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!