Deeper and deeper they plunged into the jungle, the sound of
their own advance being all that broke the silence which brooded over
all things. The ground grew marshy beneath them as they went on, their
feet sinking deep at every step into the mire. It was evident to all
that they were approaching a watercourse. Soon the ripple of water
came to their ears, and, splashing through several shallow pools, they
stood at length upon the bank of a sluggish river.

Almost opposite to them, in the centre of the stream, a small
island rose, its low beach being so covered with fungi that scarcely a
yard of it was visible. It seemed one mass of glistening
vegetation--an island of silver against the dark background of
the muddy river. The hounds were already splashing across the stream,
and, following their lead, the party entered the water, wading past
the upper end of the island. The water was at no point above their
hips, so that they found no difficulty in gaining the further bank.
Here the hounds set up a clamorous baying, nosing about amid the mud
of the river side. Stooping, Seymour examined the ground, and what he
saw caused him some uneasiness.

A call brought Chenobi off his steed to his side in a moment.

“See,” said the baronet, pointing to certain great impressions in
the mud, “what tracks are these?”

The Ayuti’s face grew white as he noted the footprints.

_“The terror of the jungle!”_ he muttered; “may Ramouni
preserve us!”

With a word he stilled the noise of the hounds, and they retired,
whining, to heel.

“We must move with caution,” he said to the wondering Seymour;
“the prints are those of the most fearsome beast of the jungle, whom
my people called ‘the terror.’ I fear me that the baying of the hounds
will have roused them if any be within hearing. Howbeit, we will move
silently.”

Though they knew not what this beast might be, the adventurers
were aware that it must be terrible to encounter, else Chenobi, who
seemed almost fearless, would not be uneasy at the proofs of its
presence in this part of the jungle. Accordingly their advance was as
noiseless as possible, and their caution was redoubled. Every rustle
from the fungi on either hand brought them to a halt, wondering if the
jungle terror were upon them.

But as the time went by, and there came no sign of the beasts,
their spirits rose. They ceased to listen for suspicious sounds, and,
though their progress was just as silent, their thoughts were fixed
rather upon the end of their trip than upon the monstrous inhabitants
of the jungle. What was to be the result of their quest? Would they
find a way of escape through the passage whence the light came, or
would their journey end in failure? They were tired of this
underworld, wonderful though it was. They longed for the sunlight and
the singing of birds, for the murmur of the wind amid the tree-tops.
As the blind man craves for sight, so yearned they for these
things.

Even Mervyn, with all his scientific zeal, would gladly have
exchanged the rare treasures of the land of eternal twilight for the
humbler ones of his own sphere.

So they pondered, until suddenly they were recalled to a sense of
the dangers of their present position as a cry broke the stillness of
the underworld, a cry so full of dreadful menace, so thrilling with
murderous purpose, that the adventurers pulled up, trembling in every
limb.

“Great Heaven!” Seymour cried, “what was that?”

“The terror of the jungle!” replied the Ayuti hoarsely; “look
well to your weapons, for I doubt not ye will need them ere long.”

With every nerve quivering with a nameless fear, they stood for a
moment, expecting, yet dreading to hear the cry again. But it did not
come, and at length, shaking off the nightmare-like terror that
gripped them, they pressed on, intent only on placing a safe distance
between themselves and the author of the cry.

Then once more it arose, weird and terrifying, and at that
Chenobi turned his steed abruptly to the right. To this course he kept
for perhaps a hundred yards, then swerved again, this time to the
left. Following close behind, his comrades found themselves within
what at first they took to be a small valley, but a second glance
corrected this impression. It was a disused quarry!

From this, perhaps, in the past ages, the great blocks had been
hewn which now graced the walls of the city of Ayuti, though how they
could have been conveyed such an incredible distance, and over so
rough a route, passed comprehension. The implements of the long-dead
quarrymen still lay where they had been left; picks and shovels of
quaint and curious make were scattered over the floor, while not a few
stone trolleys, broken now and useless, lay upon their sides amid the
scattered clumps of fungi which managed to flourish in the crevices of
the stone.

But they had no time to examine the quarry. Scarcely had the
Ayuti alighted and assisted Mervyn to dismount, ere, for the third
time, the cry of the jungle beast arose, and the hounds answered with
their deep-throated bay. Evidently they had no fear of the creature.
They seemed rather anxious than otherwise to meet him.

“He has scented us,” Chenobi announced, placing himself at the
narrow entrance to the quarry. Seymour and Haverly took their stand
beside him, and, fixing their eyes upon the fungi belt a few paces
distant, they awaited the coming of the jungle terror. Soon came the
sound as of some heavy body forcing its way swiftly through the fungi.
The towering growths swayed as though shaken by a strong wind.

Suddenly the fungi parted, and a hideous head was thrust forth,
at sight of which Silas and the baronet involuntarily sprang backward.
At the same instant a terrified cry burst from the scientist:

“Great Heaven! _Megalosaurus!”_




                         CHAPTER XXIII.

                   MUSWANI--MONSTER-FIGHTER.


AY, Megalosaurus! One of the most terrible of the monstrous reptiles
which roamed the prehistoric forests of our globe. Often had Mervyn
described this fearful brute in his lectures on the subject; often had
his students listened open-mouthed to his vivid word-pictures of this
and other monsters of the same period; but never did he think to come
face to face with the creature, to stand in peril of his life from its
fury.

For a moment the brute remained glaring upon its victims, then,
giving voice once more to its fear-inspiring cry, it lurched forward
from the shelter of the fungi and stood revealed in all its diabolical
horror. Terror-stricken as they were, the adventurers gazed with a
kind of fascination upon the reptile. There was something so devilish
about him as he stood there in the full glare of the fungi, the scaly
plates of his hide shimmering like a silver sea with every move he
made, and his sabre-like teeth gnashing with fury, that they could do
naught but stare. Not one could lift a weapon, save the Ayuti. He
alone had not succumbed to the paralysing fascination of the
creature.

Moving upon his huge hind legs, his short fore-limbs held
kangaroo-wise before him, the saurian shambled through the quarry
entrance, the Ayuti, watching keenly for a chance to attack,
retreating before him.

“We’re done,” Seymour groaned; “of what use are spears against
such a brute? Great Heaven! be careful!”

Forgetting for an instant that he did not understand English, the
baronet addressed the warning to Chenobi, who had leapt forward to
slash with his great axe at the saurian’s side. He sprang back only
just in time to escape the great teeth, which snapped within a
hair’s-breadth of his uplifted arm, having gained nothing by his
effort.

“This is horrible!” Mervyn cried, “waiting here for death. Can we
do nothing against the brute?”

His question was answered in an unexpected manner. With a furious
bellow the great elk leapt forward, pawed the ground for an instant,
then launched himself like a thunderbolt upon the monstrous reptile.
Utterly unprepared for this attack, the latter swerved in his advance,
attempting to avoid the advancing elk. But Muswani was too quick for
him. With a shock that flung him back upon his haunches, his antlers
struck the saurian’s scaly hide, and the huge brute staggered beneath
the blow. Ere he could recover, the elk had leapt out of reach and
stood pawing the ground, preparatory to another charge.

“Be ready,” Chenobi cried eagerly, gripping the handle of his
great weapon; “if Muswani should overthrow the beast, then we will
speedily make an end of him.”

The fury of the megalosaurus was now directed against the elk,
who, with all the cunning of an old warrior, was prancing about his
enemy, seeking to draw him on to attack. And he succeeded, for
suddenly, with a movement so swift that eye could scarce follow it,
the reptile’s claw-armed fore-limb lashed out.

With a nimble leap Muswani evaded the stroke, charging in an
instant later upon his adversary. The shock of the meeting rang like a
thunderclap through the quarry, and the great saurian, reeling from
the impact, lurched over upon his side, exposing his only vulnerable
part, the belly.

[Illustration: “THE GREAT SAURIAN REELING FROM THE IMPACT,
                      LURCHED OVER UPON HIS SIDE”       (_p. 175._)]

“Now!” cried Chenobi, and leapt forward. Gripping their weapons
firmly, his comrades advanced to complete the work which the elk had
begun. But Muswani was before them. While yet the reptile strove to
rise, the king’s gallant steed hurled itself again upon him, the
terrible antlers tearing deep into the monster’s vitals. A scream of
agony burst from the huge brute’s throat, and he grabbed savagely at
his agile enemy with his sickle-like claws. At that moment Chenobi’s
axe swept downward, almost severing the monster’s left fore-limb,
while the adventurers, rushing in, plunged their spears deep into his
gleaming white belly.

“Back!” hissed the Ayuti, and retreated swiftly.

’Twas well the others followed his advice so promptly, or
assuredly one or other of them would have been crushed; for, rearing
upward to its full height in the agony of its death struggle, the
megalosaurus pitched over with a crash, driving the spears to their
full length into its vitals.

Madly he thrashed the ground with his great tail, as he rolled
from side to side in the bloody pool already forming round him,
keeping up the while a hoarse scream which told how sorely he was
stricken.

The great hounds were mad with excitement; indeed, Chenobi had
the greatest difficulty in keeping them away from the dying monster.
All through the combat they had been restless, snarling, and baring
their great fangs, as they raced to and fro behind their master. His
word alone had prevented them from hurling themselves to certain
destruction against the saurian’s claws; but now, with the smell of
blood in their nostrils, their lust to kill proved too much for their
obedience. With their lean flanks palpitating with eagerness, the
whole four bounded, swift as light, across the quarry, and leapt for
the monster’s throat. A hoarse command from the king they did not
heed, although twice repeated, and for this disobedience one of the
four paid dearly.

As he sprang the reptile’s jaws opened, and, with a sickening
crunch, the great teeth closed upon the hapless hound’s skull. A
moment later the lifeless carcase of Chenobi’s pet was flung almost at
his master’s feet.

But it was the saurian’s last effort. One great choking gasp he
gave, a torrent of blood poured from his nostrils, then he plunged
heavily forward, almost crushing the three hounds, hanging like grim
death to his throat.

“Thank God!” Mervyn cried, “we have been marvellously delivered.
Chenobi”--turning to the Ayuti--“your steed has saved
us.”

“Muswani is an old fighter,” the king replied, striding over to
the elk, who had retired into the background again after overthrowing
the reptile. He patted the brute’s glossy hide and murmured words of
endearment into its ears, which Muswani seemed perfectly to
understand.

“I guess the old elk’s a stayer,” remarked Silas; “we’d ha’ been
in a real tight corner but for him. Say, Mervyn, what do you think of
the beastie yonder?”

“Horrible!” returned the scientist with a shudder. “The brute’s
far worse than Triceratops, for it’s a wholly carnivorous feeder.”

“I assume we were down on its bill of fare, then?” asked the
Yankee, moving forward to examine the carcase, at which the hounds
were still tearing.

“Nothing would come amiss to the brute,” Mervyn assented,
producing his note-book and pencil.

“H’m,” Haverly remarked, as he surveyed the dead monster, “a
fairish-sized sort of tadpole. Fifty foot from nose to tail, and
perhaps a bit over. Say, William, come and have a look at your uncle.
You an’ Wilson are mighty quiet over there.”

“I’ve seen as much of the brute as I want,” Seymour replied as he
joined the American. “If there’s many more of his sort in the jungle,
some of us will lose the numbers of our mess before long.”

“He’s done us out of our weapons, anyway,” growled Silas;
“there’s no heaving him over to pull ’em out. After all, a spear’s
kinder handy if you prick ’em in the right place. Sort of touches the
spot, you know.”

“What’s to be the next move?” asked the engineer.

“Wal, I guess this outfit’s earned a rest. The present ’ud be a
suitable occasion for a feed. Mervyn’s got enough to keep him on the
trot for a while, an’ we might as well improve the passing hour.
William, perhaps you’ll oblige by informing Chenobi as it’s
dinner-time.”

Smiling at Haverly’s quaint speech, the baronet complied with his
request; and there, but a few yards from the carcase of the
megalosaurus, the explorers made a hearty meal. The Ayuti, despite the
loss of his hound, was in high spirits. He had never dreamt that they
should be able to slay the monster, his only motive in entering the
quarry being to escape the notice of the brute if possible; but,
having scented them, the saurian invaded their refuge, with the result
already recorded.

But for Muswani, the affair would have had a vastly different
ending!

For the greater part of two hours they rested, the professor
obtaining from Chenobi a whole budget of information respecting the
quarry. He learnt, among other things, that at one time a great stone
causeway had connected the quarry with the subterranean city, along
which the blocks had been conveyed on stone trucks. By the gradual
sinking of the swampy ground, over which it was laid, the causeway had
been engulfed, and now not a vestige remained. Gladly would Mervyn
have remained longer in the quarry, amid the relics of a dead race,
but his comrades were anxious to move on, and so, giving way to their
desires, he prepared to leave the spot which had so nearly proved the
scene of their destruction.

“It’s a bit risky without weapons,” Haverly said, as they plunged
once more into the jungle, “but I guess we’ll have to manage. ‘Tread
lightly’s’ the word, and keep your weather eyes lifting for
beetles.”

However Chenobi could find his way amid the tangled growths of
the jungle the adventurers could not imagine. He had no compass to
consult, and he had not the light of the heavenly bodies by which to
steer. Yet he never hesitated for one moment, guiding his antlered
steed as though perfectly familiar with the route.

Mervyn, perched behind him, pored over his notes, and several
times came within an ace of being swept from his seat by the branching
arms of the fungi giants on either side, the Ayuti avoiding these by
bending low over his mount. The journey seemed terribly long to the
three on foot. The glistening monotony of the eternal fungi wearied
their eyes. Talk, save in whispers, they dared not, lest they should
rouse another of the jungle beasts, perhaps even more terrible than
the megalosaurus. Their entirely unarmed condition made them
apprehensive almost to fearfulness. But, for all the sound that
reached them, the whole underworld might have been without
inhabitant.

Suddenly Chenobi checked his steed, raising his hand as a warning
to his friends. Wondering what new peril threatened, the three moved
cautiously alongside the elk. Parting the fungi, they peered through.
Before them lay a clearing--an open space of some sixty square
yards in area. At first sight it appeared to be empty, but in a few
seconds they became aware of the presence of a monstrous black shape,
sharply outlined against the glistening wall of the encircling jungle.
Ere they could observe more, the hounds, who had been trailing at
heel, burst into a savage bay, and broke through the fungi. Only a
glimpse the explorers had of a huge, hairy body which lumbered
awkwardly into the shelter of the jungle, with the hounds snarling at
its heels, but it sufficed for the professor.

“Megatherium!” he yelled in amazement, “the giant sloth!”

With a bound he leapt from his seat and darted across the
clearing; but sloth and hounds had already vanished, the latter in
full cry.

“Call your brutes off,” Mervyn cried to the king, as he forced
his steed into the clearing; “the creature’s perfectly harmless, and
it seems a shame for the dogs to worry it.”

A piercing call rang from the Ayuti’s lips, the baying ceased as
though by magic, and ere long the hounds slid out of the undergrowth,
panting from their fruitless chase.

“It is unfortunate that the creature disappeared so quickly,”
muttered the scientist. “I had not time to make a proper observation,
but its presence here appears to me to imply that the monsters of
prehistoric days are far from extinct. Were we to make a thorough
search, I do not doubt that we should find representatives of all the
tribes of vast creatures which once inhabited the upper world.”

“Except the birds,” retorted Seymour; “as yet we have seen no
trace of them, which seems rather remarkable since, according to Maori
tradition, the moa birds were existent in New Zealand up to the end of
the seventeenth century.”

“It don’t seem extra remarkable,” put in Haverly, “when you
reckon megalosaurus as an item on the programme. Seems to me as a
bird, however large, ’ud stand a poor chance against him. What’s your
idea, professor?”

“The same,” returned the scientist; “but we have not yet learned
that they are non-existent. However, I will question Chenobi on the
subject. It may be that he can enlighten us.”

But the king could supply no information as to the existence of
giant birds, although Mervyn helped out his explanation with the aid
of a rough sketch. If there were any such, they were unknown to
him.

“We must keep our eyes open,” Mervyn remarked, after
communicating the Ayuti’s answer to his friends. “I have great hope
that we shall yet come across one,” and, with that, the interrupted
journey was resumed.

For a full hour they moved forward, then the jungle ended.
Bursting through the last few scattered growths, they emerged upon the
shore of a vast lake.

Strangely weird it looked, slumbering there in the twilight, with
the fungi-gleam lighting up its waters for a few yards from shore.

“Do we go round?” Seymour asked, turning to the Ayuti.

“Nay,” was the reply, “there is a boat,” and, dismounting, he
began to search amid the fungi close by. Soon his efforts were
rewarded. From the shelter of a clump, some ten feet from the water’s
edge, he dragged a boat--the most curious the explorers had ever
seen. In shape like an Indian bark canoe, it was made of the skin of
some animal, stretched tightly over a framework of bones. Despite the
long years it must have lain in disuse, it was still serviceable,
riding the water like a cork when launched.

“Enter!” Chenobi said; “I will ride round upon Muswani, and will
meet ye upon the further side. ’Tis a straight course, and there is no
danger.”

Leaping to his seat, he called up the hounds; then, with a wave
of the hand, he galloped swiftly along the shore. Soon he vanished
from view, the sound of Muswani’s hoofs died away, and at that the
adventurers entered their strange craft.

Each grasping one of the bone paddles which lay in the bottom of
the boat, Silas and the baronet struck off with quick, powerful
strokes. Within a few moments their tiny craft was swallowed up in the
gloom that veiled the lake.




                         CHAPTER XXIV.

                 A GLIMPSE OF THE UPPER WORLD.


“CHENOBI!” the baronet roared, “Chenobi!”

“Where the deuce can the fellow have got to?” he went on. “He
said he’d meet us, and here we’ve been waiting over an hour, and not a
sign of him yet.”

“Perhaps he’s met with some accident?” Mervyn suggested.

“I guess not,” replied the Yankee, “the Ayuti’s cute enough to
keep out of danger. He’ll be along here presently, you’ll see. There
you are”--as the sound of hoofs became audible--“I reckon
he’s arrived.”

The next moment Chenobi’s hounds burst out of the gloom, followed
a few seconds later by Muswani.

“I was delayed,” the king explained as he drew up; “I found three
of the wolf-people hunting along the shore.”

“Did they attack you?” Seymour questioned.

“They will not follow the hunting trail again,” returned Chenobi
significantly. “See, I have brought their weapons,” and he flung three
spears to his friends.

[Illustration: “SEE, I HAVE BROUGHT THEIR WEAPONS”  (_p. 181._)]

“Give the other to Wilson,” Mervyn said, when Seymour and the
Yankee had each taken one, “he will make better use of it than I
should. And now for the next stage of our journey.”

First renewing their supply of water--which they carried in
two skin bottles--from the lake, the adventurers turned and
trudged forward again in the track of the elk. Now their way led over
a bare, stony plain, with never a fungi-clump to relieve the gloom,
and here the king’s jewel became once more of service. This part of
the journey was by far the most trying to the foot-weary travellers,
and they were glad to take advantage of the Ayuti’s offer, that each
should ride in turn for a space upon Muswani’s broad back. Mile after
mile they covered in this way, until a line of cliffs loomed before
them, sheer and impregnable.

The adventurers gazed at Chenobi in amazement. Had he mistaken
his route? So far as they could see, there was no opening in that
towering wall, yet he dismounted at its base as though he had reached
his goal.

A smile passed over his features as he noted the astonishment of
his friends.

“All is well,” he said, “we will rest here a while, ere we ascend
the cliff.”

“Ascend the cliff?” Seymour gasped, staring amazedly at the rocky
barrier.

“Ay,” returned the Ayuti; “see you not that there be steps carven
in the rock?”

Then the baronet saw what he had before overlooked. Up the very
face of the cliff ran a rude stairway, hewn out of the solid rock.

“It was carven by my people,” Chenobi went on, “when they first
came to this underworld, so that they might at times look upon the eye
of Ramouni, the sun god, whom they worshipped.”

“Another instance of the remarkable engineering ability of this
people,” remarked Mervyn to the baronet; “it must have taken years to
carve out that stairway, rude though it looks.”

“Guess it’s a bigger job than I should care to tender for,” put
in the Yankee. “Say, the old planet lost some real hustlers when the
Ayutis pegged out.”

“Nothing seems to have been too great for the beggars to tackle,”
murmured Wilson admiringly. “If they’d been above ground, they would
have built a staircase to the moon, or something of the sort.”

Mervyn smiled.

“They were a wonderful race,” he said reflectively; “it is a
thousand pities they have become extinct. Thoroughly civilised, they
would have become one of the first nations in the world. Think of
it--with their great bodily strength, splendid courage--as
evidenced by our friend the king here--their engineering skill,
what would they not have accomplished? Of course we may take it for
granted there were wastrels among them; there is no community without
its ne’er-do-wells. But the majority, from what I can gather from
Chenobi, appear to have been an intelligent and utterly fearless
people. Of the fate which overtook them, wiping them out of existence,
I can learn nothing. The king always avoids the subject when I
approach it.”

“I expect it’s too painful a matter to talk about,” returned
Seymour; “but, whatever the cause of their dying out, I can well
imagine the wolf-men had a hand in it. If their former priests were as
diabolically ingenious as Nordhu is, I fear no race could have
withstood them long. Just imagine, if you can: five millions of the
brutes--I think that’s the number you mentioned,
Meryvn?--they would overwhelm a world, let alone a city!”

“The presence of the priests is a puzzle to me,” the scientist
went on. “Obviously they are a different race from the savages they
govern, yet they are certainly not Ayutis! It may be that they are
half-breeds, the result of a union between the two races? The
offspring, perhaps, of some criminal, who, banished from the city for
his misdeeds, joined himself to the wolf-men and became their
leader.”

“But how do you account for their speaking the same language as
the islanders of Ayuti?” questioned Seymour.

“I have formed a theory to account for the coincidence,” was the
scientist’s reply, “whether it is the correct one or not remains to be
proved. When we reach the end of our present journey I shall be better
able to decide. But, see, the king is preparing to move on again.”

“Come,” Chenobi cried, approaching the base of the cliff
stairway.

Rising, his friends followed. With a sharp word of command to his
steed and hounds, the Ayuti commenced the ascent. Allowing a few
moments to elapse, Mervyn followed, then in turn came Wilson and the
American, Seymour bringing up the rear. Upward they toiled, their eyes
strained to catch the gleam from Chenobi’s jewel, their only guide
amid the gloom.

Slowly Muswani and the hounds--left to their own devices at
the foot of the steps--faded from view. Then the plain itself
vanished, seeming to give place to an illimitable black void. And afar
off, miles and miles away, a silver haze hovered. It was the uncanny
radiance from the fungi jungle. But even this faded at length, and
still the rough-hewn ledges rose before the climbers, and their limbs
grew weary of the treadmill-like motion. Occasionally an encouraging
shout would peal downward from Chenobi, cheering the flagging spirits
of his followers.

“Courage!” the king cried at length, “the end is at hand.”

Within a few moments they all stood in the mouth of a narrow
tunnel, which stretched before them far into the heart of the
cliff.

“Thank heaven that’s over!” muttered Wilson. “My leg’s still too
stiff to stand much of that kind of thing.”

“Your wound hasn’t broken out afresh?” Seymour inquired
anxiously.

“No,” the engineer returned, “there’s no chance of that now.”

“That’s good,” cried Haverly; “a wounded leg’s kinder awkward to
rub along with. Jupiter!”

His sentence ended in a gasp, as a brilliant light flooded the
tunnel.

“The sun!” Mervyn cried excitedly; “let us move forward again,”
and, suiting the action to the word, he strode on over the slanting
floor of the tunnel. But he pulled up again in a moment with a
startled “Oh!” as the light, dying out as suddenly as it had come,
left him in pitchy darkness.

Seymour burst into a laugh.

“You were a bit too previous, Mervyn,” he said. “Did you forget
that the light only lasted for a few seconds?”

“I had almost persuaded myself that we should emerge into the
open air within a few yards,” returned the scientist; “but I think
I’ll let Chenobi take the lead. Come along; are you going to stand
there all day?”

“Don’t get impatient, old chap,” retorted the Yankee; “we’re
comin’ along right now.”

And now began a journey which taxed their strength to the utmost.
The floor of the passage sloped almost as steeply as a house-roof, and
the adventurers had the greatest difficulty in keeping their feet.

Chenobi, going barefoot, got over the ground rapidly, but with
the others, in their heavy boots, slips were frequent. Hour after hour
they pressed upward, pausing occasionally for rest and refreshment;
then on once again with unflagging energy, knowing that each step
brought them nearer to the daylight. Thrice in the course of that
climb did the light of the sun penetrate the recesses of the tunnel,
so that the journey must have taken them at least three days.

Then the water began to run short, and many were the anxious
queries addressed to Chenobi as to the means of renewing the
supply.

“There is water above,” he replied to all these questions. “Ere
the light shall again strike upon the eye of the carven Ramouni our
journey will be at an end.”

Thus encouraged, they increased their pace, and before long a
cool breeze fanned their heated cheeks. Used as they had become to the
stagnant, motionless atmosphere of the underworld, the gentle current
came to the adventurers as a veritable life-giving elixir. It
intoxicated them, indeed, for a little while, caused a species of
madness, wherein the only thing of which they were conscious was the
yearning to get out into the open. It spurred them on to such efforts
that the Ayuti, for all his strength, had considerable difficulty in
keeping pace with them. Never before had the prospect of gazing upon
the face of Nature inspired them with such wildly delirious joy. Even
the cool-blooded American succumbed to the rapture of the moment. Hope
surged high within them all.

The Ayuti alone was grave and preoccupied. The hours he had spent
with these new comrades had been pleasant enough, but he knew that
they longed to return to their own world. They could not be happy in
the gloom of the underworld. They were children of the light, and
Ramouni, the sun god, was calling them back to bask once more in his
bright rays; and he, Chenobi, must return to his life of solitude, to
range the jungles till death came to him.

So thought the king. Little wonder that he was silent and grave.
It had been better, he mused, if these white strangers had never come
to his land; he would then have been content with his animals, and
with the lonely life to which a cruel fate had doomed him. But now he
longed for a comrade to share his solitude, and to divide the spoils
of the chase. With an effort he shook off these imaginings, and
applied himself more vigorously to the ascent. An hour passed by, and
then an excited cry broke from Seymour:

“The moon!”

An instant later the party emerged into the full glory of the orb
of night. For a while they stood drinking in the beauty of the scene
around. They were standing in the crater of an extinct volcano.
Imagine a vast well, many hundreds of feet in depth and over a mile in
diameter at its base, its rugged walls--sloping slightly outward
as they rose--covered with a mass of tropical vegetation whose
every leaf gleamed like silver beneath the beams of the full moon that
hung high above. This was the scene that met the gaze of the
adventurers.

Leaving them gazing, Chenobi vanished into the shadow of the
cliffs, returning presently with the skin bottle he carried full of
clear water.

“Drink,” he said shortly, and to such good purpose did his
friends obey that the bottle had to be replenished ere their thirst
was satisfied. Then, thoroughly tired out, they flung themselves down
where they stood, and, with the rich scents of a tropical forest in
their nostrils, dropped off to sleep, leaving the Ayuti pacing to and
fro across the crater floor.

The moon swung slowly across the dark blue dome above, and still
Chenobi kept his vigil, moving back and forth with the regularity of
an automaton. Yet it could not be that he feared danger. What danger
could threaten in this peaceful spot?

No, it was not the fear of possible peril that kept the king from
his slumbers. His mind was busy with other things. A daring thought
had come to him, and, as he pondered it, the more feasible it
appeared. It was nothing less than this: that he should forsake his
old haunts and cast in his lot with his new friends. For hours he
revolved this idea in his brain, until the moon disappeared below the
crater rim; then he aroused the sleepers, and beneath the quickly
paling sky the explorers had their first breakfast above ground since
passing the great ice barrier. Anxiously they awaited the coming of
dawn, eager to commence the last stage of their journey--the
ascent of the crater wall.

With a suddenness peculiar to the tropics the sun rose. A fiery
arrow flickered across the sky, followed by a blaze of golden glory,
before which the stars rapidly paled and died. The day had come!

Rising, the king led the way across the crater, passing the tiny
spring whence he had obtained the water the previous night. This, the
explorers noted, overflowed its basin and trickled through a little
crevice in the crater wall out into the open, to become, perhaps, a
rushing river on the other side of the cliffs. Moving to a spot where
the ascent promised to be easier than at any other point, Chenobi
began to climb. The creepers and low-growing shrubs made progress very
easy. Within an hour the summit was reached, and the party stood in
the full glare of the sun on the rim of the great crater. This same
rim proved to be a rugged ledge some twenty feet in width, from which
the outer cliffs descended for the first hundred feet or so as sheer
as a wall and about as devoid of foothold.

Below, the morning mists still veiled the base of the cone and
the country which lay beyond it; but, as the sun gained power, the
banks of vapour slowly dispersed, exposing to view the waving forests
of a large island.

Eagerly Mervyn peered downward; then a glad shout pealed from his
lips:

“I thought so! Look, Seymour! _The island of Ayuti!_”

“Great Scott! so it is!” gasped the baronet in amazement.




                         CHAPTER XXV.

                        SEYMOUR’S FALL.


FOR some time the adventurers stood gazing downward from their lofty
perch in silence. Beyond the belt of forest they could see a strip of
sandy beach, and beyond this again, the sea, its shimmering surface
reflecting the rays of the sun like a gigantic mirror. No dwelling was
visible save in one place, where, in a forest clearing, a white house
stood, plainly discernible in the clear morning air against the dark
green of the foliage.

“See,” the scientist cried, “that is the English mission house.
Can we but get down, we shall receive a warm welcome from the
missionary, Mr. Travers; he is an old friend of mine.”

“You remember the legends which we heard from the natives,
Seymour,” he went on, “when we visited this island some years ago,
respecting the strange race of white giants which once inhabited this
place?”

“Perfectly,” responded the baronet.

“Well, I think our discoveries in the underworld bear out the
truth of the stories. Ever since I knew that the subterranean city was
called by the same name as this island my brain has been exercised to
account for the coincidence. Chenobi’s statement, that there was a
passage through a dead fire-mountain, by means of which his people
entered this land, gave me a clue to the mystery, and I formed a
theory as to the origin of the Ayutis. But I needed proof ere my idea
could become fact, and for that I had to wait until the present
moment.”

“And your theory is?” questioned Wilson.

“That the Ayutis once dwelt upon this island which is still named
after them; but, for some reason or other--probably through the
incursion of enemies--they were forced to take refuge in this
crater. They would discover the tunnel through which we came, and, in
the hope of finding a securer refuge, would explore it. The rest is
obvious.”

“But it must have been long ago,” said Seymour, “for the
buildings of the subterranean city are certainly many hundreds of
years old.”

“Probably at the time the inhabitants of the British Isles were
still savages,” returned Mervyn with a smile, “hunting the buffalo in
the swamps and living in caves or mud-huts. But enough of this; let us
see if there is any way down. I should like to see my friend, if
possible, before we return to look for Garth.”

“I guess that won’t be easy,” remarked the Yankee. “From what I
can see, we shall need a considerable length of rope ’fore we can get
down, and that’s a commodity we don’t happen to have on hand at
present. Still, we might as well prospect a bit.”

The Ayuti was strangely silent as the party moved round the
crater rim in an effort to find a spot where the cliff was scalable,
and Seymour--who walked beside him--rallied him at length
upon his abstraction.

“What ails you, Chenobi,” he asked, “that you are so silent?”

“I am perplexed, Fairhair,” replied the other. “Ere ye came to my
land I was content to lead the life of a hunter, to dwell alone, save
for my steed and hounds. But now I long for a friend. The time we have
spent together hath been very pleasant, but soon ye will return to
your own land, and I shall be alone once more.”

“Why not come with us?” burst out the baronet impulsively “there
is nothing to keep you down there.”

“First I must perform my vow,” returned Chenobi. “Listen, friend!
I had a brother once who was very dear to me. Though we twain were the
last of our race, yet were we happy, following the chase together, and
waging a grim vendetta against the wolf-people. But by craft Nordhu
the priest took my brother while I was absent from the city, and he
died beneath the jaws of Rahee. When I knew what had befallen, I vowed
before Ramouni that I would destroy the priest and Rahee, the sacred
beast. Therefore, until my vow be fulfilled, I cannot go with
you.”

“Then let me help you!” the baronet cried. “I, too, have a debt
against this same priest. Together we will accomplish his destruction
and that of Rahee, then ye shall return with us to our own land.”

“It is well,” returned the king, gripping Seymour’s hand; “we
will dwell together as brethren hereafter.”

Quickly the baronet communicated the gist of this conversation to
his friends, who all expressed their pleasure at the idea.

“We’ll have him stalking down Bond Street in patent leathers and
a topper in three months,” jested Wilson. “If only he’s got a few
pounds’ worth of treasure knocking around in that old city of his,
he’ll be able to do the foreign ‘dook’ in style.”

“I guess he’d take the shine outer some of your gilded
West-Enders, anyway,” retorted the American; “he’s the finest figure
of a man your humble ever struck. Say, Mervyn, looks to me as if
you’ll have to postpone your visit to your pard, the parson, till we
get a rope out of the old _Seal’s_ store-room. There don’t seem
no way down these yer plaguey cliffs.”

“We’ll complete the circuit of the crater, nevertheless,”
answered the scientist; “there may be a place where descent is
possible.”

From the woods below a confused murmur arose. It was the voices
of the creatures of the forest, blended by distance into one
harmonious whole. The chattering of monkeys, the shrill screaming of
parrots, and the melodious notes of other birds as they called to
their mates, all had a part in that chorus. And ever and anon a joyous
shout would ring upward from the beach, where a number of tiny figures
raced to and fro amid the surf. Mere black dots they looked to the
group on the crater rim, only to be discerned by careful observation
and much straining of the eyes. They were the native children enjoying
their early morning dip.

“Makes you wish you could take part in thet little picnic,”
drawled Silas. “I reckon a dip in the briny would be considerable
refreshing at this yer period. The sun’s gettin’ a darn sight too warm
to be pleasant.”

“I was just thinking the same,” Mervyn said, “and since there
appears to be no chance of descending to the lower ground without a
rope, we may as well get back into the crater.”

This advice was followed, and, ere long, the party were reclining
around the spring, recruiting their strength for the return journey.
There they waited in happy indolence until the sun had passed the
meridian; then they prepared to retrace their steps.

“Now to find Garth,” said the scientist.

“And wipe out Nordhu and the spider,” added Seymour.

“Do you think it wise?” Mervyn asked, “to penetrate again into
the dens of the wolf-men? You may not get off so easily another
time.”

“Wise or not,” returned the baronet doggedly, “I have given my
word to the Ayuti and I shall keep it. Of course, if you do not care
to come----”

“You know me better than that,” the scientist replied warmly; “we
have passed through too many perils together for you to deem me a
coward. Old though I am, I can still do my share when it comes to
fighting.”

“Forgive me, old man,” murmured Seymour penitently; “I did not
mean to suggest for a moment that I doubted your courage. You know
that!”

“Ay, I know, my friend,” was Mervyn’s reply; “don’t think I’m
offended by your words. But now let us push forward. The sooner we
find Garth the better.”

One last sight they had of the azure dome above them, of the
verdure-clothed walls of the ancient crater, then they plunged once
more into the darkness of the tunnel, eager to begin the search for
their missing comrade.

It was well that no presentiment of all that was to come crossed
their minds, no subtle warnings of the perils that awaited them,
through which they must pass ere they saw the daylight again, or even
their bold spirits might have quailed before the prospect. As it was,
knowing nothing, fearing nothing, they moved cheerily onward, making
the tunnel ring with their jests and laughter.

       *       *       *       *       *

The underworld once more. At the foot of the cliff stairway stood
the four explorers, awaiting their guide, who was seeking his elk and
the hounds. At intervals they heard his piercing call, ringing out
clear through the death-like silence of the place. And not for long
did the Ayuti call in vain. Of a sudden a clamorous baying broke out,
punctuated by the bellowing of Muswani, and through the twilight, from
the direction of the distant lake, came the Ayuti’s pets.

Mounting, he quickly rejoined his friends, and the whole party
strode out across the plain.

At the lake, however, a check awaited them. Moving down to the
water’s edge, they looked round for the boat in which they had
previously crossed, and which they had left drawn up high and dry upon
the beach.

It was gone!

Thinking that they had perhaps mistaken the spot, they searched
up and down the shore for a considerable distance; but all their
seeking was vain. The skin boat had vanished.

“It’s the doing of the wolf-people,” asserted the Ayuti; “see,
the hounds have scented them,” and he pointed to the three great dogs,
who were sniffing along the shore, as though following a trail.

“Then there is nothing for it but to go round,” said Seymour, and
forthwith they started, keeping a sharp look-out for the creatures who
had robbed them of their boat. For two hours they strode forward along
the shore; then, rounding the head of the lake and splashing across a
shallow stream which here entered it, they struck off at a tangent
into the jungle, the growths of which were at this point somewhat
scattered, there being many open spaces between. Swiftly they moved,
yet cautiously, their ears alert to catch the slightest suspicious
sound. Once a herd of giant bison thundered across the track before
them at a gallop; then a number of elk were sighted, to whom Muswani
bellowed a challenge. Unheeding it, however, the brutes dashed swiftly
away and disappeared.

The jungle seemed alive with game, but the adventurers had no
time for the chase. Their only desire now was to get back to the city
with all speed, and to this end they pressed on at their best
pace.

Suddenly in the ground before them, its yawning mouth revealed by
a clump of fungi growing close to the verge, appeared a black chasm.
Some thirty feet by twelve in size, its walls descending sheer as
those of a well as far as eye could penetrate into its gloom, it was
as weird a place as one could wish to see; and from its dismal depths
arose the boom of a waterfall.

“It’s a ghostly hole,” remarked Seymour, pausing for an instant
on the brink, and peering downward. His friends, not noting that he
had stopped, still held on, until a cry from behind caused them to
pull up. Turning, they saw Seymour struggling on the very verge of the
abyss with a wolf-man of gigantic stature. The perilous position of
the struggling figures unnerved all but Chenobi. He, with a cry of
rage, leapt to earth and sprang to the baronet’s assistance. But, ere
he could reach the scene of the struggle Seymour and the savage
pitched over the brink of the abyss, and, still grappling madly,
hurtled into the gloomy depths below.

“Great Heaven!” Mervyn burst out despairingly; “he is lost! My
poor friend!”

Haverly’s eyes blazed with a terrible hate.

“Say, Mervyn,” he snapped, “we don’t stir a peg out of this
devil’s hole of a country till we’ve avenged poor Seymour. We’ll teach
these brutes a lesson they’ll never forget.”

Wilson’s impotent rage was pitiable to witness.

“The best and truest comrade ever man had,” he cried, “sent to
his death by a loathsome brute like that. Curse them all, I say!”

The Ayuti said no word, but his face was set stern and pitiless
as a mask, boding ill for any luckless savage that should cross his
track. With a mad, unreasoning passion raging in their hearts, the
four men turned from the abyss, whose black depths had swallowed their
friend, and resumed their journey.

Recklessly they moved now, caring little whether they aroused any
of the jungle beasts or no, their fury making them absolutely
fearless. Let them but find the _Seal,_ and renew their supply of
ammunition then they would invade the fastnesses of the wolfish brutes
at whose door lay Seymour’s death, and teach them a terrible
lesson.

Their journey was finished without further adventure, and at
length, reaching the city gate, they passed through and made their way
towards the temple.

Their hearts ached for their lost friend. They missed him sorely.
His cheery voice, his inspiring courage, had assisted them through
many a trying situation, and they could not bear to think that they
should never see him again.

Their minds were busy with gloomy thoughts of the future, when
they reached the temple steps. These--leaving the Ayuti to stable
the elk and chain up the hounds--they were ascending, when,
thrilling and terrible, through the silent streets came echoing the
cry of the wolf-men.

As it ceased, up the steps bounded Chenobi.

“The wolf-people!” he cried passionately. “Nordhu, the priest,
hath lost no time.”

Unslinging the great shield from his back, he took his stand upon
the topmost step, his battle-axe flashing like silver beneath the
light which shone from the jewel upon his brow. The next moment, into
the square below poured a vast throng of savages, and at sight of the
motionless figures upon the terrace they once more raised their
hideous cry.




                         CHAPTER XXVI.

                 THE FASCINATION OF THE PRIEST.


FORWARD they came to the base of the steps, then paused a while, as
though awaiting some signal ere commencing the attack. It came at
length. From somewhere at the rear arose the voice of the high priest
of the wolf-men.

“Go forward, my children, and ye shall prevail. Ramouni has
spoken it.”

At the words a score or so of savages leapt up the steps towards
the Ayuti.

“Guard my back,” the latter cried to his three friends, and bent
forward to meet his oncoming foes. A grim smile played over his
features for an instant as the wolf-men hesitated a few feet from the
top of the steps.

“Are ye fearful,” he cried mockingly, “oh, children of the wolf?
Hath not Nordhu, your father, promised that ye shall prevail? Come,
then! Chenobi awaits you.”

His words lashed the savages to fury, and, with a roar of rage,
they hurled themselves upon him. Quick as thought his weapon flashed
upward, then came down in a terrific swoop, and the foremost wolf-man,
his head almost cloven from his shoulders, pitched backward down the
steps. To right and left the great axe whirled and smote, dancing and
gleaming above the heaving mass of brown bodies which surged furiously
upward. And from every fresh stroke it rose dyed crimson with the
life-blood of a new victim.

As yet the three behind were idle. At the stairhead they would
have been in the king’s way, preventing him from the free use of his
weapon, and so far not a savage had managed to break past and gain the
terrace. But there was work for them before the fight was over. At
present they had perforce to be content to look on, and the sight
aroused their keenest admiration, while satisfying the lust for
vengeance which burned within them.

Like ripened grain the wolf-men fell away before that terrible
axe, and still Chenobi was untouched. Every spear-thrust or stab of
knife fell harmless upon his great shield. His arm seemed tireless, as
he wielded the mighty weapon which a man of average strength could
barely lift. Still the carnage went on, still the pile of dead grew,
until but five of the attackers remained. Then these lost heart, and,
turning, bounded down the steps.

The first attack had failed.

“Cannot we help?” asked Mervyn, as Chenobi turned round, smiling
triumphantly.

“Nay,” returned the king; “spears are but puny weapons against a
host. Besides, ye have no shields.”

“But it becomes us ill to stand idle,” persisted the
scientist.

“If I should fall your turn will come,” replied Chenobi, and,
with that, he faced about to meet a fresh attack.

“God forbid!” cried Mervyn fervently, but his words were drowned
in the clamour of the savage horde that came charging up towards the
terrace. It was but a repetition of the previous scene, and the
scientist, knowing the devilish cunning of the priest, marvelled that
he should allow his followers to throw away their lives in such mad
fashion. Yet in his heart was a dread that these attacks were but the
prelude to some diabolical scheme, which, when complete, would land
them all in the power of the wolf-men. And his forebodings were only
too fully justified.

While Chenobi hacked and hewed, with his whole mind centred upon
the foe before him, a fur-clad figure advanced from the shadow of the
king’s palace and crossed the square to the foot of the steps.

It was Nordhu, and Mervyn shuddered as he saw the weird glitter
of the fellow’s eyes as he fixed them full upon those of the king.
Like twin stars they glowed through the twilight.

“Great Heaven!” the scientist ejaculated, grasping Haverly’s arm,
“he’s trying to hypnotise Chenobi!”

“The devil!” snarled Silas with a shiver of rage, and, lifting
his spear, he hurled it full at the priest. He missed his mark by a
few inches as Nordhu leapt aside.

“Ye shall pay for that, dog!” roared the latter, once more
riveting his gaze upon the form of the king.

“He’s overcoming our friend,” Mervyn gasped an instant later, as
Chenobi, ceasing his efforts, dropped his weapon, and stood as one
dazed. With a roar of delight the wolf-men gained the terrace, and
within two minutes their gigantic enemy was fast bound by a stout hide
rope, and the attackers were turning their attention to the three
comrades, who had retired a few paces. There, with their backs to the
altar, in the shadow of the great idol, they prepared for the final
struggle against their relentless foes.

But the fascinating stare of the priest followed them, and, ere
long, Wilson succumbed to its baleful power. Despite his comrades’
efforts to detain him, the lad strode calmly across the terrace,
passed through the horde of savages clustered at the head of the
stairs, and descended to the square, where he was immediately bound
securely by the wolf-men below. The power of the priest was truly
appalling.

Flushed by his double triumph, he again exerted himself to
complete the fell work he had begun, by subduing the minds of the
remaining two. But they were of sterner stuff. With all the strength
of their natures they fought against the uncanny force which bade them
surrender to their enemies. The eyes of the priest seemed to be
glaring right into their brains, yet they struggled on, knowing that
to submit meant their ultimate ruin. Their case they well knew was
hopeless, but far better to die fighting beneath the spears of the
savages than to be led captive into the caverns of the hills, there to
be sacrificed to the terrible Rahee.

Oh, for a rifle and a couple of cartridges! Haverly thought, that
he might at least send Nordhu to his last account ere he himself fell.
As well might he have wished for the moon.

Suddenly the influence of the priest was withdrawn; his eyes
ceased to glare, and from his lips came a low call. Instantly the
waiting savages dashed forward, overwhelming the two comrades by sheer
numbers, before either could strike more than a blow in
self-defence.

So it ended, the fight that had opened so well, that had promised
to finish so differently, its issue decided by the devilish arts of
the priest. But for the hypnotic power of Nordhu, they might have kept
the wolf-men at bay for an almost indefinite period. Haverly ground
his teeth with helpless rage as he and Mervyn were led down into the
square. Here the same humiliating fate befel them as had already
fallen to Wilson and the Ayuti.

They were bound securely, hand and foot, the raw hide ropes being
drawn so tightly that they almost cut into the flesh. Then, seized by
some of their hideous captors, the four men were carried swiftly
through the silent streets and out across the plain towards the haunts
of the wolf-men.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Seymour felt himself gripped from behind, as he stood gazing
down into the abyss, his first sensation was one of deadly fear.
Overcoming this, however, he swung round quickly and grappled his
hideous opponent. To and fro they swayed upon the brink, each gripping
the other’s throat, each struggling to hurl his enemy over the edge of
the chasm.

With all his enormous strength Seymour could barely hold his own.
The wolf-man’s muscles seemed of iron, his fingers gripped like a
vice, and beneath their pressure the baronet’s life was slowly choked
out.

It was at this moment that he managed to gasp out the cry which
attracted the attention of his friends; but, as we know, they were too
late to aid him, and both he and the loathsome savage pitched over
into the abyss.

His mind was a complete blank during the few moments of his fall.
He did not swoon, yet his mental and physical powers were alike
suspended--paralysed, as it were. Then suddenly his faculties
were fully restored by a plunge into rushing water. He sank like a
stone, the water roaring madly in his ears, seeming to beat him
downward to a terrible depth. With all his strength he struck out for
the surface, fighting his way up through the surging waters that he
might empty his bursting lungs.

It was the agony of years concentrated into a few seconds of time
through which he passed in that upward struggle; but he gained the
surface at length, and, with the thunderous boom of a cataract in his
ears, was swept forward by the current. For a time he was content to
be carried along without attempting to swim, only paddling
sufficiently to keep himself afloat. The roar of the fall died away
behind him as he was swept on, and the speed of the current gradually
slackened.

Slower and slower his progress grew, and at last he was obliged
to strike out for himself. As to his whereabouts, he had no idea, but,
deeming one direction as good as another in the midnight darkness by
which he was surrounded, he swam boldly ahead.

Ere long he found that, strong as he was, to swim fully clothed
for any length of time would be an impossibility; so, floating there,
in the midst of a profound and awful silence, hedged about on either
side by a solid pall of darkness, the intrepid baronet removed his
boots and clothes. Then, naked as he was born, he struck out once more
with long, steady strokes that ate up the distance.

Where was his enemy, the wolf-man? he wondered. Had he, too,
escaped, and at the present moment was swimming somewhere in the
darkness? The thought sent a shiver through Seymour’s frame, and he
half expected to see a pair of fierce eyes glaring through the gloom
and to feel once more those bony fingers gripping his throat. But
there came no sign to show that the savage had escaped, and gradually
the baronet’s anxiety on that score died.

For hours, so it seemed to him, he was swimming before his
outstretched hand touched solid stone. Treading water, he reached
upward, striving to discover how high this barrier was; but the top
was beyond his reach.

Sheer and solid the masonry rose, without crack or crevice by
means of which one might climb. Somewhat disappointed, Seymour turned
and swam slowly along the base of the wall.

What this barrier meant he could not at first determine. The
touch of it told him that it was no work of Nature. No natural wall
had ever its smoothness and regularity. Yet for what purpose had it
been built? Like a flash into his brain swept the answer. This was the
ancient reservoir of the Ayutis, which fed the great tanks beneath the
temple. The thought gave him hope, for, if his idea were correct,
there must be some exit through which the water flowed into the
conduits.

Steadily he swam forward, feeling the wall as he went, till
suddenly, thrusting out his hand, he felt nothing. The wall had
ended!

Eagerly he felt about him. Yes, there was no doubt about it, the
masonry had ceased. Three cautious strokes, at right angles to his
first course, and his feet touched the lowest of a flight of steps
which here broke the regularity of the wall, running down some feet
into the water. Thankfully he drew himself up, and sat a while to
rest, ere ascending to the top of the flight.

His position was a most unenviable one. Naked, wet, and shivering
from his immersion, buried in some subterranean cavern far away from
even the ghostly light of the underworld, and, above all, entirely
defenceless, it was not remarkable that he felt somewhat depressed.
But summoning all his courage he rose after a few moments and mounted
the steps, moving carefully, lest he should lose his footing and fall
backward into the water again. Twelve of the steps he counted, then
found himself upon an apparently broad pavement, across which he
crept, hands outstretched before him.

The silence was intense. No sound but the gentle lapping of the
water against the stonework came to his ears, and even this ceased as
he increased his distance from the reservoir. Step by step he
advanced, gaining courage with every yard, until, with a suddenness
that sent his heart leaping into his mouth, a sound came out of the
darkness ahead--_the snarling yelp of some animal!_

The baronet pulled up on the instant and stood listening. Again
the yelp came to his ears, trembling away weirdly into the furthermost
recesses of the vast cavern. What creature could it be that dwelt here
in the darkness? he asked himself. Was it the wolf-man who had fallen
with him into these depths? Even as his mind framed the question he
knew that it was so. The savage had escaped from the reservoir, and
was now prowling somewhere in the gloom ahead of him.

The idea was by no means a pleasant one, yet better the wolf-man
for an enemy than some strange beast. Prepared for an attack at any
moment, Seymour moved forward again, his momentary fear giving place
to a revengeful passion against the brute who had caused his present
predicament. For perhaps a score of yards he advanced, at length
coming in touch with a wall, along which he felt his way to a low
archway. This, after some little hesitation, he entered, having to
bend somewhat to escape catching his head against the roof.

The floor was slimy with ooze, and there was a constant drip of
water from above, but, disdaining these minor difficulties, Seymour
held on. With his arms outstretched to their full extent, he could
just touch the walls of the passage, and in this fashion he managed to
steer himself. As nearly as he could judge, the tunnel was about two
hundred yards in length, giving at last upon a chamber, which appeared
to be one of considerable size. Across this he was proceeding when a
bright light flickered into view right ahead.

It was too distant to illuminate much of the chamber in which he
was, but, taking it as his guide, he increased his pace and moved
swiftly towards it. As he went on he observed that it proceeded from a
low-roofed tunnel similar to the one from which he had just
emerged.

Stooping, he was about to enter the passage, when, with a snarl
of rage, the form of the wolf-man rose before him. The next instant he
and the loathsome savage were locked in a death-grip.




                         CHAPTER XXVII.

                         IN THE VAULTS.


A MOMENT they swayed and wrestled; then Seymour broke away from the grip
of his enemy, and leapt backward. Snarling savagely, the wolf-man crouched,
and leapt for the baronet’s throat. But the latter was prepared. Quick as
thought his fist shot out, and before the sledgehammer stroke the
savage crashed backward with a scream.

Ere he could rise Seymour was upon him, all the pent-up hatred in
his nature finding vent as he choked out the life of the hideous
creature. In vain the savage struggled beneath that iron grip. The
Englishman, for the moment, was absolutely merciless, every better
feeling sunk in one of murderous revenge. A grim satisfaction took
possession of him as he watched the fear of death grow in the savage’s
bulging eyes, a satisfaction complete only when the creature’s
movements ceased, when, with a last convulsive shudder, he lay still
and silent for ever.

Leaving the body where it lay, Seymour rose and entered the
tunnel, whence the light still streamed. Along this he advanced for
perhaps fifty yards, the light growing brighter with every step he
took; then he emerged into another large chamber, to stand for a
moment startled at the scene which met his eye.

In the centre of the great vault stood a throne, in shape like a
large chair, and ornamented with many strange hieroglyphics; and upon
it, grim and silent, with mouth agape and eyes that stared
unblinkingly before him, sat a man. A jewel, like to that which
Chenobi, the king, wore, was bound upon his forehead, and its radiance
filled the whole chamber.

There was something so sinister about the silent figure that the
baronet almost feared to advance; but at length, putting on a bold
front, he strode forward. Halting within a few paces of the throne, he
spoke the Ayuti salutation:

“Wabozi”

But the figure answered never a word, showed no sign that he was
conscious of Seymour’s presence. Stretching forth his hand, the latter
gently touched the man’s fingers. They were cold as ice, and, with a
shock, the baronet realised that he was in the presence of the
dead.

It was a ghastly discovery. The figure looked so lifelike, seated
there in state; yet it was only a corpse, the grisly relic of some
past ruler of the Ayutis, preserved from decay by some wonderful mode
of embalming known to that ancient people.

The first shock over, Seymour quickly decided that he must have
the jewel from the dead man’s forehead. No doubt it seemed like
desecration; yet, as light was absolutely necessary if he ever hoped
to find his way out of these caverns, he felt that the act would be
excusable. Mounting the three steps which led to the seat, he reached
upward to release the clasp that secured the gleaming stone.

This, being fastened at the back of the head, was rather
difficult to reach, and, to steady himself, Seymour--though not
without a shudder of repugnance--placed his hand upon the
shoulder of the corpse. As he did so, the figure seemed to leap upon
him; its shrivelled fingers pressed his quivering flesh. With a
startled cry the baronet stepped backward from the thing, but,
forgetting the steps, fell, and living and dead rolled together to the
floor.

Trembling from head to foot, Seymour picked himself up, and,
quickly snatching the jewel from the forehead of the corpse, he left
the grim mockery of life at the foot of its throne, and dashed over
the floor of the vault at a run. As he ran he noted that the walls of
the chamber were honeycombed with niches, each of which contained a
grisly occupant--a swathed and shrivelled mummy.

So this was the burial vault of the Ayutis, he thought, their
cemetery. Here slept those whose tireless energy had built up the city
of Ayuti; whose engineering skill had spanned the fire gulf with a
vast bridge; whose descendant, Chenobi, was his friend.

Thinking thus, the silent forms lost their uncanny aspect. His
temporary panic gave place to reverence, and he checked his random
pace, treading lightly, as though fearing to disturb the slumbers of
the dead. Ere long a third archway loomed before him, and, leaving the
hall of the mummies, he passed into a small chamber which lay
beyond.

“Great Scott!” he cried the next moment, and pulled up in sheer
amazement. Before him, scattered over the floor in lavish confusion,
lay thousands of weapons of every conceivable form. Great cross-hilted
swords there were; richly chased daggers, their hilts set with many a
precious stone, which scintillated beneath the light from Seymour’s
jewel; massive battle-axes and shields, spears, and knives, all
covered with strange designs, and all bright as though they had but
just left the hands of the maker.

“What can this strange metal be,” Seymour asked himself audibly,
“that it does not rust in this damp atmosphere?”

He examined the gleaming pile carefully, but could not discover
of what metal the weapons were made. They were not of steel, nor of
brass, neither of any of the numerous metals known in the upper world.
Looking up at length, his eyes fell upon a row of figures ranged along
the wall of the armoury chamber. They were suits of chain mail.

At sight of them an idea flashed into Seymour’s mind. Why should
not one of them serve him in the place of clothes?

“Why not?” he muttered to himself, and, striding over to the
armour, ran his eye over the row, hoping to find one somewhere about
his size. But all seemed hopelessly too large. Evidently they had been
made for much bigger men than he.

At last he managed to find one which appeared about his height,
noting, as he dragged it forward, that it was the smallest of the row,
a pigmy among giants. Donning it, he found that it fitted perfectly,
and, though the hide suit over which the mail was fastened was
painfully harsh to his skin, yet he gladly bore the discomfort for the
benefit of being once more clothed.

A great metal helmet completed the outfit, in which, owing to the
stiffness of the untanned hide, Seymour could scarcely move for a
time. Presently, however, the warmth from his body caused his strange
garments to relax somewhat, and made action possible.

First, fixing his light-giving jewel in the front of his helmet,
he selected an axe and shield, then strode forward to find an
exit.

In a few moments he reached the end of the armoury chamber, and
here a locked door confronted him. He pressed against it, but the
solid stone slab refused to budge, and, thinking to find some other
way out, he made a complete circuit of the place. There was no other
exit, save that which led into the hall of mummies.

This latter he was not minded to try again, having no desire to
renew his acquaintance with the embalmed sleepers.

“I must break it down,” he muttered, and strode back to the door.
Raising his axe, he smote hard upon the lock. Again and again he
struck, the sound of the blows filling the silent chambers with a
deafening clamour of echoes. Then, of a sudden, the lock gave; the
door crashed open, almost smothering Seymour beneath the cloud of dust
it raised as it swung back, creaking, on its hinges. Striding through
the opening, the baronet moved on up the passage which opened
beyond.

Two hundred paces, and a flight of steps rose before him, up
which he made his way with difficulty, owing to the armour which
encased his limbs.

But he accomplished it at length. Mounting the last step, he
found that an apparently blank wall of rock barred further
progress.

“That’s queer,” he mused, “there must be a door somewhere, or
what would be the use of these steps?”

Carefully he searched for a spring or other mechanical
contrivance, feeling certain that there was a secret doorway somewhere
in the wall. Almost every inch of the rock he examined, pressing his
fingers into each crevice, touching every tiny irregularity in its
surface, yet with no result. The rocky barrier refused to yield up its
secret.

At last, weary and discouraged, he turned and retraced his steps
to the armoury, deciding to return to the chamber of the dead, and
there seek some other outlet. As he picked his way amid the scattered
weapons, he accidentally kicked a small jewelled casket which lay
among them.

The lid of this leapt open, disclosing a discoloured parchment
scroll which lay within. With no other thought but curiosity, Seymour
extracted the scroll and attempted to decipher the faded hieroglyphics
with which its surface was covered. But the task was beyond him. Not
so thoroughly familiar with the Ayuti language and writings as Mervyn,
Seymour was baffled by what would have proved an easy task to the
scientist.

He was about to return the parchment to its case, when, turning
it over, he discovered that upon the reverse side was a roughly-drawn
map. This he studied for some time, puzzled by the strange lines and
stranger figures, until enlightenment came to him. It was a plan of
the subterranean chambers in which he had been wandering for so
long.

At once the thing became of importance, and he applied himself to
a closer scrutiny of it, hoping to find traced thereon the way out of
his present prison. Ere long his search was rewarded. The flight of
steps leading up to the blank wall was clearly drawn, and upon the
third step from the top was a peculiar mark--a tiny eye.

“The secret!” he cried triumphantly; and, returning the parchment
to its casket, he thrust both into the breast of his suit, then once
more mounted the steps. Here, however, a disappointment awaited him.
There was no mark upon the step resembling that upon the plan.

Again he drew forth the scroll, studying it with an even greater
care. The result was the same. It was undoubtedly the third step upon
which the eye was drawn; yet that same step in the flight, he knew,
had no mark of any description. Then an idea struck him. Perhaps if he
counted from the bottom he might find the mark? He did so, and soon
discovered the cause of his mistake. Upon the map only twenty-five
steps were drawn, while in the flight itself there were thirty.

Quickly he found the mark he sought, and, pressing upon it with
all his strength, had the satisfaction of seeing the barrier above
swing outward. Through the aperture thus formed he passed, leaving the
door ajar behind him.

Three steps he took, then a gasp of amazement escaped him. _He
was standing within the temple!_

His surprise over, he hurried to the doorway and out on to the
terrace.

“They must have returned long before this,” he muttered,
wondering that he heard nothing of his comrades. An instant later he
pulled up short, a terrible dread gripping at his heart, as he noted a
number of silent forms huddled in a ghastly heap at the head of the
steps.




                         CHAPTER XXVIII.

                    IN THE WOLF-MEN’S HAUNTS.


SEYMOUR’S dread was not lessened by the discovery that the bodies were
those of wolf-men. Where were his friends? Evidently they had returned,
the corpses bore witness to that, for upon each and all the mark of
Chenobi’s axe was plainly visible.

He shouted, but no answering hail broke the stillness of the
underworld city. Hurriedly he descended the steps and tried the door
of the kennel chamber. It was locked, and from within came the howling
of the hounds. With half a dozen lusty blows Seymour shattered the
lock, then strode through the doorway. Unloosing the hounds he ordered
them outside, himself following a moment later, leading Muswani.

“The wolf-men must have carried them off,” he muttered, “but I’ll
track the brutes down.”

He was about to mount, when a thought came to him. If his friends
were alive, and he was able to effect their rescue, they would be
entirely defenceless unless he took them weapons.

With him to think was to act, and he rapidly made his way back to
the armoury. Here, selecting half a dozen great double-edged swords,
he strapped them together with a girdle taken from a mail suit; then,
slipping a serviceable dagger into his own belt, he returned to the
square.

Within three minutes he was galloping through the gloomy streets,
the mighty elk obeying every touch as it did Chenobi’s; seeming to
know by some subtle instinct that its master’s fate hung upon its
speed. And in front, hot upon the trail of the wolfish kidnappers,
bounded the great hounds.

At full speed they swept forward, having to round the end of the
great fire gulf as they went; then on around the base of the hills
within whose wild valleys Seymour and his friends had so nearly met
their deaths. As he rode on the baronet wondered how far ahead of him
the savages were. He knew that he had wandered for many hours in the
vaults beneath the city, but for how long he had no means of telling.
One fact was borne in upon him as he settled down to his
ride--that he was ravenously hungry, and he was glad to note a
number of edible fungi growing beside the track.

On these he quickly satisfied his hunger, pausing only for a few
moments, then pressed forward at the utmost speed of the elk upon the
trail of the savages.

Never once were the hounds at fault in the course of the chase.
The magnificent brutes were as certain of the trail as though the
wolf-men had been within sight all the time. Past cavern after cavern
in the hills they swept, Seymour exhilarating in the mad gallop. His
mail was not the easiest of riding suits, yet he was gradually
becoming used to it, and the prospect of a scrimmage with the savages
in the near future filled him with a wild delight. He even went so far
as to break into the first few bars of an old hunting song, but
checked himself as he realised the folly of thus advertising his
presence.

Suddenly the hounds stopped before a great double gateway of
stone, set in the face of the cliff, and began to scratch furiously at
its base.

“Quiet, you brutes!” Seymour cried, dismounting; repeating his
command in Ayuti as he saw that the hounds did not understand his
English words, whereat they immediately ceased their efforts.

“No chance here,” he said to himself, examining the gates. “I
must go round the back way, I suppose.”

With some difficulty he got the hounds to leave the neighbourhood
of the gateway, and pushed on towards the gully, through which he and
Haverly had passed to the rescue of Mervyn. Here he left his animals,
and plunged into the tunnel, the light from his jewel enabling him to
make rapid progress. Soon he stood once more upon the ledge above the
den of Rahee, gazing down into the temple which he had hoped never to
look upon again.

Removing his mail hose that he might descend the more easily, he
slung them around his neck, and scrambled over the brink down to the
enclosure. Thankful he was to see that the bars had been lowered over
the mouth of the spider’s cave, that Rahee was again a prisoner.

As he crossed the den the hideous brute leapt forward, his
remaining eye glaring ferociously. Furiously he gnashed his great
jaws, and shook the metal rods which imprisoned him; but they defied
even his great strength.

“Steady, you devil!” cried the baronet, as he drew on his hose;
then shook his axe menacingly towards the spider.

The action only increased the diabolical creature’s rage, and he
reared to his full height against the barrier in his mad but futile
efforts to reach his foe. But Seymour’s mission was of too great
importance for him to waste time over the sacred beast. Leaving him to
rattle the bars at his leisure, he threw open the gate of the
enclosure, and passed into the amphitheatre. Across this he strode
boldly, axe and shield in hand, the bundle of weapons intended for the
use of his friends being slung at his back.

As he went he strove to recall Mervyn’s description of the
position of the fire cell, in which he had no doubt his friends would
be confined; but the scientist had not been able to explain very
clearly. All that Seymour could remember was that a long passage,
crossed by many more passages, led from the fire cell to the temple,
and with this meagre knowledge of the geography of the wolf-men’s
caverns he had to be content. He was determined, come what might, that
he would not return without his friends if they still lived; and if
Nordhu, in his devilish hate, had destroyed them, he would act as
their avenger.

He had no fear, although he was alone--one against a myriad.
He had a strong belief in the ultimate triumph of right, and he knew
that his mission was a righteous one; therefore he did not shrink from
penetrating into the very midst of the savage’s haunts to fulfil his
purpose. He dared all to rescue his comrades from the hands of the
wolfish fiends who, for no reason save their own savage lust for
slaughter, had taken them captives--to give them back life and
liberty, sweeter than ever now that they knew there was a way of
escape from this ghostly underworld to the daylight.

He lifted his heart in a prayer for Higher help as he went
on--for Divine guidance upon his all but impossible task. Past
the great idol he strode, ears alert for the least sound that should
tell of the presence of an enemy. But the vast natural amphitheatre
was deserted, silent as the grave. Neither priest nor savage showed
himself.

At length he reached the skin curtain which veiled the mouth of
the passage, and, lifting this, passed through. And now the real
difficulties of his task became apparent. The heart of the hills
seemed literally honeycombed with passages and tunnels. Every few
yards he would pass the mouth of some gallery leading off from the one
he was following, and from each of these came sounds of life and
movement--the clanging of metal, the rattling of chains, and,
sounding high above all, the booming strokes as of some huge
hammer.

What work was being carried on down there in the bowels of the
hills? Seymour wondered. Was it the making of weapons for the use of
the savages? His musings broke off short, as a dark form flitted
across the passage ahead of him. For an instant he thought his
presence was discovered, and that he particularly wished to avoid
until he had found his friends; but the savage disappeared as silently
as he had come, and once more Seymour breathed freely. The encounter
taught him the necessity of haste, however, and he pressed on with
increased speed.

His jewel--without which he would have been in total
darkness, save for the occasional flashes of flame which leapt up from
the side galleries--he could not dispense with, yet he knew that
its brilliant light would betray his presence in these dismal caverns
should any passing savage sight it. And the alarm once given, farewell
to all hope of accomplishing his mission. In a moment he would be
surrounded by a shrieking horde of savages thirsting for his
blood.

He did not think that--strange, unearthly figure as he
looked in his gleaming mail--the wolf-men, in their barbarous
ignorance, would probably take him for a supernatural being, some
demi-god who had fallen from his place, and had entered their haunts
with intent to destroy them.

Yet such was the case; for, of a sudden, rounding a curve in the
passage, he came full upon a savage, who at sight of him dropped flat
upon his face, moaning with terror. What to do with the creature
Seymour did not know. Natural prudence suggested that he should
silence him for ever; but all the chivalry in his nature revolted
against the idea of killing him in cold blood.

The decision was mercifully taken out of his hands, however. As
he stood considering what course to pursue, the moaning of the
wolf-man ceased. Stooping, Seymour discovered that he was dead. The
superstitious terror inspired by the baronet’s appearance had proved
too much for the savage.

“It’s saved me a nasty job,” Seymour muttered as he resumed his
progress; “I should have been obliged to kill him, or he’d have raised
the very deuce in a few seconds.”

Some hundred yards further a brilliant flare came into view, and
the baronet at once conjectured that he was nearing his goal.

And so it proved. Within a few moments he stood before a cell,
across the doorway of which stretched a barrier of fire. His armour
saved him somewhat from the heat, so that he was able to approach
fairly close to the flaming wall.

For a while he could see nothing within the cell beyond; but, as
his eyes became more accustomed to the glare, he made out three
figures standing motionless against the wall.

“Mervyn!” he called softly, and at the word one of the figures
moved.

“Mervyn!” he repeated louder.

“Who calls?” came the weary reply.

“I, Seymour!” the baronet answered.

“Seymour!” in an incredulous whisper, “how can that be?”

“Never mind that now. Tell me how this fire dodge is worked, and
soon have you out of that.”

“It’s William right enough,” Haverly’s voice returned, “and I
guess he was never more welcome than at the present moment. Just
enlighten him how the fire trick works, professor.”

“There is a knob in the floor somewhere there,” Mervyn explained.
“Nordhu stamped upon it to raise the flames. If you were to pull
it----”

Almost before the words had left his lips Seymour had found the
knob he mentioned, a small, round projection in the rocky floor.
Grasping it, he gave a mighty tug, and immediately the fire
disappeared into its trench, leaving the cell open.

“Jupiter!” gasped Silas as the baronet crossed the threshold,
“wherever did you get that rig-out?”

“Explanations must wait,” Seymour returned, rapidly forcing the
chains which secured the captives to the wall.

“Where’s Wilson?” he asked an instant later, as he observed that
the engineer was absent.

“Heaven alone knows!” replied the scientist. “The priest’s still
got him hypnotised, and he’s taken him off somewhere.”

“Hypnotised!” exclaimed Seymour. “Ah, yes. I remember you told me
before that Nordhu was a hypnotist. But, wherever Wilson is, we must
find him. See here, I have brought some weapons”--unslinging them
from his back as he spoke--“do you and Haverly take a sword
apiece and make your way out through the temple. Chenobi and I will
seek for the engineer.”

At first the two comrades demurred a little at this order, but,
on Seymour pointing out that four would be far more likely to attract
notice than two, they consented to this arrangement; and, with their
weapons ready for action, strode off down the passage. Then the
baronet, handing his axe and shield to his Ayuti friend, armed himself
with another of the swords, and the twain left the cell. An instant
they paused to raise the barrier of fire again by stamping upon the
knob that the escape of the prisoners might not be so readily
discovered. This done, they moved off on their errand.

As they went, Chenobi, in low tones, gave his friend an account
of the method of his capture, telling how Nordhu had cast a spell upon
him while he fought at the head of the steps.

“Which road shall we take?” Seymour asked, as they came to the
mouth of a gallery.

“Let us try this,” Chenobi answered, and, with that, they passed
into the tunnel. In silence they strode onward now, fully realising
the dangerous nature of their enterprise. What Seymour had hitherto
accomplished was mere child’s play to the task upon which he and the
Ayuti were now set. They were about to penetrate into the heart of the
wolf-men’s caverns, to enter the busy thoroughfares through which
flowed the life of the savage community, and on a quest apparently as
hopeless as ever one could be.

The clanging noises grew louder and louder as they advanced, but
Seymour noticed with some astonishment that Chenobi seemed not at all
surprised at the queer sounds. Did he know the nature of the work
which was being carried on? The baronet was about to put the question,
when the king pulled up, pointing ahead with his axe.

Far away down the passage rose a red glare, and amid it flitted
numerous dark, grotesque figures.

“Have a care!” Chenobi warned in a whisper, as they resumed their
way. Warily they crept forward, step by step, towards the light,
unseen by the ghoulish creatures who passed to and fro bearing huge
burdens.

Reaching the end of the tunnel, the two men crouched there a
while, Seymour marvelling at the scene before him. It was stupendous,
amazing! A vast cavern, immense beyond description, seeming to stretch
away into infinite distance, all ablaze with a crimson glow which
burst from the mouth of a yawning pit; and in the midst of it--a
medley of flying rods and clanging levers--loomed a machine,
indistinct by reason of the rapidity of its motion, and vaster than
aught Seymour had ever seen before.

To and from this miracle of mechanism toiled a multitude of
wolf-men, each staggering beneath a mighty load. In the glare from the
pit they looked like demons, the illusion being heightened by the
weird cries to which they gave utterance, and which rang high above
the clash and rattle of the machinery.

“See!” roared Chenobi suddenly, his voice almost lost in the din
of the clanging levers, “our friend!”

Across the floor, walking as one dazed, came Wilson. His sleeves
were rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand he held a hammer of
curious make.

“Wilson!” Seymour almost screamed the word in his eagerness to
attract the notice of his friend; but the lad strode on, utterly
oblivious of the close proximity of the two who had come to save
him.

“Wilson! Tom”

Still no sign from the engineer. Like one walking in his sleep,
he moved on over the floor of the cavern. Then Seymour did a bold
thing. Rising from his concealment, he stepped into the glare after
his friend, and placed his hand upon his shoulder.

At the touch the lad swung round sharply, and the light of
intellect came back into his dull eyes.

“Seymour.” His lips framed the word, but no sound passed them,
and he staggered as though about to fall.

“Steady, old man,” cried the baronet, supporting him to the mouth
of the passage. Each instant he expected to hear a yell from the
savages, telling that his presence was discovered. But they appeared
too intent upon their work to note his movements, and hope rose high
within him that he would be able to get his friend away
unobserved.

“We have succeeded,” he burst out rapturously to Chenobi, as he
rejoined him.

“Not so,” thundered a voice behind him; “by Ramouni, ye have
_failed!”_

Quick as thought Seymour turned. Almost at his shoulder, a grin
of malignant triumph making his features fiend-like in their
expression, stood Nordhu, priest of the wolf-men.




                         CHAPTER XXIX.

               HOW RAHEE ASSISTED THE FUGITIVES.


FOR a few seconds the baronet stood as though turned to stone, success
had seemed so near. By some lucky chance Wilson had almost walked into
their arms. Another few moments and they would have got him safely away,
but, in the very instant of their triumph, Nordhu had again checkmated
them.

“Did ye think Nordhu slept?” the priest went on mockingly. “Truly
ye are babes in intellect, and should be nursed yet a while.”

The taunt stung Seymour to madness. Like a flash his mailed fist
shot out, catching Nordhu full upon the mouth, and he crashed heavily
backward, giving voice to a piercing cry that rang clear above the din
of the machinery.

At the sound the wolfish brutes working in the great cavern
dropped their loads and dashed pell-mell towards the comrades.
Hundreds there were of the creatures. In a living flood they surged
down upon the hapless trio, with whom it would have gone hardly but
for the prompt action of Chenobi.

Dropping axe and shield, he snatched the dagger from Seymour’s
girdle; then, lifting the senseless form of the priest, he calmly
faced the savages.

“Back, you dogs!” he roared. “A step further and your priest
dies!”

[Illustration: “BACK, YOU DOGS!” HE ROARED “A STEP FURTHER AND
YOUR PRIEST DIES”(_p. 216._)]

He placed his gleaming weapon menacingly against Nordhu’s throat
as he spoke, and, at the action, the raging mob of wolf-men pulled
up.

Whether they heard the words or not, the significance of the
king’s threat was clear to them. Their murderous hate was drowned in
their fear for the life of their priest.

Then began a retreat in the like of which neither of the friends
had ever participated before. Passing his sword to Wilson--now
rapidly recovering from the effects of the priest’s
fascination--Seymour picked up the Ayuti’s weapons; whereupon,
Chenobi still carrying Nordhu, the three commenced to move backward up
the passage, their eyes fixed upon the hideous throng at the tunnel
end, who stood cowed into momentary inaction by the peril of their
ruler.

Their bloodshot eyes rolled savagely, their claw-like fingers
twitched with the desire to rend in pieces the intrepid trio; but the
bold front of the latter daunted them. A moment’s wavering on the part
of the Ayuti--a stumble--and the whole horde would have
swept forward, irresistible as an avalanche. But Chenobi’s hand was
steady as a rock as he held the jewelled dagger to his captive’s
throat. He took each backward step calmly and deliberately, avoiding
all projections in the rough-hewn floor of the gallery with a care
that bore witness to his splendid nerve.

So for a space the retreat went on. Further and further the three
friends drew from the wolf-men. Then suddenly they rounded a bend in
the tunnel, which bore them out of sight of the savages, and on the
instant a swelling roar like the sound of many waters, came to their
ears. The spell which had held the wolf-men was broken. They were
sweeping forward in pursuit.

“Run!” roared Chenobi, and, flinging Nordhu over his shoulder, he
turned and leapt forward like a deer. After him went the others at
their topmost speed, Seymour, for all the weight of his armour,
getting over the ground at an astonishing pace. Into the main gallery
they swept, and turned for the temple, with the fearsome cries of
their pursuers growing louder each moment.

In a surging brown torrent the wolf-men came on, their numbers
constantly augmented by fresh arrivals, who, aroused by the clamour,
poured in hundreds from every gallery. The whole troglodytish
community was now thoroughly aroused; the place seemed to hum with
life, like a gigantic hive; and ever the pursuers gained upon the
daring trio.

Foot by foot, yard by yard, they drew up, although the friends
strained every muscle to outdistance them; and the swelling roar of
their voices sounded like a death-knell to the ears of Seymour and the
engineer.

Gasping for breath, they plunged onward after the racing form of
the king, fearing each moment that their strength would fail and that
they would drop in their tracks, to be trampled out of all semblance
to humanity beneath the feet of the savage horde behind.

Suddenly the skin curtain loomed before them. With a vicious tug
Chenobi tore it down and bounded into the temple.

“Only a few hundred yards further,” Seymour was panting to his
friend, when, out of the shadow of the great idol, a score of figures
advanced and stood menacingly across the track, their weapons flashing
in the light which poured from Chenobi’s jewel. They were the priests,
Nordhu’s assistants in his horrible work of sacrifice.

Not an inch did the Ayuti swerve from his course, not for a
moment did he hesitate. With a ringing war-cry he hurled himself upon
the waiting band. Thrice his dagger flashed, then he was through them,
racing for the den of the great spider.

Like a thunderbolt Seymour followed, clearing a passage by sheer
weight, and, close at his heels, came the engineer, his great sword
swinging like a flail. Closing up behind them, the priests joined in
the chase, making the vast amphitheatre ring with their cries of
rage.

Three minutes later the fugitives dashed into the enclosure, and
slammed to the gate, glad of a few seconds’ respite.

Not long were they allowed to rest, however. Suddenly the gate
was flung open, and Seymour hurled himself into the gap just in time
to check the advance of the foremost savages who were about to pour
through the gateway. At sight of his determined attitude the valour of
the wolf-men cooled somewhat, and they drew up, each and all afraid to
venture within the sweep of the axe which gleamed in Seymour’s
hand.

But the priests, with many fiery words, urged them on to deliver
Nordhu from the hands of the white dogs who had captured him.

Roused to action at length, a score of the brutes leapt forward
and stabbed savagely at the baronet with their spears. The latter’s
mail served him nobly. Not a spear got home; and his axe quickly
taught the savages a terrible lesson.

“Quick!” he cried, turning to Chenobi as the wolf-men fell back;
“to the ledge! I will hold the gate a while.”

Repeating his command in English for Wilson’s benefit, the
baronet faced round once more, to receive another charge of the
savages. It was as vain as the first. Seymour seemed perfectly
invulnerable to the weapons of the wolf-men, and this fact created a
fear in their superstitious minds. Yet, despite this, under the
influence of the priests they again essayed to attack.

Scarce waiting for them to come to close quarters, the baronet
hurled himself upon them with a ringing British cheer, that sounded
strange indeed in that ghostly, subterranean temple. Wilson joined in
it from the ledge above, and, at that Seymour knew that his task was
ended, that he too might seek the comparative safety of the tunnel,
could he but get an opportunity to climb. With this end in view, he
fell upon his foes with redoubled fury, driving them back by his
terrific onslaught; then, leaping backward, he closed the gate of the
enclosure with a crash, and made for the wall.

As he did so the clank of the windlass broke upon his ears. He
turned quickly. Determined to accomplish his destruction, the priests
were releasing the great spider.

Just for a second Seymour was at a loss how to act. The brute
would be out and upon him ere he could struggle up to the ledge,
impeded as he was by his mail. Suddenly into his mind swept a
brilliant idea. Why not turn the ferocity of Rahee to his own
advantage?

Stepping backward to the gateway, he stood motionless while the
spider emerged from his den. Chenobi, watching events keenly from the
ledge, seemed about to descend to his assistance, but Seymour checked
him by a gesture. Then, as Rahee leapt towards him, the baronet
stepped swiftly aside, flinging open the gate as he did so. Carried on
by the force of its spring, the spider hurtled through the gateway and
crashed into the temple.

At once a terrified outcry arose from the savages, and they
turned to flee from the dread presence of their sacred beast. But grim
Nemesis was upon their track. They who had watched Chenobi’s
brother--ay, and many a score more of the same race--go to
their deaths beneath the jaws of the terrible Rahee, were about to
meet the same fate themselves. Had they stood their ground, a few
spear-thrusts would quickly have settled the matter; but their
superstitious terror at the close proximity of the horrible brute
sapped all their savage courage.

They broke and fled before Rahee’s advance in an utterly
disorganised mob, seeking to escape from the fearful gnashing jaws of
the giant spider, priests and wolf-men alike sharing the panic.

Ere long the floor of the temple was littered with the bodies of
the slain. Up and down the great amphitheatre Rahee raged in a
paroxysm of devilish fury. With a shudder at the ghastly success of
his own idea, Seymour once more closed the gate and mounted to the
ledge.

“Rahee is working out our vengeance,” cried Chenobi. “It is well.
Perchance the wolf-people will destroy him after this lesson. Ye did
well to turn him loose among them, Fairhair. ’Twas a counter-stroke
they expected not. Come; we will move forward.”

“What of Rahee?” Seymour asked. “Are you minded to destroy him
ere you go?”

“Nay,” was the reply; “I will forego my vengeance on the sacred
beast because he hath aided you;” and, with that, Chenobi picked up
the still senseless priest and strode into the tunnel.

“Heaven grant we have seen the last of these savages!” murmured
Wilson, as he and Seymour followed.

“Amen!” the baronet responded fervently; “yet somehow I doubt it,
lad. Nordhu seems to have a great hold upon them, and you may take it
for granted they will not give him up without some attempt at a
rescue. When the brutes recover from the panic into which Rahee has
thrown them, they will take our trail like a pack of wolves. What’s
that?”

A dark figure had appeared in the passage just ahead of them.

On the alert in an instant for a possible enemy, the baronet
stepped before Chenobi, weapon raised, and bawled out a challenge in
Ayuti.

“I guess I’d take it as a personal favour if you’d speak English,
William,” drawled a voice. Seymour burst out into a roar of
laughter.

“Sorry I took you for an enemy, Silas,” he replied. “We’ve got
Wilson all safe and sound.”

“That’s good,” the Yankee chirped; “but who’s the party Chenobi’s
totin’ along?”

“The priest,” answered the baronet.

“Whew!” whistled the Yankee; “I guess you’ve been making things
hum considerable below there.”

“We have roused ’em slightly,” was the modest reply; “but we’ll
have to hustle, as you call it, Silas. I shan’t feel safe till I set
foot inside the city again. The beasts won’t give up their old priest
without an effort to release him, I’ll warrant.”

“You bet,” agreed the American, then lapsed into silence until
the end of the tunnel was reached.

Here Mervyn awaited them, eager for news as to the manner in
which they had effected Wilson’s rescue. But Seymour cut short his
questions.

“Ask what you like, old man, when we get back to the city,” he
said, “but for the present we must devote our attention to getting
clear away. The elk and hounds should be somewhere about. Seen
anything of them?”

“Not a sign,” replied Mervyn; “they must have strayed.”

Seymour acquainted the Ayuti with this fact, and instantly
Chenobi gave voice to his peculiar call.

A few moments later the clatter of hoofs sounded through the
gully, and into sight came Muswani, with the great hounds at his
heels. Quickly Chenobi flung his prisoner across the elk’s back,
himself mounting behind; then the whole party started off down the
gully towards the plain.

In safety they accomplished their journey, reaching the ruined
city without seeing or hearing aught of their foes. Evidently the
savage followers of Nordhu had not yet recovered from the blow Seymour
had dealt them by releasing the terrible spider. When they did their
hate would be the more implacable against the men who had kidnapped
their priest.

Up to the terrace the explorers mounted, Chenobi bearing his
prisoner.

Striding across to the altar, the king pressed a small knob in
the masonry of the front. Instantly the whole slab swung outward,
disclosing a low, square chamber, and into this he cast Nordhu.

“Caged!” he cried to Seymour, as he swung to the door, and,
turning, entered the temple.

The four friends, thoroughly worn out by the terrible experience
through which they had passed, flung themselves down upon the temple
floor, glad to rest their weary limbs for a space. Within a few
minutes they were sleeping soundly, the Ayuti alone remaining wakeful
and vigilant, seeming in no wise tired by his late exertions.

It may be that thoughts of his prisoner kept him from sleep, or
of the brother whom he had sworn to avenge. His vow seemed near its
fulfilment. Nordhu was a helpless captive, and it only remained to
decide the manner of his death.

But though Chenobi knew it not, the priest was not yet at the end
of his resources. He had another card to play ere he surrendered to
the inevitable. Prisoner though he was, Nordhu was yet more than a
match for his enemies, as they discovered before long.




                         CHAPTER XXX.

                    THE SCROLL OF NEOMRI.


“I RECKON,” remarked Haverly, munching a piece of fungus with manifest
relish, “you might as well explain how the blazes you got out of that
darned hole, Seymour, an’, incidentally, where you got your tin suit.
It’s a rig-out as kinder takes my eye.”

While the explorers slept Chenobi had procured a number of edible
fungi, to which they were now doing full justice.

“Well,” Seymour returned, in answer to the Yankee’s suggestion,
“it’s a longish yarn, but if you’d care to hear it, here goes.”

With that he launched into an account of his adventures, telling
of his fall, of his swim in the reservoir, the second meeting with his
wolfish enemy, and all that transpired afterwards. Open-mouthed, his
friends listened to his description of the hall of mummies and of the
armour chamber.

“But did not Chenobi know of these weapons?” Mervyn asked
amazedly. “He told us he had none but the spears taken from the
wolf-men, yet below there, you say, are weapons sufficient for an
army.”

Rapidly the scientist interpreted Seymour’s story to the king,
concluding by questioning him as to his knowledge of the existence of
the armoury.

“I knew that there was a secret passage,” observed the king, “but
it was the secret of the priests of Ramouni. None but they knew where
the dead were laid. When Nordhu destroyed the last of the priests, the
secret died with him.”

“We must examine these caverns presently,” remarked Mervyn,
attacking a fresh fungus.

“Say, Tom,” Haverly drawled, after some moments of silence, “what
game was the old priest playing when he took you out of the cell?”

The young engineer shuddered at the question.

“I remember nothing at all save having an overwhelming desire to
start a gun factory,” he replied.

“The hypnotic influence of the priest,” Mervyn explained. “He
attempted to force me to reveal to him ‘the secret of the
fire-weapons,’ as he called it. The fellow seems to have a longing for
firearms. It is unfortunate you remember nothing of your experience
down there, Wilson. There is evidently some work being carried on, and
upon a gigantic scale, too. Who’s for a visit to the vaults?” he went
on, rising. “Come, Seymour; you, as discoverer, must do the honours of
the place.”

“Very well,” returned the baronet, replacing his helmet, which he
had removed while he rested; “but I can assure you it’s a ghostly
hole. Are you coming, Chenobi?”

“Ay,” returned the Ayuti; “I am minded to look upon the last
resting-place of my forefathers.”

With that they all moved across the temple to where the great
stone door still stood ajar as Seymour had left it, and, descending
the steps, passed into the armoury. Their various exclamations showed
how differently they were affected by the sight of the gleaming pile
of weapons. What struck Haverly most was the enormous amount of wealth
represented by the jewels which studded the hilts of every sword and
dagger. Wilson was attracted by the exquisite workmanship of the
weapons; while Mervyn viewed them as curios, rare specimens to be
consigned to some museum as the relics of an extinct race.

“Marvellous!” he exclaimed again and again. “The civilisation of
ancient Greece was but little ahead of these Ayutis. A marvellous
race!”

Chenobi, with the eye of a warrior, was examining the armour, and
it was not long ere he was armed _cap-a-pie_ in the long-disused
mail of his ancestors. A noble figure he looked, too, as he stood
beside Seymour, smiling at the strangeness of the suit to his
limbs.

“Tin suits seem to be the fashion,” Haverly remarked with a grin
to Wilson.

“They save washing, you know,” returned the latter. “But,
seriously, Silas, what the dickens is this metal? Armour, weapons,
locks, and everything else seems to be made of the same non-rusting
stuff, and it’s a lot harder than steel. If you remember, the
wolf-men’s spears are the same; but what it is I know no more than
Adam.”

“I allow I ain’t in a position to enlighten you,” the millionaire
returned; “get it above ground, though, and there’s a fortune in it. I
guess we’ll call it ‘Mervynite,’ in honour of the professor.”

“What’s that?” the scientist asked at the mention of his
name.

“Silas suggests calling this new metal ‘Mervynite,’” Wilson
replied.

The professor shook his head with a laugh.

“You do me too much honour,” he said; “but now let us investigate
further,” and he passed into the hall of the dead.

Here, however, none cared to remain long, and, after a brief
examination of this and the next vault, which was devoted to the same
purpose, they passed through the tunnel on to the pavement of the
reservoir. The vastness of this work astonished them, and they would
fain have explored the whole of the great cavern wherein the water was
stored, but that prudence compelled them to return. They dared not
leave the terrace long unguarded, lest their enemies should surprise
them.

“See, you mentioned a plan, Seymour?” Mervyn remarked, as they
returned to the temple; “where did you put it?”

“It’s here,” answered the baronet, producing the casket from the
breast of his suit. “There are some hieroglyphics on the front;
perhaps you can manage to read ’em. I must confess they’re beyond
me.”

The scientist’s hand trembled as he took the parchment from its
case.

Spreading it out on the temple floor, he knelt down and perused
it eagerly for a few seconds. Then a glad cry broke from his lips:

“It’s the key, Seymour! The explanation to all the mystery!
Listen, and I will read.”

Forthwith the scientist commenced to read from the faded
manuscript, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm as he translated the
strange Ayuti signs.

“The scroll of Neomri,” he began, “son of Nazra, of the House of
Lauma, chief priests of Ramouni since the beginning of all
things.”

At the mention of the strange names Chenobi’s eyes flashed, and,
drawing nearer, he glanced over Mervyn’s shoulder as he went on:

“To him that readeth, greeting. Let it be known to you that the
priestly scroll wherein was set down all that befel since the first
days was destroyed by an evil chance in the hour when the judgment of
Ramouni was visited upon his people. Yet such of that which was
therein writ as hath come to my knowledge, I here set down.

“In the beginning Ayuti was a mighty kingdom, wherein ruled many
mighty princes. Fair was the land to look upon, and Ramouni warmed it
with the beams from his all-seeing eye. Day by day arose the prayers
and incense of the priests, that the smile of Ramouni should not be
removed from his people. And it was well with the land, for the people
were content.

“Yet it fell that, as the years went by, they grew careless,
attending not to the voice of the priests, nor hearkening to their
counsel. Empty was the temple of Ramouni; neither was the sound of
worship heard any more before the altar. In sloth were the days
passed, and in revelry the nights. Then Ramouni waxed wroth, and hid
his face from his people, and a thick cloud of smoke arose from the
earth many days, whereby much people were choked. The waters of the
sea, also, overflowed the land, and vast rents appeared in the face of
the earth. The earth quaked exceedingly, and there were sounds like
unto thunder. So for many days it continued.

“Then the remnant which was left, being but three score male and
female, fled unto the refuge of the dead fire-mountain, whence they
dared not come forth again, for the land of my people was become a
desert, wherein grew no green thing. And it chanced that they found a
passage in the heart of the mountain and ventured therein. Three days
they journeyed, and on the fourth the passage ended. Before them was
darkness; but, being like to starve for food, they were bold, and
lowered a rope, down which one was sent and found firm ground
below.

“Then sent they down a second, that the twain might search out
the land. In a while they returned, telling that they had seen a great
jungle of fearsome-looking plants wherein abode many monstrous beasts.
Caring not so that they might find a place to dwell in and withal food
to eat, the rest went down into this strange land. My hand groweth
weary to write of all they suffered hereafter; how they found the
fearsome barbarians which dwelt in the land; of the mighty beasts they
fought and overcame. They grew and multiplied into an exceeding great
people, taking unto themselves as slaves many of the barbarians, who,
for all their loathsome appearance, were willing enough to obey.

“Unto these my people taught the language of Ayuti, they having
no speech of their own save queer howling cries, like unto the voice
of a wolf, for the which cause called they them ‘Wolf-people,’ being
of a mind that they were perchance arisen from wolves.”

Here Mervyn paused and shook his head decidedly.

“I guess the evolution theory’s considerable older than we
thought,” said Haverly, “accordin’ to that. But wade in, Mervyn; the
old man can tell a decent yarn.”

Once more the scientist bent over the manuscript:

“With the aid of these their slaves my people builded a great
city of stone, and in the midst a mighty temple to Ramouni. An image
also they built, carven cunningly, and set it up that it might face
the passage through which they came. And each day the light of Ramouni
fell upon the eye of the image.

“Hereafter they found a strange metal which they digged from the
heart of the hills. And they made great mines, and set up machines for
the working of the metal; and they prospered. The strongest among them
chose they for king, and Bazoo, of the House of Lauma, was priest in
the temple of Ramouni. Now it fell that, as time passed, the
wolf-people whom they kept for slaves grew in cunning as they grew in
numbers. A mighty people they were, that knew not fear.

“And an Ayuti, Nordhu by name, an evil-doer, roused them to
rebel; and at a time when the people of the city held high revel, the
slaves armed themselves, and, falling upon their masters, slew them
all, save a few. From these latter I, even Neomri, am descended, being
born to Madro, wife of Nazra.

“While I write the fear is upon me that ere long our race will be
nought but a name; for we be but a few, in all not more than a score,
and we hide amid the ruins of our city, fearing the creatures which
once were our slaves. Yet I would that our race might be preserved,
for we are an ancient people. Nevertheless, let the will of Ramouni be
done.”

The scientist’s voice trailed away into silence, and he sat
pondering for a while over what he had read.

“The old chap’s a bit disappointing,” Seymour broke in at length.
“He says nothing of the existence of this phosphorescent liquid, nor
yet of the bell which tolls when the sunlight strikes the idol’s
eye.”

“He says enough to prove my theory,” Mervyn replied abstractedly;
“save that it was a volcanic outbreak, and not an incursion of
enemies, which drove them to the shelter of the crater, my theory is
identical with the story on this manuscript. Nordhu, the priest, must
be the descendant of Nordhu the evil-doer, mentioned here. The caverns
in the hills are undoubtedly the ancient mines in which the wolf-men
would take up their habitation after the massacre. We may also take it
for granted that the work still carried on down there is the making of
this same strange metal.”

“Mervynite?” Haverly put in.

“Yes, Mervynite, if you like, Silas,” returned the scientist with
a smile.

“Talking of Nordhu,” remarked the baronet, “reminds me that we
must decide on the fate of our prisoner.”

Turning, he spoke for some moments with Chenobi.

“The king says the priest may choose the manner of his death,” he
announced.

“Must he die?” Mervyn questioned, his mild nature revolting
against the idea of an execution.

“He must die!” repeated Seymour sternly. “Both Chenobi and I have
sworn it. The fiend murdered our friend’s brother, and it was not his
fault he did not add our names to his list of victims. God alone knows
how many poor wretches he has sacrificed to that devilish spider! So
vile a monster is not fit to live.”

Although his own good judgment told him that Nordhu merited
death, yet the idea of executing him could not be other than repugnant
to the scientist’s nature. It seemed too much like cold-blooded
murder.

“But----” he began again.

“No ‘buts,’ if you please,” retorted the baronet sharply; “his
death is decided upon. It only remains for him to choose the manner of
it. Come, Chenobi, let us bring our prisoner forth.”

Together the two men left the temple. Once more Chenobi touched
the spring in the masonry; then, as the door swung open, a savage cry
burst from his lips. The chamber was empty--_Nordhu had
vanished!_




                         CHAPTER XXXI.

                         “THE _SEAL!”_


THE way of the priest’s escape became clear at once. In the rear wall
of the chamber a small door stood ajar.

“I thought not that he knew of the passage,” the Ayuti hissed;
“but he shall not escape. Take you the hounds, Fairhair, and follow. I
know whereto this passage leads, and will ride round upon Muswani to
cut him off.”

Within five minutes the pursuit was in full swing. The hounds
were loping down the passage on the trail of Nordhu, with the
explorers close behind, while the king was galloping away from the
city on his elk, hoping to intercept the flying priest.

“Say,” exclaimed Haverly, “I guess this temple must be kinder
honeycombed with passages.”

“It’s a wonderful building,” returned Mervyn. “These passages are
doubtless arranged for the convenience of the
priests----”

“Nordhu must have the devil’s own cunning to have found that
secret door,” interrupted Seymour savagely; “But he won’t escape for
all his wiles. If the hounds get hold of him he’ll have short
shrift.”

Down a flight of stairs the pursuers went, the great hounds
making the passage ring with their baying; then on once more, the
tunnel twisting and winding in such a fashion that neither of the
friends had the least idea of the direction in which they were moving.
Little they cared, however, so that they might again lay hands on the
fugitive priest, who, should he succeed in effecting his escape, would
assuredly once again attempt their destruction. His capture was a
necessity if they would ever find their missing comrade and the
vessel; for, with Nordhu at liberty, plotting their ruin, they would
not dare venture forth to search for the _Seal._ So they put
forth every effort in the chase, hoping at each bend of the passage
they turned to come in sight of their quarry.

But Nordhu appeared to have obtained too good a start. The
pursuers were beginning to think that, after all, they should lose
him, when, rounding a curve swiftly, they pulled up in sheer
astonishment.

Scarce twenty feet away, his gleaming jewel flashing a challenge
to Seymour’s, stood the man they sought. Beside him was a great lever,
upon which his hand rested, and at his feet in the floor of the tunnel
yawned a hole some six feet in width. Close to the near edge of this
crouched the hounds, their ferocity overcome by the hypnotic power of
the priest.

At once the pursuers became watchful. What card was Nordhu about
to play? they wondered. What devilish trick was he about to perform?
The priest’s face puckered up into a savage grin as he noted the
hesitation of his enemies.

“Why do ye not come on?” he cried ironically; “art afraid? I have
waited to bid ye farewell, thinking perchance ye might grieve did I
leave you without.”

Seymour’s face was distorted with fury as he gazed upon the
priest. Scarcely could he control the mad passion which bade him rush
forward and grip the grinning fiend. But what was that hole in the
floor? What was the lever? That Nordhu was about to spring some
diabolical trick upon them was certain, and the thought checked the
baronet’s murderous desire. So for a space they remained, pursuers and
fugitive glaring at each other with a world of hatred in their eyes,
yet neither making a move.

Then once more the priest spoke:

“Since ye will not join me, I will go. Fare ye well until I
return with my warriors to destroy ye.”

He laughed mockingly, and at that Seymour, losing control of his
temper, leapt forward. Quick as thought Nordhu flung over the lever
beside him, and at once, from the roof of the tunnel, a cataract of
liquid light began to fall, plunging into the hole in the floor.

“Wilt follow now?” snarled the voice of the priest above the boom
and splash of the falling light.

“Jupiter!” gasped the Yankee. “Checkmate!”

Ay! checkmate it was! for who dared attempt to pass that gleaming
curtain after Chenobi’s warning as to its deadly power. Nordhu had
played his card and played it well.

With a laugh of triumph he turned and strode down the tunnel,
leaving his pursuers standing helpless and amazed at his
handiwork.

“I almost feel inclined to risk it,” growled Seymour, as the
sound of the priest’s footsteps died away.

“You must not,” cried Mervyn excitedly; “remember what the king
said, as----”

But there was no need for the scientist to reiterate Chenobi’s
warning.

While yet the words trembled on his lips the fact that the Ayuti
had not exaggerated the terrible power of the liquid light was brought
to the notice of all in a fearful manner.

Released from the fascination of the priest, the hounds had again
grown restless, baying clamorously, yet not daring to venture near the
curtain of falling light. Suddenly, while Mervyn spoke, from far away
came a cry, faint, but easily recognisable as the voice of Nordhu. At
the sound one of the dogs made a rash spring forward, as though he
would have plunged through the cataract on the trail of the priest.
Over the brink of the hole he leapt, his fore-paws outstretched, but
touched the fringe of the falling liquid; then he was shrivelled up
into a shapeless black mass, and was swept downward by the
cataract.

“Great Heaven!” the scientist cried: “poor brute!”

The other hounds, awed by the fate of their fellow, drew back
whining.

“What a fearful power!” Wilson exclaimed. “It must be some form
of electricity, I should imagine.”

“I guess the Ayuti didn’t pile it on a bit too thick when he said
it was death to touch it,” announced Silas; “but let’s get a move on.
We’ll have to follow the trail of the elk now, and we may be in at the
death, after all, if we flicker.”

With that they all turned and retraced their steps to the altar
chamber. Then, descending to the square, they set the two remaining
hounds on the trail of Muswani.

“I reckon,” Haverly averred, as they passed through the city
gate, “as Nordhu’s a man of resources. He ought to be a financier.
There’s not a blamed _coup_ but what he could bring off.”

“He’s the craftiest brute I ever had dealings with,” returned
Seymour; “but I think he’s about at the end of his tether. By this
time Chenobi should have reached the end of the passage, and, if so,
Nordhu will regret the bravado that inspired him to wait and bid ‘us
farewell,’ as he put it.”

“How he comes to know the secrets of the temple so well puzzles
me,” admitted Mervyn. “His knowledge of the workings of the place
seems almost unlimited.”

“You can bet he’s used that passage before,” remarked the
American; “perhaps to sneak into the city on some throat-slitting job
or other; but I reckon he’ll have to be real cute to get away from
Chenobi. Say, we’ll have to accelerate the pace considerable if we’re
to see this job through,” and he set the example by striding forward
briskly.

Over the plain they went for perhaps a couple of hours, close at
the heels of the hounds, until the sound of the sea came to their
ears, the booming of waves against the rocks.

“Great Scott!” the baronet exclaimed; “I did not know we were so
near the sea.”

“We may see something of the _Seal,”_ suggested Wilson, his
heart leaping at the thought.

“I shouldn’t reckon on it,” replied Silas; “this underground sea
appears to be fairly large, and there’s heaps of room for the old boat
to get lost if Garth ain’t careful where he’s steering.”

“You don’t think the submarine’s come to grief?” queried the
engineer anxiously.

“I think nothing,” was the reply, “but, what with wolf-men ashore
and ichthyosauri afloat, I reckon our pard must be havin’ a hot
time.”

Now the trail led down to the beach, and, swinging sharp to the
right after the hounds, the party passed beneath the shadow of an
immense cliff.

“Who goes?” cried a voice in Ayuti, and Chenobi stepped forward
from an angle of the rock. He checked the noise of the hounds with a
gesture, and turned to his friends with an air of surprise.

“Where is Nordhu?” he asked. “I have waited here long for ye to
drive him forth, but he hath not emerged.”

Forthwith Seymour explained all that had happened, and told of
the cry they had heard, at which the hound had leapt to his death.

“The priest hath doubtless met with some mischance,” Chenobi
asserted. “Come; we will enter the passage.”

Moving a few paces along the cliff base, he turned into a dark
opening. Ere the others could follow, however, he leapt back with a
startled cry, as a dark figure appeared at the tunnel end.

It was the priest.

His one hand, uplifted above his head, held a small, shrivelled
brown ball, and his whole attitude was so menacing that the explorers
involuntarily stepped back a pace.

“Back!” the king cried, his eyes fixed upon Nordhu’s hand; “’tis
the thunder-ball!”

“Move not,” snarled the priest; “I have somewhat to say ere I
destroy ye. Thought ye to trap me in the tunnel, dogs? I tell you ye
know not the resources of Nordhu. Ye are but babes.” Then, with a
change of tone, he went on, “Why do ye pit yourselves against me? I
offered you life for the secret of your fire-weapons, and ye would not
take it. I offer you again. Join me; make my people into a strong
race; teach them of your knowledge, and ye shall be rulers and kings
among them. What say ye?”

“No, you devil!” thundered the baronet in a fury, “a thousand
times, no! Think ye we would have dealings with a monster foul as you,
who can take pleasure in sacrificing helpless prisoners to the
appetite of the devilish Rahee? Truly you have no lack of
conceit.”

“Hath he spoken for all of ye?” demanded the priest calmly, not a
whit moved by this outburst. “Do all of ye choose death rather than
life?”

“We choose nothing,” retorted Mervyn; “you are in our power. What
is to prevent us slaying you?”

An evil grin spread over Nordhu’s features.

“This,” he cried, shaking aloft the ball he held, and at the
movement the face of Chenobi grew pale as death; “the thunder-ball.
’Twill shatter you to fragments in a moment, if I but cast it at your
feet.”

“Great Heaven!” whispered Mervyn to the baronet, “it’s a dried
puff-ball! We must be careful.”

“Now hearken,” the priest went on; “step backward to the water’s
edge and cast your weapons into the sea. Have a care”--as Seymour
made a threatening movement--“I am not minded to destroy myself
with ye, yet will I do that rather than fall again into your
hands.”

“I guess he’s got the drop on us,” Haverly growled, as the
scientist translated the priest’s command; “we’ll have to do as he
says.”

In silence the party obeyed the order, though their hearts burned
with shame at their humiliating position. As the last weapon splashed
into the heaving water, Nordhu advanced from the tunnel, walking with
a slight limp. The hounds, who had retreated with their master, whined
piteously as the priest moved over the beach. Their terror of the man
seemed to overcome all their natural courage.

“Stand where ye are,” Nordhu called, “and make no attempt to
follow me, or ’twill be the worse for ye.”

So the adventurers stood, and watched him toil painfully across
the shingle. Evidently he had fallen and injured himself in the
tunnel, at the time when the four had heard his cry. Towards the plain
they had crossed so recently he stumbled.

“Curse it! we’ve lost him!” muttered Seymour savagely, as the
light of the priest’s jewel faded from view; then suddenly a savage
bellow rang out of the darkness.

“’Tis Muswani,” cried the Ayuti; “I had forgotten him. He is
loose on the plain, and has doubtless attacked the priest.”

An instant later the bellow was repeated, and the priest
reappeared, scuttling down to the water’s edge with the giant elk
pounding along behind him, mad with fury. Here was a factor in the
game for which Nordhu was not prepared. If he used his explosive ball
to destroy the great elk, he would be defenceless against his human
foes, and he well knew that he would receive but scant mercy from
them. Therefore he took to the water, hoping to swim out beyond sight
of the Ayuti’s bellicose steed; then return to the shore at a point
some considerable distance away.

[Illustration: “SCUTTLING DOWN TO THE WATER’S EDGE WITH THE
                   GIANT ELK POUNDING ALONG BEHIND HIM”  (_p. 235._)]

“Good old hoss!” Silas cried, as the elk plunged into the water
after his escaping foe; but his sentence broke off into a gasp of
amazement as a hoarse shout broke from the engineer:

“The _Seal!_ The _Seal!”_

Far away over the tumbling crests of the incoming waves shone a
bright light--the searchlight of the _Seal._




                         CHAPTER XXXII.

                       THE DOOM OF NORDHU.


FOR a while the thing seemed too good to be true. As the light
drew nearer, however, and the explorers saw that it really came
from their vessel, their thankfulness knew no bounds. All else was
forgotten. The movements of Nordhu, their enemy, ceased to interest
them any longer. They had eyes for nothing but the approaching vessel.

Rapidly Seymour acquainted the king with the state of affairs,
and Chenobi seemed as pleased as anyone at the turn things had taken.
He was eager as a child to see the strange vessel that moved without
oars, but his fury against the priest remained unappeased. Nordhu had
escaped his vengeance for the time, and the hate that was in his heart
was increased ten-fold by the temporary check.

That it was other than temporary he would not for a moment
believe, and he waited impatiently for the fugitive swimmer to turn
for the shore. He would grapple with him ere he could land, and then
let him use his thunder-ball if he would.

Had Chenobi been alone when Nordhu appeared at the tunnel-mouth,
there is not the least doubt he would have attacked him despite the
explosive he held, and in that case both would have perished together;
but the thought that his four friends would be destroyed also had
deterred the Ayuti from this course.

Nearer drew the _Seal,_ and ere long the explorers saw with
surprise that her deck was crowded with figures. The truth burst upon
them with appalling suddenness. _Their vessel was in the hands of
the wolf-men!_

The swimming priest noted the fact quite as soon as they did, and
altered his course a little to intercept the slowly-moving boat. Soon
he was alongside, and the willing hands of his savages quickly hauled
him aboard.

A groan burst from Mervyn’s lips. Nordhu was winning all along
the line.

“What have they done with Garth?” Wilson cried, with a break in
his voice.

“Heaven knows!” snapped Haverly savagely; “that darned priest has
put us in a tight corner. Here we are, with never a toothpick among
us, and a boatload of niggers coming ashore in a brace of shakes.”

“They mean to beach her, by the look of things,” cried Seymour;
then, turning, he whispered something to the Ayuti, who nodded
affirmatively.

Three minutes later the _Seal_ came ashore with a rush, and
buried her nose in the sand. Ere her plates had ceased to quiver,
Chenobi and the baronet swung themselves aboard, and were raging along
the deck with no weapons but their mailed fists.

This state of things did not last long, however. Quickly they
wrenched the spears from the hands of two of their enemies, and fell
to with these weapons with a fury born of desperation. On their
efforts, they knew, depended not alone their own lives but those of
their friends, who, in their entirely defenceless condition, would
fall an easy prey to the wolf-men.

So they raged up and down the deck amid that shrieking mob of
savages, cutting and stabbing with merciless vigour. One thing puzzled
them: Nordhu was nowhere visible, and to his absence they doubtless
owed the halfhearted resistance which they encountered.

The baronet fought with a definite object--to break his way
through to the turret, around which the wolf-men were clustered the
thickest, and obtain possession of a rifle. With one in his hands he
knew he could quickly drive the wolfish horde from the vessel’s deck,
so he strained every nerve to accomplish his purpose.

And nobly did the king second his efforts.

Back and forth they stamped and drove, yet ever pressing on
towards their goal; ever struggling towards the open door of the
wheelhouse.

They reached it at length. A final rush, a last savage charge,
and they were through the ring of savages, within the shelter of the
turret. A moment’s breathing space they allowed themselves, then
Seymour snatched down the elephant gun, which still rested, loaded, on
its rack, and fired both barrels into the surging mass of savagery
without the doorway. Two dropped, and the rest, with a terror-stricken
cry, fell back hastily.

Quick as thought, the baronet whipped up a couple of loaded
revolvers, and sallied forth, determined to complete the discomfiture
of the enemy. Not to be outdone, Chenobi cast his eyes round for a
more serviceable weapon than his spear, finding what he sought at last
in an axe. Gripping this, he followed his friend, and, shouting his
thunderous war-cry, hurled himself into the midst of his foes.

His attack was the last straw. Unable, with their ignorant
brains, to comprehend the apparently invulnerable nature of their two
foes; awed, moreover, by the baronet’s firearms, the wolf-men turned,
leapt the rail, and dashed across the beach in a frenzy of fear, with
the hounds snarling savagely at their heels.

Scarcely had the last left the deck, ere the scientist and his
two friends were aboard.

“It was magnificent!” Mervyn exclaimed, “magnificent! Never have
I witnessed such a fight. You should have been a soldier,
Seymour.”

The baronet laughed as he removed his heavy helmet, and mopped
his brow with a handkerchief borrowed from the Yankee.

“The War Office might object to my fighting in chain mail,” he
remarked. “Steady there!”--as Wilson made a move for the
turret--“Nordhu must be below there somewhere. We must go slow,
or the brute will be blowing the boat up.”

“But he may be murdering Garth,” the engineer cried, “while we
stand here talking.”

At that moment the priest appeared at the door of the wheelhouse.
Probably the cessation of hostilities had brought him on deck; but he
had evidently never expected to see the vessel in possession of the
men whom he had left without weapons upon the beach. No doubt he
thought his savages would be able to repel all attacks of the unarmed
white strangers and their gigantic friend. How bitter was his chagrin,
the expression of his face showed. Even then, however, trapped though
he appeared to be, he made one last bid for life.

Like a flash he darted across the deck, no trace of a limp
apparent in his movements. Past Haverly and Mervyn--both of whom
were standing somewhat apart from the rest--he dashed; but
unwilling to let him escape, the scientist grabbed at his robe. Like
the wolf he was at heart, Nordhu swung round, and a weapon flashed
from beneath his mantle.

With a hoarse cry of warning, the Yankee leapt forward. The next
instant the report of a revolver rang out, and Haverly dropped with a
sob, the blood welling up from a wound in his breast.

The priest, with diabolical cunning, had discovered the secret of
the fire-weapons, and had used it to some purpose. But it was his last
effort. His time had come!

With a bound Chenobi was upon him; his weapon was hurled over the
rail, and the mailed hand of the Ayuti gripped his neck. An effort of
the king’s mighty muscles, hardened to steel by the lust for vengeance
which gripped him, and the head of the priest was bent backward. A
scream of agony burst from Nordhu’s lips, but the merciless pressure
was continued until, like a rotten stick, his neck snapped, and he
dropped lifeless to the deck.

Chenobi’s brother was avenged!

But though the priest was dead, his fell work remained. The
plucky American, who had saved Mervyn’s life by risking his own, lay
bleeding and unconscious where he had fallen, and at first glance
there seemed little hope of his recovery. Badly wounded he was,
without a doubt, whether mortally or not remained to be seen.

Tenderly they carried him below, inwardly cursing the dead priest
who had brought him to the gates of death. Even their fear for the
missing inventor was swallowed up by that for Haverly.

They could not bear to think of losing their cheery friend, their
comrade in so many dangers, and anxiously they awaited the result of
the scientist’s examination.

“Leave me a while,” the scientist murmured brokenly at length,
and at that the three stole forth, moving silent as spectres to the
engine-room, to look for Garth.

The Ayuti noted everything with wonder: the rich carpet which
covered the floor of the corridor; the numerous cabins on either side,
of the furniture of which he could catch a glimpse through the partly
open doors.

All had been rifled by the savages. Drawers and chests had been
overthrown, lockers burst open, and their contents strewn about the
floors. The usual spick-and-span condition of the boat, due to the
care of the inventor, was conspicuous by its absence.

It was with a dread gripping their hearts as to what they should
find within, that they opened the engine-room door, and at first their
worst fears seemed realised.

Beside his engines, motionless as the gleaming cranks themselves,
lay Garth, his head in a puddle of rapidly-congealing blood. With a
low, fearful cry, Wilson flung himself down beside his friend,
anxiously feeling for the beating of his heart.

“Thank God!” he muttered at last, “he lives!” and, without
wasting further words, set to work to restore the unconscious man.

Half an hour passed ere Garth came round, and then so weak was he
from loss of blood, that the engineer insisted on him retiring at once
to his berth. Only when he was sleeping soundly did the comrades
return to the cabin where Haverly lay.

With their eyes asking the question they dared not put into
words, they approached the professor, who still watched beside his
patient; and surely, never was prisoner more glad to receive reprieve,
than they to hear Mervyn’s verdict: “He will live.”

Almost Seymour leapt for joy as he heard the words; but,
remembering in time the need for absolute quiet, he restrained
himself, and returned with Chenobi to the deck, there to use his
superfluous energy in casting overboard the carcases of the slain
wolf-men and their priest. That done, he and the engineer turned their
attention to getting the _Seal_ afloat again, as while she
remained ashore they were exposed to the constant danger of an attack
by the savages; and this, while Haverly’s condition was so serious,
they wished to avoid, if possible.

By taking the tide at its flood, they managed to effect their
purpose, their actions being keenly watched by the Ayuti. Then, when
the vessel was once more in her natural element, they deemed
themselves more secure.

“Now to get out of this mail,” said Seymour; “it’s a little too
heavy for general use, though very handy in a scrap. Wilson, just keep
your weather eye lifting on deck here, while I get into some decent
togs.”

Presently the baronet was once more decently clothed, rejoicing
in the luxury of clean linen. As for the king, he had perforce to be
content with his mail suit, Seymour’s wardrobe containing nothing that
would fit his huge limbs, which fact, however, did not inconvenience
Chenobi in the least.

Their first meal aboard the recovered vessel was one they never
forgot. Wilson, ever an adept at the culinary art, had surpassed
himself. The saloon table literally groaned beneath the weight of good
things; it sparkled with cut-glass and silver. At its head sat the
grey-haired scientist, who had left his patient sleeping easily under
the influence of a soothing draught. On his right hand sat Seymour and
the Ayuti, the latter a strange-looking figure in his armour, amongst
the luxurious modern furnishings of the saloon. The electric light
gleamed and flashed on his mail at every movement he made, and his
jewel, the insignia of his royal rank, which he had not removed,
seemed almost to rival in brilliance the glare of the great arc lamp
set in the ceiling above.

Everything was, of course, very strange to him. Food, vessels,
and cutlery were alike unknown to him; yet, realising he must conform
to the habits of his new-found friends, if he would dwell with them in
their upper world, he laid aside his gauntlets, and closely followed
the example of Seymour.

On Mervyn’s left sat Wilson, his eyes aglow with delight at being
once more aboard his beloved vessel. Judging that the wolf-men were
not likely to make another attack for some time, the lad had decided
to let the _Seal_ take care of herself for a time, merely locking
the turret door as a precaution.

So the glasses clinked merrily, and the saloon rang with subdued
laughter as the meal went on.

Towards the end, Mervyn rose.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “we shall all be truly sorry to leave the
vessel that has served us so well and faithfully. She has become to us
as a dear friend; yet to effect our escape from this underworld, it
will be necessary for us to desert her. We shall have to remain aboard
awhile, until Haverly is sufficiently recovered to undertake the
journey to the crater; then we must say good-bye to the
_Seal.”_

“We must sink her before we start inland,” said Seymour. “I
should not like to think of the old craft being in the hands of the
wolf-men. How long do you think it will be before Silas is anything
like himself again?”

“I cannot tell,” returned the scientist, huskily. “He has had a
very narrow escape from death, but I do not doubt that his splendid
constitution will enable him to get about ere long. I shall be
eternally in his debt: but for his heroic sacrifice, I should have
fallen victim to Nordhu’s murderous hate.”

“I have a toast to propose,” he continued, after a few moments’
silence, filling his glass as he spoke, “To our American friend: may
he speedily be restored to his usual health!”

While they drank to this, there came a scampering of feet upon
the deck overhead, succeeded by a chorus of barks. The hounds,
returned from the chase of the savages, had swum out to the vessel,
and were clamouring for admittance at the turret door.




                         CHAPTER XXXIII.

                       THE INVENTOR’S STORY.


“I RECKON it ’ud be powerful interesting to hear how you’ve been
pegging along since Wilson left you.”

Haverly’s voice was little more than a whisper as he spoke these
words. He was mending rapidly, but he had not yet got about again, and
the inventor, who had long since recovered from his injuries, was
taking a spell below to bear him company.

“Would you care to hear the yarn?” the inventor asked.

“I guess I would,” was the reply.

“Well, you see,” Garth began, “I was below when Wilson was
attacked, attending to the damages we had sustained in our fight with
the icthyosaurus. He will have told you of that?”

Silas nodded.

“Suddenly I heard the report of a revolver, and judging that
something was wrong, I raced upstairs. You can guess my feelings when
I saw Tom being carted away by some great flying creature. For a time
I think I almost went mad. I raved up and down the deck like a maniac,
cursing everything and everybody in this confounded underworld.

“As my frenzy lessened, I realised the futility of my blind rage,
and returned to my task, with a heart heavy for the loss of my chum.
For, you know, I did not doubt that Tom was as good as dead; I never
dreamed that he would be able to escape from the clutches of the
brute--whatever it was--which had carried him off. How I
finished those repairs I don’t know, but finish them I did at last,
and backing the old _Seal_ off the beach, pushed her along up the
coast. My movements were entirely aimless. I imagined that all of you
were lost; that I alone was left of our party in this ghostly hole of
a place, so I took little heed to my course, or perhaps I may have
been spared one of the most fearful experiences that’s ever tumbled my
way.

“For how long I steered on I cannot tell, but it must have been
for a considerable time. I had long since passed the river-mouth where
I was washed ashore when I escaped from the savages. Upon my right was
a line of towering cliffs, rising sheer from the water’s edge, for
perhaps three hundred feet or so. I was keeping well out from shore on
account of the presence of numerous sunken rocks, whose jagged crests
showed just a few inches below the surface of the water. Suddenly,
rounding a rocky headland, the _Seal_ swept into a sheltered bay,
a splendid natural harbour in the heart of the cliffs, and here I
determined to stay for a while. The cliffs precluded all chance of
attack from shore, and the narrow entrance of the bay was sufficient
guard against the visit of another saurian, though at the moment I
doubt if I should have cared much had one appeared, so apathetic had I
grown. But I paid clearly for my carelessness.

“As I brought the vessel to, I never noticed that the surface of
the water around was covered with great floating masses of a
jelly-like substance. This fact was only brought to my notice when I
saw the deck swarming with what I took to be jelly-fish. The presence
of the creatures did not trouble me, however, and feeling weary, I
securely locked the turret door, and went below for a time.

“I must have slept for about three hours then, on returning to
the wheelhouse, I discovered that the jelly-fish still swarmed the
deck, being if anything thicker than before. ‘I’ll soon get rid of
these things,’ I thought, and stepping down to the engine-room, set
the engines going at ten knots. Half a dozen revolutions they made,
then stopped, nor could I get them to go again. Evidently the
propellers were fouled by the slimy creatures.

“‘Beastly nuisance!’ I muttered, and picking up an axe, sallied
forth to get rid of the encumbrance. Two steps I took on the slippery
masses which covered the deck-plates, then slipped, only just saving
myself from falling. I must be more careful, I decided, and commenced
to pick my way as best I could amid the greasy things which squelched
beneath my feet at every step. A sickening odour filled the air,
indescribably offensive, and this, added to the sight of the things,
almost made me ill. I clambered out to the extreme point, just above
the screws, and from there I could see that the water for many feet
below the surface was alive with the jelly-fish. They hung in great
knotted masses from the stern of the vessel; the propellers were
completely smothered beneath a score or so of the things, and I saw at
once that to get rid of them by means of the axe was absolutely
impossible.

“‘What other way, then’? I thought. Almost as soon as I framed
the question, into my mind swept the answer. Electricity! Ay, that was
the way. I would connect a couple of wires with the dynamo of the
searchlight, and bury the ends in the mass of jelly which prevented
the _Seal_ from moving. Turning to retrace my steps to the
turret, I slipped again, and this time I fell full length.

“The sensation of feeling oneself sprawling on that mass of
corruption was a thing to be remembered, I can assure you, but when I
felt the ghastly things beginning to swarm over my body, I almost
squealed. Their suckers seemed to grip my flesh through the clothes,
and burnt like hot iron. I struggled hard to rise, but the creatures
sprawled over me in scores, fairly covering me beneath their flabby
masses, and holding me down to the deck by their suction. Yet I did
not feel alarmed; it was an unpleasant situation--nothing more.
No thought of possible peril to life, no fear of death came to me,
until the things began to cover my head and to swarm over my face.
Then, you may take it for granted, I began to feel a bit sick.

“All this time, mark you, I was struggling with all my might to
shake the brutes off, and to rise from my loathsome bed, but I could
not. Those slimy things held me more firmly than a vice. I was fairly
trapped, and it seemed to me as though I was to be slowly suffocated,
despite all my efforts, beneath that hideous mass of blubber. Then
suddenly, to my ears came the howl of the wolf-men, and never was
sound more welcome. The manner of their approach, of course, I could
not tell, neither did I care, so that they tore away the clinging
jelly masses which were smothering me. Better, I thought, to be
prisoner in the hands of savages than in my present position.

“So I redoubled my efforts, gaining little by little, however,
save that my struggles attracted the notice of the wolf-men.
Presently, I felt the slimy creatures upon my back torn from their
hold; I was dragged roughly to my feet. Rubbing the slime from my
eyes, I observed that the deck was simply swarming with savages, who
had evidently boarded from two skin boats which were floating
alongside. These were engaged in slashing up the jelly-fish,
wholesale, with their spears, and flinging them overboard. The twain
who had released me from my predicament I at once recognised as two of
my former captives, and by the evil grin which lit up their features I
conjectured that they knew me again.

“Between them they bundled me to the turret, making unmistakable
signs for me to start the boat. After some difficulty, I made them
understand that the jelly-fish were keeping the boat motionless, and
at once they dived over the stern, and hacked away the obstruction
with their spears; then returning, they once more bade me start the
boat, and this--recognising the hopelessness of resistance
against such odds--I did.

“The rest is soon told. The brutes remained aboard the
_Seal,_ using me as a sort of general factotum, not scrupling to
punctuate their orders--all of which, of course, were given in
signs--with a dig or two from their spears. I can tell you I was
pretty mad with the brutes. Now and again some of them would want to
be put ashore for a spell, and they never returned without game of
some sort, which they ate absolutely raw. That was what we were
running in for when you sighted us. I had steered the old boat as
close in as I dared, and had gone below to stop the engines, so I knew
nothing of the boarding of the priest. Just as I flung over the
levers, something caught me a crack on the head, then everything went
dark.”

“I guess that old devil, Nordhu, must have dropped you,” Silas
remarked, as the inventor concluded; “he was monkeyin’ around down
here somewhere when we got aboard. If he’d been on deck, Seymour and
the Ayuti would have had a tougher fight for their money. Say, are
they gettin’ ready to flit soon as I can hustle a bit?”

“Yes,” Garth replied, “you must hurry up and get well, Silas, so
that we can start before long. Though I shall be sorry to leave the
_Seal,_ yet I’ve had quite enough of this underworld, and would
sacrifice more than the vessel to get back home again.”

“I assume Chenobi ’ll have to leave his pets behind?” said the
Yankee.

“He proposes to take the hounds with him,” was the reply; “says
he can rig up a pulley to hoist ’em up the cliff, or whatever it is
we’ve got to climb. Of course he can’t take the elk; it would require
a steam-crane to lift the great brute. But now get off to sleep;
you’ve been awake quite long enough.”

With that Garth quitted the cabin, and ascended to the
wheelhouse, where his comrades were assembled.

“Ah!” Mervyn said as he entered, “we were just going to call you
up, Garth. We want to run the _Seal_ ashore again. Seymour and
Chenobi have decided to pay another visit to the city. You see, there
are thousands of pounds’ worth of jewels on the hilts of the weapons
in the armoury--wealth sufficient to make Chenobi a person of
some importance above-ground--and he wishes to take some of the
precious stones with him.”

“Quite right too,” returned Garth, grasping the wheel; “Tom, get
down to your engines, will you?”

Ten minutes later the _Seal’s_ nose was once more touching
the beach. Seymour had again donned his mail, and he and the Ayuti
were moving over the sand with the hounds at their heels. At intervals
Chenobi raised a cry to summon the great elk, for they had decided to
make the journey upon the broad back of Muswani, instead of proceeding
through the subterranean passage.

Ere long the giant ruminant loomed out of the twilight, and
mounting, the two men rode swiftly away across the plain.




                         CHAPTER XXXIV.

                 ON THE CREST OF THE TIDAL WAVE.


TIME dragged heavily for those left aboard the _Seal._ There seemed
little to do; their preparations for the journey they thought to take
ere long, were complete. Ammunition, provisions--consisting for the
most part of tinned goods--personal belongings, were alike packed and
ready. Nothing at all superfluous was allowed in the packages, for
they would only have Muswani to carry their baggage as far as the cliff
stairway; for the rest of the journey they would have to bear their own
burdens.

Their plans for the future seemed perfect. They were only waiting
for Haverly to get a little stronger, ere commencing their march
through the jungle to the upper world and daylight. They had yet to
learn that “the best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft agley.”

“I hope they will not get into danger,” Mervyn remarked, after a
long silence; “it’s rather risky, yet we cannot blame Chenobi for
wishing to secure the jewels.”

“He would be in a rather peculiar position above ground without
money,” returned Garth, “and I fear he would be too proud to accept
help from one of us. Anyway, he and Seymour should be safe enough.
They are well armed, and----”

Out of the distance came a sullen muttering, as of far-distant
thunder, and at the sound Garth’s sentence died on his lips.

“Whatever’s that?” Wilson asked.

Striding out on deck, Mervyn leaned over the rail, and stood
listening for a repetition of the sound. Again it came, low as before,
reverberating amid the hills like the roll of many drums.

“I don’t like it,” the scientist muttered, as Garth and the
engineer joined him; “have you noticed how remarkably still the water
has grown during the last few hours? See how gently the waves come in;
there is scarcely more motion than on a mill-pond.”

“What do you infer from that?” asked Garth.

“That we are about to witness some phenomenon peculiar to this
underworld,” replied Mervyn. “What form it will take I do not know,
but I heartily wish Seymour and the king were back.”

“They should not be long now in any case,” rejoined the engineer;
“they have been gone over three hours. I say, we must get the
_Seal_ off again. _The water’s receding!”_

It was true. Although the flood-tide had not yet reached its
height, the water was rapidly running out from shore, and the
_Seal_ was fast being left high and dry.

“Full speed astern, Tom!” Garth cried, as he and Wilson darted
into the wheelhouse. Down the steps the engineer bounded, two at a
time, and hurled himself along the corridor of the engine-room.

Clank! The levers went over with all his force behind them. The
gleaming cranks flew round in a halo of dazzling light, but the vessel
moved not an inch. Her propellers shrieked on the air, for the water
had entirely receded, and she was hard and fast ashore.

With a muttered exclamation the lad left the engine-room.

“No use?” he said, as he re-entered the turret.

“Not a bit,” returned Garth. “It’s the queerest thing I ever
knew. Mervyn can’t account for it either. The water simply ran out as
though a hole had opened in the sea-bed. See, there is no water in
sight anywhere; nothing but sand.”

“It’s a licker!”

The two men turned at the words. Haverly had entered the
turret.

“My word, Silas,” exclaimed Wilson, “you’ll get it hot if the
professor sees you! You ought not to be up yet.”

“I guess I’m the best judge of that,” retorted the American with
a feeble smile. “I calculated as a constitutional ’ud set me up some,
so here I am. But what in the name of blazes has come to the water?
Have yer plumped the old boat down in the middle of a desert, or
what?”

Quickly Garth explained the extraordinary phenomenon they had
witnessed.

“And Mervyn can’t figure it out either?” questioned Haverly.

“No,” returned the inventor, “he’s as much in the dark as we are.
But here he comes; you can question him yourself.”

“Say, Mervyn, can’t you enlighten us some?” Silas asked, as the
scientist came in from the deck.

“Whatever are you doing here, Silas?” he asked sternly. “You
should not have ventured up so soon.”

“I guess I’ll improve considerable more rapid up here than down
below,” returned the Yankee.

“Perhaps so,” was the reply, “if you only take care. But you must
not abuse your returning strength.”

“No, I cannot explain the phenomenon,” he went on, shaking his
head, “though I fear it must be due to volcanic agency. Hark!”

Again that thunder-like muttering rolled out of the distance, but
the attention of the comrades was distracted from the ominous sound by
a faint cry from Haverly.

“Jupiter! Another fire-message!”

Away over a spur of the distant hills an arch of fire flamed into
view, and silhouetted against its golden splendour were eight
grotesque figures.

“Can you translate, professor?” cried Haverly; “these signs mean
something or other, you can bet your boots.”

Garth and Wilson waited eagerly for the scientist’s answer. It
came at length.

“Nordhu, son of Nordhu, will avenge his sire!”

“And that’s the message?” the engineer asked, as the blazing bow
waned and died.

“That’s the translation,” returned Mervyn, abstractedly.

“Then I guess we must look out for trouble, and that right soon,”
remarked Silas. “If this new Nordhu’s anything like the old man, he’ll
be on our trail in less than no time.”

“We’re in a nice lively position to receive an attack of
savages,” said Garth, “with the old _Seal_ as helpless as a
log.”

“I reckon we’ve come out of tighter corners than this yer,”
retorted Silas, “though I allow I’d feel kinder easier if William and
the Ayuti ’ud show up. You say they’ve gone to the city?”

“Yes,” returned Wilson, shortly.

“If they ain’t along presently,” pursued the Yankee, “they’ll
find some of the wolfies laying for ’em. Them priests are real
hustlers when it comes to a scrap. I’d advise as you loose a gun or
two off. They might hear the reports.”

“A good idea,” Garth cried, and snatching up a magazine rifle,
discharged it to the last cartridge.

“That ought to fetch ’em,” remarked Haverly cheerfully.

Boom! Once more that muffled explosion shook the underworld,
succeeded this time by a continuous roar as of a mighty cataract.
Thoroughly alarmed, the explorers gazed in the direction whence came
the sound. Far away down the coast, its towering crest gleaming
through the twilight, appeared a wall of water. With fearful rapidity
it roared down upon the helpless vessel.

“Great Heaven!” Mervyn burst out, “a tidal wave! We are lost!”
Even while the words trembled on his lips, a shout rang high above the
boom of the approaching wave, and down the beach at a furious gallop
came Muswani. The Ayuti evidently fully realised the peril of the
situation. Straight for the motionless _Seal_ he steered his
magnificent steed. A few yards from the rail a word of command pealed
from his lips, and at that the mighty elk hurled himself into the air.
Clearing the rail by a couple of feet, he landed with a crash upon the
deck, the hounds following like shadows at his heels.

Quick as thought the two men leaped from his back, and raced for
the turret. Then, as the door crashed to behind them and the hounds,
and before ever Muswani could leap ashore, the watery wall struck the
_Seal._

For one brief instant it seemed as though the ill-fated craft
would be overwhelmed. The water foamed and surged, boiled and eddied
around her; but by some fortunate chance she was lifted high upon the
crest of the giant wave, and was swept forward like a feather.

“Try your engines,” Garth bawled to his friend, and instantly
Wilson darted below again. But the engines with all their power were
as toys in the grip of the waters. No power on earth could have forced
the vessel forward against that foaming torrent. Lucky, indeed, had
Seymour and the Ayuti been to arrive at the moment they did. A few
seconds later, and they had been left ashore, separated by many miles
of raging water from the vessel and their friends. Their position they
knew was perilous in the extreme. At any instant the submarine might
be hurled against some iron cliff and shattered like matchwood; yet
dangers faced together lost half their terror. United the little band
felt equal to anything; so keeping a cheerful courage, they awaited
with what patience they could muster the time when the force of the
wave should expend itself.

But the time sped by, and still the waters roared onward; still
the _Seal_ danced and whirled amid the foam-capped waves.

Outside, motionless as a statue, keeping his balance upon the
slippery deck with wonderful skill, stood Muswani. Not all the violent
lurches of the submarine could shake the great elk from his footing.
He was immovable as though he were part of the vessel itself.

Chenobi gazed with pride upon his giant steed. It would mean no
slight wrench when the time came for him to part with the magnificent
brute; but that had not to be considered yet. Time enough to think of
that when they got out of the grip of the tidal wave, which foamed
forward relentless as ever.

The shore had long since faded from view. Nought was visible on
either hand but a waste of waters, tumbling and foaming in mad
confusion. And ever and anon a thunderous explosion would burst out,
echoing across the water like the firing of great guns.

Once, close alongside, the mighty body of an ichthyosaurus was
flung up, rent and torn in ghastly fashion by some giant natural
force.

Suddenly a cry came from Seymour.

“Great Scott! Look there!”

The others turned quickly. To starboard a beetling line of cliffs
loomed into view, threatening and terrible. Next moment an exclamation
from the American announced the appearance of a similar barrier upon
the port side. Through the canyon or gorge thus formed, the waters
swept in a maddened torrent, the _Seal_ lurching and rolling in a
fashion which bade fair to capsize her. A hundred times--ay,
more--she seemed likely to be dashed against one or other of the
rocky walls, but by a miracle she escaped destruction in this
manner.

So for perhaps an hour she was swept forward; then a terrible
fact became apparent to the adventurers. Silas was the first to notice
it.

“Say!” he remarked, “I guess these yer cliffs are closing in on
us.”

“What do you mean?” asked the scientist; “how closing in?”

“Just cast your eye to the top of this starboard wall,” was the
reply; “if the hull outfit ain’t leaning outward, call me a darn
nigger.”

An instant’s scrutiny showed Mervyn that the thing was true.

Shaken to its foundations by the force of the explosions, which
moment by moment were becoming more frequent, the whole cliff was
tottering to its fall. How long it would be ere it thundered down upon
the hapless submarine none could tell.

“Full speed ahead!” Silas snapped, his voice recovering its
strength under the excitement of the moment; “we must get out of this
or we’re done.”

All saw the force of his words, and within two minutes the
_Seal_ was leaping forward like a flash of light, her whole hull
quivering with the throb of the engines. Her pace was tremendous. The
cliffs dashed past in a dazzling line on either side, and still the
tottering mass to starboard hung poised, as though loth to crush the
gallant vessel and her crew.

The moments seemed to crawl by, and each was laden with the
suspense of a century. How long till this gorge shall end? was the cry
of each of the comrades. How long till these rocky walls shall
cease?

Then suddenly, a sheet of open water appeared ahead, and at the
sight a simultaneous cry of relief went up. Another moment and the
vessel would have been out of the gorge, and safe from the perils of
the crumbling cliff; but in the very instant of her escape, like the
crack of doom, a thunderous explosion volleyed through the canyon.

With the sound, the tottering wall of rock bent and swayed, then
crashed downward with a deafening roar. Almost, the _Seal_ was
clear of the falling _debris_--almost, but not quite. A
colossal boulder caught her stern, ripping the whirling propellers
from their sockets, and smashing her steering gear to a mass of
scrap-iron.

“Done!” Garth gasped, staggering under the shock; “the beastly
thing’s snapped the propellers, and they were the only ones I
had.”

The others did not take in the significance of this remark for
some moments. They were too occupied in a scrutiny of the curious
place the _Seal_ had entered. It was a great circular basin or
funnel, enclosed on every side by towering cliffs, and around it the
water was sweeping in a giant eddy. Into this the vessel was instantly
drawn, being helpless as any log in the whirling water.

Turning, the adventurers gazed towards the gorge through which
they had come. It had ceased to be. The fall of the cliff had
completely choked the passage, _and the basin was now without
outlet!_

“I guess the old _Seal’s_ fairly trapped,” remarked Silas
gloomily; “it would ha’ been better if the plaguey cliff had buried us
all, ’stead of shuttin’ us up in this hole.”

As he spoke, Wilson came upstairs.

“You’d better come down, Garth,” the engineer said; “there’s a
bad smash astern, and I can’t manage it myself.”

Glad of aught to relieve the awful depression which had succeeded
the excitement of the race through the gorge, the inventor followed
his friend below, to do what he could towards patching up the
damage.

“It’s a terrible outlook,” Mervyn muttered, “to be fastened up
here until our provisions give out, and then--death by
starvation.”

“A terrible outlook indeed,” granted Seymour. “It’s maddening to
think that we have escaped all the perils of the underworld, only to
be hopelessly imprisoned in this rocky basin.”

“Say, what’s this steam mean?” asked Haverly, who stood with face
pressed to the glass. A mist-like vapour had commenced to rise from
the surface of the gyrating water, growing denser in volume each
moment, until the walls of the basin were almost hidden.

“Trouble again, I reckon,” the American continued; “I guess we’ve
struck little else this trip, so far.”

“Some volcanic disturbance,” exclaimed Mervyn. “I----”
The words died on his lips in a gasp, as a fresh development forced
itself upon his notice. The water in the basin was rising!

“Wal, that licks all!” cried Silas, as he too became aware of
this new movement; “not content with pluggin’ us up here, it’s goin’
to jam us up against the roof.”

“It will merely shorten the period of our imprisonment,” returned
the baronet, and then silence fell between the watchers.

An hour dragged by, and still the waters rose; still the
submarine was borne upwards. Anxiously the comrades peered out into
the misty atmosphere, wondering how this strange adventure would end.
Even the iron-nerved Ayuti grew uneasy as time went by, a feeling
shared by his hounds, who, scared by the repeated explosions, whined
pitifully at intervals.

Muswani--motionless as ever--still kept his position
upon the deck, being the only member of the party who seemed not at
all dismayed by the strangeness of the situation.

Time crawled on. Many thousands of feet the _Seal_ must have
risen, when a sharp cry came from Haverly:

“_The roof!_”

Close upon his words came a report like a thunderclap, and a
dazzling shaft of flame leapt from the surface of the water,
illuminating the rocky walls of the basin and--scarce ten feet
above--the roof.

“We must sink her,” Mervyn cried, and darted to the stairs for
the purpose of calling Garth. Ere he could reach them, however, a
second report burst out. The dark mass of the roof above seemed to
bend downwards. There was a roaring as of a thousand Niagaras; the
swirl of many waters; a thunderous crash as though the earth itself
were splitting asunder; then darkness!




                         CHAPTER XXXV.

                       INTO THE SUNLIGHT.


SEYMOUR opened his eyes and gazed around dreamily. What had happened,
he wondered, as he sat up, and what was this strange light that
flooded the vessel? He rubbed his eyes and looked again, then a
thrilling cry burst from his lips.

“Daylight! Great Heaven, daylight!”

He staggered to his feet. He was right. The _Seal_ was
rolling on the swell of the ocean, bathed in the full glory of the
mid-day sun. Into infinite distance the shimmering wave-crests danced
on every hand. No land was visible save one small rocky island,
entirely destitute of verdure, which thrust itself above the surface
of the water some distance away. This much Seymour noted, then with a
fervent prayer of thankfulness he turned to assist his comrades.

Haverly lay senseless beside the wheel; his restoration was a
matter of little difficulty. Neither was the Ayuti much trouble to
bring round. But Mervyn, whom they found at the foot of the steps with
a broken arm and other minor injuries, proved a more difficult
subject.

Hounds as well as men had shared the general oblivion, and the
sun was sinking to its rest ere all were once more restored to a state
of sensibility.

The thankfulness of the explorers was supreme; but so strange had
been the manner of their deliverance from their subterranean prison,
that even yet they could scarcely grasp the fact that their wanderings
and trials amid the wilds of the underworld were really over.

Mervyn, his arm, skilfully set by the American, in a sling, was
bubbling over with enthusiasm, despite his numerous injuries.

“It must have been the birth of that island which released us,”
he observed; “the solid rock, thrust upward by volcanic force,
piercing the ocean bed, and rising above the surface of the
water.”

“It’s the most marvellous thing I ever heard of,” rejoined
Seymour, “though I fear the presence of that great rock will not prove
much of a blessing to the vessels that frequent these seas, especially
as it will be uncharted.”

“It will not remain so long,” retorted the scientist; “but see,
the _Seal_ is drifting towards it. We shall be able to moor her
directly.”

Inch by inch the helpless submarine drifted towards the
boulder-strewn shore of the island, which but lately had formed part
of the subterranean world. Ere long she was close enough for her crew
to moor her, and this Seymour did. As he fastened the rope, the
hounds, weary of the restraint of the turret, leapt ashore, and went
careering madly over the rocks. Suddenly they burst into a clamorous
baying, as a monstrous form emerged from the shelter of a clump of
boulders.

“’Tis Muswani!” cried the Ayuti, and vaulting the rail, he
rushed forward to meet his steed.

“Great Scott!” cried Seymour, “if that don’t beat all. Fancy the
old elk getting through safely.”

Mervyn’s eyes glowed with excitement.

“Grand!” he cried; “it’s just what I needed. The elk’s the very
thing to confirm my story. If----”

“Ship in sight!” bawled Garth at that instant. His comrades
followed the direction of his gaze. Away on the distant horizon,
bathed in the blood-red rays of the dying sun, appeared the masts and
funnels of a large steamer.

“Thank Heaven!” breathed the scientist, joyfully; “our troubles
are over at last!”

“Say, Seymour, how’s this strike yer?”

Haverly skimmed his copy of the “Metropolitan Gazette” across to
the baronet.

“I guess Mervyn’ll have a word or two to say about that,” he went
on; “for sheer impudence the party as is responsible for that classy
drivel takes the biscuit. I reckon, figuratively speaking, he’s just
about mopped the floor with the professor.”

The adventurers sat in the library of Hilton Manor. Mervyn alone
was absent, he being in London, hard at work upon his book.

“What do you mean, Silas?” Garth asked.

“Just what I say,” retorted the American; “but read it out,
William, so’s our pards can grasp the elevatin’ language.”

“Very well,” returned the baronet, smiling, and forthwith
commenced to read the following, which, topped by two staring
head-lines, occupied two columns of the “Gazette’s” centre page.

“‘A scientist’s delusion!’” Seymour began. “‘An up-to-date
fairy story! Truly we are tempted to exclaim with Joseph’s brethren,
‘Behold, that dreamer cometh,’ and we do not doubt that those of our
readers who observed the extraordinary effusion in our contemporary of
yesterday were alike tempted. Never before has such a wildly
improbable story found its way into print. Jules Verne himself could
scarcely have conceived anything more fantastic; yet here we have half
a dozen columns of closely-printed matter, offered to the confiding
public in the guise of sober truth. We marvel that the writer of the
article should have dared append his signature; but, after reading
this masterpiece of modern imagination, we were in no way surprised to
learn that it emanated from the pen of our old rival, Professor James
Mervyn.’”

“Take your breath, old man,” Silas interrupted, cheerfully,
“you’ll need it all ’fore you get through.”

“Dry up, Silas,” retorted the engineer, “you’re spoiling the flow
of language. I should think the beggar must have swallowed a
dictionary.”

“Perhaps he gets paid by the yard for what he turns out,” Garth
suggested, with a grin; “but wade in, Seymour; we’re eager for the
next instalment.”

“You shall have it at once,” rejoined the baronet, and resumed
his reading.

“‘We have only space here to touch upon one or two of the more
flagrant of the series of glaring falsehoods--we can use no other
word--which constitute the whole outrageous story. Whether the
interior of the globe is a huge cavern or no, we are in no position to
state; but hitherto we have been content to believe in the popular
theory of internal fire, and shall continue to do so until we have
_convincing_ proof to the contrary. This, however, we could have
granted, had it not been for the hopelessly impossible stories which
follow. The intellect which could conceive such creatures as the
wolf-men and their hypnotist priest, should find its sphere of labour
in other realms than those of science. The learned professor should
make his mark as a writer of fairy tales. Before his vampires the
flying dragons of the ancients fade into insignificance, while his
megalosaurus--a creature extinct for eras--beats all the
fabled monsters of classical times. But when we read of the giant
spider--Rahee the terrible, as he names it--our disgust
knows no bounds. That he should have supposed for an instant that he
could foist so ridiculous a conception upon a circle of intelligent
readers, destroys our last atom of compunction at the drastic course
we felt called upon to take.

“‘Yet even this pales before his subterranean metropolis, the
city of Ayuti, with its one giant inhabitant. This splendid savage,
this intellectual barbarian, is, in our opinion, the wildest
imagination of all. In the description of the Ayuti’s antlered steed,
obedient to his master’s slightest command, we
recognise----’”

“Oh, hang it all!” Seymour broke off angrily, “I’m sick of the
drivel,” and he flung the paper to the floor.

“I guess you’d better explain the stuff to Chenobi,” remarked
Silas; “he’s looking as if he’d like to be in the know.”

Following this suggestion, Seymour translated the article for the
benefit of the Ayuti.

“So,” the latter cried, his eyes flashing with rage, “the dog not
only doubts our friend’s story, but calls me barbarian and savage!
Were it not that ye say the law of your land forbids killing, the
hound should not live an hour.”

“Best of it is,” Garth broke in at this point, “the party that
wrote that article--Max Dormer--has a place not five miles
from here, and is holding a big meeting there to-day--some
scientific society or other, I believe. It would be a bit of a joke if
Chenobi was to pop over and pay ’em a visit.”

“By Jove! we’ll do it,” cried Seymour, slapping his thigh; “we’ll
stir the beggars up.”

“The king had better go in his tin suit,” suggested Silas; “it’ll
look more like business.”

“He shall,” returned the baronet, and spoke a few rapid words to
his Ayuti friend.

Instantly the latter rose, an even finer figure in his
perfect-fitting suit than he had looked in his mail.

“’Tis well,” he replied to Seymour; “thou and I, Fairhair, will
teach this braggart a lesson. When he sees Muswani, perchance he will
doubt no longer that there be strange beasts in the underworld.” With
that, he and the baronet left the room.

Some time later they rode down the drive upon the back of the
elk--Chenobi armed _cap-a-pie_--and swept out into the
high road, leaving the dull-witted lodge-keeper gaping after them in
blank amazement. Past astonished pedestrians they flashed, Seymour
laughing heartily at the temporary panic their strange appearance
caused; on at a headlong, exhilarating gallop, until they reached the
gates of the place to which Garth had directed them.

And here they were checked. The gates were locked, and the
attendant, alarmed by the unusual dress of the Ayuti, and also by his
strange steed, refused to admit them.

“You don’t come in here,” he bawled, “Sir William Seymour or not.
You look more like a couple of escaped lunatics than anything else, to
my mind.”

Chenobi laughed scornfully as the baronet translated this
insulting answer.

“There are other ways of getting in than by the gates,” he said,
and backed his mount to the further side of the road. A sharp word of
command and Muswani leapt forward like a meteor. Straight for the
eight-foot wall, which joined the gates, Chenobi steered him. Like a
bird he rose, cleared the obstruction magnificently, and dropped
lightly down upon the other side. Affrighted, the attendant vanished
into the lodge, and they swept up the avenue towards the house
unmolested.

It was indeed a big meeting which was being held at Professor Max
Dormer’s place. Earlier in the day, carriage after carriage had rolled
up the drive, and discharged its load beside the great lawn, whereon a
marquee had been erected. Not a few of those present held a foremost
place in the ranks of science, and Dormer’s heart leapt at the thought
of the stunning blow he would be able to deal at his erstwhile rival,
Mervyn. He knew that the returned scientist’s article in the London
daily had attracted almost universal notice, and he was determined to
bring forward this matter at this meeting, and expose before this
representative gathering the daring effrontery of the writer.

That any of the men of science would place any reliance upon
Mervyn’s story he did not for a moment believe; but he determined to
make the blow he was about to deal at the absent professor’s
reputation as crushing as possible. So he arranged his notes with
great care, running over in his mind as he moved amidst his guests the
various points of his discourse.

The meeting was at its height. Savant after savant had mounted
the platform, and had addressed the great gathering. And now came
Dormer’s turn. With all the eloquence that was in him, he was
inveighing against his rival, urging that the man who could pen such a
tissue of falsehoods deserved to be ostracised, when there came the
clatter of hoofs upon the gravel of the drive. All turned at the
sound--the side canvas of the marquee had been rolled up on
account of the heat--wondering who this late-comer might be. A
simultaneous gasp of amazement went up as the giant elk came into view
with his mail-clad driver. Straight across the lawn Muswani pounded,
almost up to the great tent itself. There he pulled up, announcing his
appearance with a bellow that deafened the ears of the assembly. As he
did so, Seymour leapt to earth, followed by the Ayuti. Into the tent
the baronet strode.

“Dormer!” he bawled, “come down here.”

Trembling, the destroyer of Mervyn’s reputation descended from
the platform, and threaded his way amidst his distinguished guests to
where Seymour awaited him.

“Are you responsible for that drivel in to-day’s ‘Gazette’?” the
baronet demanded sternly.

“I wrote that article, if that is what you mean,” retorted the
other, with some show of spirit.

“Then permit me to introduce you to the noble savage, the
intellectual barbarian, His Royal Highness Prince Chenobi of Ayuti,”
was the crushing reply and Seymour motioned for Chenobi to draw
near.

“Is this the dog who called me savage, Fairhair?” thundered the
Ayuti.

“This is he,” replied the baronet.

“Then translate to him these my words: He is a hound, and the son
of a hound. Let him thank his gods that the law of his country forbids
the killing of even such vermin as he, else assuredly I would strangle
him where he stands. Yet he will be wise to beware how he maligns me
hereafter, lest I be tempted to forget the law, to disgrace my own
manhood by laying hands upon his puny carcase. Ask him wherein I am
savage and barbarian? Is not my skin as white as his? is not my brain
as clear? My people were kings and rulers upon the face of the earth
while yet his forefathers burrowed in caves and dens, like unto the
beasts they hunted. Let him beware, I say, or his lying pen shall yet
be the cause of his ruin.”

This scathing torrent of abuse Seymour translated in its full
significance, glossing over nothing; and before it the offending
scientist seemed to shrivel up with mortification. His eyes were fixed
fearfully upon the face of the Ayuti, as if expecting the giant to put
his threats into instant execution.

“Gentlemen,” cried the baronet, when Chenobi had finished, “you
see the Prince, whom I am proud to call my friend; you see also his
antlered steed, Muswani, the giant elk. I ask you now if the story of
my comrade Mervyn is sufficiently proved? If his character as a writer
of the truth is vindicated? Is he to labour hereafter under the stigma
which this malicious fellow has cast upon him, or will his writings be
accepted by you all as actual descriptions of real creatures? I await
your answer.”

An instant’s silence, then as one man the assembly rose.

“We are satisfied,” cried someone, and two hundred voices echoed
the words. Out of the great tent Dormer’s guests poured, all eager to
get a closer look at the giant elk. Note-books came out by the score,
and many a page of descriptive matter was scribbled down for use upon
future occasions.

Many of those present knew Seymour personally, and they crowded
round him eagerly, questioning him concerning his late adventures.

“I must refer you to Professor Mervyn’s article,” he replied to
all their queries, “and to the book which he will shortly publish on
the subject. His description of the Under-world is far more graphic
than anything I can manage. One thing I must ask of you, gentlemen.
Will you see to it that Professor Dormer makes public apology for his
slanderous statements against my comrade Mervyn?”

“He shall acknowledge his mistake at once,” an eminent scientist
exclaimed, “or lose his standing among us.”

“Thank you!” replied the baronet; “_mistake_ is putting it
rather mildly, but it will do. And now I think we will return. Should
any of you wish to examine the elk again, later on, you will find him
at Hilton Manor. His master and I will be there for some weeks to
come. Chenobi”--turning to the Ayuti--“if you are ready, we
will go.”

At a word from his master Muswani dropped to his knees; the two
men leaped to their places. A wave of the hand and they were off,
speeding down the avenue towards the gates. These the keeper flung
hastily open for them--being evidently relieved to see the last
of these escaped lunatics, as he termed them--and they turned
once more for home.

Seymour was in high spirits at the manner in which they had
turned the tables upon Dormer, but Chenobi appeared preoccupied.

“A thought has come to me, Fairhair,” he said at length. “You
remember the fire-message of the son of Nordhu, wherein he vowed to
avenge his sire?”

“I do,” replied Seymour.

“What if he should fulfil his vow?” pursued Chenobi.

“What if he should lead his followers through the fire-mountain
into this upper world? I doubt not that your people would prevail in
the end; yet I fear me much blood would flow ere the wolf-people could
be destroyed.”

“Nay!” returned the baronet decidedly, “I do not think he will
attempt so mad a scheme. Anyway, we have not to concern ourselves with
that. Our troubles are over; our wanderings in the Under-world are a
thing of the past. See, here is the Manor,” and with that they turned
in at the gates.




PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON,
E.C.



Transcriber's note:

Upside down letters have been turned right-side up.
Inconsistent use of hyphenation has been changed to the most often used.
Errors in punctuation have been corrected.



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