LOST IN THE LABYRINTH.
With a convulsive shudder, Burr Wythe wiped the clotted blood from his
hand. Duplin, startled by the cry of his comrade, quickly turned his
head.
"What is it, Wythe?"
"Nothing--I rested my hand in that blood yonder. But what is this--a
cave?"
"It must be--and see! There are blood-stains on the inside edges of
the rock. Whoever, one or many, have gone in there, taking poor Jack
with them, either dead or alive," muttered Paley, as he drew back and
carefully looked to his weapons.
"Then out of it they must come," determinedly returned Burr, his eyes
glittering.
"But how? If in there, they have the advantage of us in every respect."
"There is only one way. We must enter and do the best we can."
"It looks like suicide, after what we see here; but if you dare risk
it, I will not fail you. We can not desert the lad. He would risk as
much for either of us."
"Here--let me pass in first. I can get some idea of what is before us,
and if they mean mischief, they'll wait to make sure of us both. Do you
keep back from the entrance, but ready to assist me if I call."
Pale but resolute, Wythe crawled into the hole, and then glanced
quickly around him, as though in hopes of being able to penetrate
the dense gloom. That his heart beat quicker than common, is no
disparagement to his courage, for there is nothing so trying as facing
an unknown danger _in the dark_.
Feeling around he found several pebbles, and flung them violently from
him. From their faint echoes, he learned what he desired.
"It's a large cave, Paley," he uttered, as he emerged into the open
air. "We must not enter without material for torches. We might pass
within arm's length of poor Jack, and not know it."
Thoroughly determined to find their missing comrade, and if possible
those who had struck this blow, the two men scarcely gave a thought now
to the danger they might be incurring, nor how completely they would
be at the mercy of any hidden enemy, while they were bearing lighted
torches. So, while Wythe guarded the cave entrance, Duplin hastily
collected material for torches.
A few minutes sufficed for this, and then both men entered the hole.
Thus shielded from the wind, they soon succeeded in kindling a torch,
and then, while one held it aloft, the other kept just without the
circle of light, with cocked and ready revolver. In this manner one at
least would be running less risk. Duplin, as being the best shot, held
the latter position.
The two friends curiously glanced around them. But little was to be
seen, save the jagged roof of rock, as the torch emitted but a feeble
light.
Still, a few moments showed them that the chamber in which they stood
was untenanted save by themselves. It was of considerable size,
irregular in outline, rough and jagged, with a low roof or ceiling.
"Look! here is a sort of tunnel," muttered Wythe, waving the light
before him. "And--yes! here goes the blood-drops. Poor Jack! if it's
_his_ blood, he must be dead."
"Maybe not. A little makes a big show on rock. But let's hasten--I'm
eager for the end. Any thing--even the knowledge of his death, is
better than this suspense."
"If he _is_ dead, somebody must pay for it!" gritted Wythe,
vindictively.
The tunnel was low and narrow, and the explorers had to stoop their
heads to avoid the rocky roof. More than once Wythe fancied he could
distinguish the trace of tools wielded by human hands upon the soft
rock, but other thoughts occupied their minds, though at another time
this fact would have excited the deepest curiosity.
The tunnel was winding, now sheering abruptly to the right, then
again to the left, and several times Wythe paused in doubt, as _two_
passages met his gaze. But a close and cautious scrutiny would show a
drop of blood upon the floor of one or the other, and thus guided, the
adventurers pressed on, further into the labyrinth, without a thought
of their own peril--thinking only of their lost comrade. From first to
last, of that day, they exhibited a strange lack of prudence.
Their progress, owing to these causes, was slow--far more so than, in
their impatience to learn the fate of Jack Tyrrel, they believed--and
the winding passage frequently caused them to almost retrace their
footsteps.
Suddenly Wythe came to the end of the tunnel, and stepped into what
seemed a spacious chamber, though he could only judge from the
difference in the atmosphere. The torch was of little service, save
within a radius of several yards.
A few minutes' scouting proved this also to be unoccupied by those they
sought. At irregular intervals, around the sides, were several tunnels
similar to that from which the men had recently emerged.
Exchanging glances, the friends saw that each had begun to despair.
After this long and really arduous search, they seemed no nearer the
end than at first.
"Come," whispered Duplin, rousing himself, "this is only wasting time,
when we should be at work. Cheer up--we must find him soon. I know we
will--I feel it!"
"I hope you are a true prophet," sighed Wythe, brushing the cold damp
from his forehead. "But I fear the worst."
"Give me the light for awhile, and you take my place. We must search
each tunnel until we find the right one."
"I fear that will be difficult. I've not noticed any blood-drops for
some time. What if we should be wrong? What will become of poor Jack?
And--_how are we to find our way back again_?"
Duplin started. For the first time he realized the full peril of their
situation. Were they not even then lost? Lost in the labyrinth--in the
bowels of the earth! And nothing to sustain life--no food, no water!
The thought was soul-sickening!
"We must not think of that _now_. We've enough to trouble our minds
without that. It may all turn out right. But mark the passage we came
through. With that to start from, we can find our way back by the
blood-stains. Drop my hat there--or a bit of rag, anything will do."
Wythe advanced a step, then paused and glanced around him. His face
shone ghastly pale in the feeble light of the tiny torch. It seemed
that of a dead, rather than a living man.
"I--I _think_ this is the one," he faltered, pointing to a passage.
"My God! don't you _know_? Then we are indeed lost!" groaned Duplin,
the cold sweat dripping from his brow.
"We have walked in every direction--I am bewildered. We can do nothing,
only trust in Providence."
"And so we will! I don't believe we are to perish in this manner. Cheer
up--'twill all turn out for the best," cried Duplin, rallying his
courage.
"I'm willing enough to hope for the best, but these events follow close
after that man's warning of last night. There may have been more in it
than we cared to admit."
"Come--no more o' that, Wythe. You only unnerve us both. Mark this
tunnel. We will first explore the one next upon its right--remember
that. In time we must strike the right one."
Entering the low-arched passage, Duplin led the way, holding the torch
so low that it fell full upon the floor. Leaving all other matters to
Wythe, he closely and thoroughly scrutinized the passage in search of
the blood-drops that had already guided their course so far.
"I'm afraid we're wrong, Burr," muttered Paley, after several minutes.
"I can find no traces."
He had just rounded an acute corner in the passage, and thus cast Wythe
in the gloom. Stepping forward, Burr abruptly paused.
"My God! look yonder!" he gasped rather than spoke, one hand extended
over Duplin's shoulder.
The latter raised his eyes and then started back. Truly a horrible
sight was before them.
A dull, ghastly light seemed to fill the space before them. A light
that danced and flickered fitfully--now brilliant, now dull.
There, apparently almost within arm's length of the two adventurers,
were half a dozen flaming skeletons, not lying prone upon the floor,
but seemingly just starting up from their recumbent position to
chastise the unhallowed disturbers of their last repose.
Fiery jets of flame seemed to dart forth from the eyeless sockets, from
the grinning jaws, from every bone that helped form the skeletons,
and all with that peculiar effect produced by the plentiful use of
phosphorus.
As if turned to stone, the two friends stood at the turning, glaring
wildly upon the weird tableau.
Then there echoed forth a startling sound, that seemed to proceed
from the glowing jaws of the blazing skeletons. A laugh, shrill and
unearthly, that echoed thrillingly through the long, narrow passage.
"My God! they move--they come!" yelled Duplin, as he dropped the torch
and dashed madly back the way he had come, by some rare chance escaping
a shattered skull, from collision with the numerous jagged points of
rock.
With that horrible laugh still ringing in their ears, Wythe followed
after, half-dead with terror. Gasping, nearly suffocated by the wild
throbbings of his heart, Duplin gained the chamber, and then sunk down
weak and trembling. Though life depended upon the exertion, he could go
no further.
"Burr--where are you?" he gasped, agitatedly.
"Here--thank God we are together!" came the low reply, as Wythe crept
to his side. "But the light--where is it?"
"I dropped it--I was so astonished. But we can kindle another. I have
matches and you have wood."
"I?--no, I must have lost it as I ran. I had two sticks when we
entered, but they are gone now," slowly returned Wythe.
Both remained silent. Each realized the full force of this new
calamity. Without a light how could they ever hope to find their
way out of this labyrinth? With a light, the task would be hard
enough--without one, it become simply impossible.
"We must regain them, even though we have to face that horrible sight
once more," muttered Duplin, with a resolution that was simply
sublime, when his superstitious nature is remembered.
"Did _you_ hear it, too?"
"The laughter--yes. It was no delusion. Pray God that I may never hear
it again!"
"Hark!"
A low, indistinct sound met their ears. It seemed to proceed from the
passage they had just left. Its precise nature they could not define,
but--perhaps the thought was excited by what had just occurred--they
fancied it was the faint echo of that horrible peal of laughter.
"It's coming nearer--what shall we do?" gasped Duplin, tremblingly.
"Remember what Jack showed us. There is some trickery here, I feel
sure. If we flee blindly through these passages, we are indeed lost.
We must meet what is coming. If really supernatural, we can not run
away from it. If human, we can solve the mystery with a pistol-bullet,"
hurriedly muttered Burr, as his revolver clicked sharply.
His resolution seemed to restore Duplin, and then, in silence they
awaited the result, though in painful suspense, for neither was free
from a sickening dread. Few men are equally brave in the dark and light.
The suspense was not of long duration. Another shrill, unearthly peal
of laughter rung through the rocky chamber, and then, as if by magic, a
glowing skeleton with every bone plainly outlined, stood before the two
gold-hunters.
Duplin hastily cocked his revolver. It seemed that the sharp metallic
_click_ was not unheard, for another laugh, low and taunting, came
from where the ghastly object stood. Then a voice--the same that had
addressed them at their camp, the preceding night--uttered the words:
"Poor silly fools! Do ye think to alarm the dead by such actions?
What care I for mortal weapons? You but precipitate your fate by such
rashness. You scorned my first warning--and now you see the results.
One of your number is dead--you two are doomed! Doomed to wander on
through the bowels of the earth unceasingly, until death takes pity
upon your sufferings and touches your hearts with his finger of ice.
You were warned--why did you throw the chance behind you? You sealed
your own fate. You are doomed--doomed! Ha! ha!" and again the chilling
peal rung forth.
And yet, strange as it may seem, these words gave Burr Wythe renewed
courage. Though a partial believer in spiritualism, he did not believe
that disembodied spirits could speak.
The owner of this same voice had, at the camp, left a substantial proof
behind it that scarcely befitted a ghost. And now _this_ voice admitted
the identity.
"'Tis some trick, Paley," he whispered in Duplin's ear.
"Fire when I do, and we will have the clue in our hands. For poor
Jack's sake, courage."
"I will--touch me when you are ready," came the low, cautious response.
"_Now!_"
As he shouted aloud this word Wythe fired, and almost simultaneously
Duplin's pistol spoke. And the effect exceeded their most sanguine
expectations.
High above the twin reports, there rose a human voice in a wild yell of
pain, then came a rattling crash--then the sound of heavy, repressed
footsteps.
Instantly, on firing, Duplin and Wythe sprung aside, and recocked their
pistols. But there was no need of a second shot. The victory was theirs.
The glowing skeleton lay upon the ground, shattered to pieces. The
skull, like a great ball of fire, was slowly rolling toward Wythe, who
eyed it with a shudder of loathing. But all else was motionless and
still. The fleeing footsteps that had momentarily caught their ear, was
now gone.
"Our spirit was Jack's trickster, after all," at length uttered Wythe.
"We were fools, Burr," laughed Duplin, his natural courage returning.
"It's a lesson that will never be forgotten by us; and it was one that
I needed, too. I'm becoming a slave to my superstitions. But did you
notice which way he went?"
"No. Still, with lights, we can find out, I guess. That cry was one of
pain. He must have been wounded."
"He was; perhaps mortally, though I hope not, for that might lose
us our hopes of finding Jack. But, come; we must find our torches.
There is no time to lose unless we wish to make good that rascal's
prediction, and die in here of thirst and starvation. This is the
passage--just behind these bones."
Carefully feeling along the passage, they soon succeeded in finding
the dried fagots, dropped when they took a hasty flight. One--the
torch--was still smoldering, and required but little coaxing before it
again blazed up.
By its light, the two friends exchanged glances. They were both
thinking of the same thing.
"Yes, we will examine them," exclaimed Duplin, resolutely advancing.
"Who knows--we may find some trace of _him_ there."
With far different sensations than those felt when first the weird
sight burst upon their vision, the gold-hunters now examined the row of
skeletons. They lay side by side, upon a sloping ledge, which, in the
first affright, gave them the appearance of raising to their feet. The
friends saw that at least two of the skeletons had been removed from
the ghastly row.
"They have been placed here with care," muttered Wythe. "See--here are
fragments of what was once cloth. The bones look as though covered with
skin--as though the flesh had gradually dried away, and the sinews
still hold together. That accounts for the perfect skeletons we saw
arranged by that rascal--whoever he is."
"This dry, rare air may account for that. But we must not forget the
duty we owe poor Jack. He is not here."
"Come, then. We can follow our mummer, if I mistake not. I think he'll
leave a plain trail behind him, if there's any virtue in half-ounce
bullets."
In a few moments the adventurers were once more in the chamber, and
examining the ground round about where the skeleton had fallen. True to
their hopes, they found several drops of blood that told plainly their
enemy was wounded.
"This is the passage," uttered Duplin. "But it seems to lead back the
same way we came."
"We are all turned round. It _may_, of course, but more likely it
continues in the direction we first started in. It is our only chance,
at any rate."
For half an hour more they crept on, slowly and carefully, knowing that
to go astray might result in their destruction. Several branch passages
were observed, but close scouting showed them the faint blood-traces,
that directed them aright.
But then a circumstance occurred that threatened them with disaster.
The second torch had burned nearly down to Wythe's fingers, and he
paused to light another. Unfortunately he dropped the splinter, and
falling, it became extinguished. Blow as he might the sparks refused to
blaze up.
Impatiently he asked Duplin for a match. To his horror, Paley answered
that he had none! Whether he had lost them during the flight or not,
it was certain that they were then in the labyrinth, without means to
kindle a light. Search as they might, not a match was found.
As the significant truth burst upon them in its full force, they seemed
like madmen. They raved and cursed until out of breath. Then reason
returned. They were only wasting precious strength that might yet be
needed to save them from a horrible death.
"Come, Duplin," hoarsely muttered Wythe, "we must be men. We need our
senses now, if ever. We _must_ find some way out of this. Come--creep
forward with me. Try to keep this passage. Perhaps we may succeed--it
is our only hope."
"A slim one," and Duplin smothered back a curse. "I begin to believe
that that prediction will come true--that this hole is our _grave_!"
"Don't give way to such thoughts. Hope while we may. The worst, if it
_must_ come, will come soon enough."
For an hour--a long, weary hour full of agonizing fears and doubts--the
comrades crept slowly on, upon their hands and knees, not knowing
whether they were nearing or distancing safety. But then Burr Wythe,
who was in advance, gave way to a gasping cry--a cry of joyful
thanksgiving.
"Thank God! we are saved! This is the first chamber--I can tell it!"
"But--" hesitated Duplin, "then we should see the light. _Where is the
hole we crept in at?_"
All before them was dark and black. They could see nothing. And now
Wythe remembered that as they first entered the tunnel, he had glanced
back. The hole then shone clear and distinct. It was gone now!
With a cry of apprehension he arose and sprung forward. In a moment he
discovered the truth.
This was indeed the outer chamber. And he felt where the entrance had
been. _It was now blocked up!_
_They were buried alive!_
Both sunk to the ground, heart-sick and despairing.