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!”