IN A SUBTERRANEAN WORLD
When Mukoki and Wabigoon returned half an hour later the hot-stone
biscuits were still unbaked. The fire was only a bed of coals. Beside
it sat Rod, the strange fish upon the ground at his feet. Before
Mukoki had thrown down the pack of meat which he was carrying he was
showing them this fish. Quickly he related what had happened. He added
to this some of the things which he had thought while sitting by the
fire. The chief of these things were that just behind the cataract was
the entrance to a great cavern, and that in this cavern they would not
only find John Ball, but also the rich storehouse of that treasure of
which they had discovered a part in the pool.
And as the night lengthened there was little talk about the gold and
much about John Ball. Again and again Rod described the madman's
visit, the trembling, pleading voice, the offering of the fish, the
eager glow that had come into the wild eyes when he talked to him and
called him by name. Even Mukoki's stoic heart was struck by the deep
pathos of it all. The mad hunter no longer carried his gun. He no
longer sought their lives. In his crazed brain something new and
wonderful was at work, something that drew him to them, with the
half-fear of an animal, and yet with growing trust. He was pleading
for their companionship, their friendship, and deep down in his heart
Rod felt that the spark of sanity was not completely gone from John
Ball.
When the three adventurers retired to their blankets in the cedar
shelter it was not the thought of gold that quickened their blood in
anticipation of the morning. The passing of an age would not dull the
luster of what they had come to seek. It would wait for them. The
greatest of all things--the sympathy of man for man--had stilled that
other passion in them. John Ball's salvation, and not more gold, was
the day's work ahead of them now.
With the dawn they were up, and by the time it was light enough to see
they were ready for the exploration of whatever was hidden behind the
fall. In a rubber blanket Wabigoon wrapped a rifle and half a dozen
pine torches. Mukoki carried a quantity of cooked meat. Standing on
the edge of the pool Rod pointed into the falling torrent.
"He dived straight under," he said. "The opening to the cavern is
directly behind the shoot of falling water."
Wabi placed his hat and coat upon a rock.
"I'll try it first. Wait until I come back," he said.
Without another word he plunged into the pool. Minute after minute
passed, and he did not reappear. Rod was conscious of a nervous chill
creeping into his blood. But Mukoki was chuckling confidently.
"Found heem!" he replied in response to the white youth's inquiring
look.
As he spoke Wabigoon came up out of the pool like a great fish. Rod
helped him upon the rocks.
"We're two bright ones, we are, Muky!" he exclaimed, as soon as he
gained his breath. "Just behind the fall I ran up against the wall of
rock we found when we were hunting for John Ball, stood on my feet,
and--" he swung his arms suggestively--"there I was, head and
shoulders out of water, looking into a hole as big as a house!"
"Dive easy!" warned the old pathfinder, turning to Rod. "Bump head on
rock--swush!"
"We won't have to dive," continued Wabi. "The water directly under the
fall of the stream isn't more than four feet deep. If we wade into it
from over there we can make it easy."
Taking his waterproof bundle the young Indian slipped into the pool
close up against the wall of rock that formed the foundation of the
upper chasm and plunged straight into the tumbling cataract. Mukoki
followed close behind and preparing himself with a long breath Rod
hurried into this new experience. For a moment he was conscious of a
smothering weight upon him and a thunderous roaring in his ears, and
he was borne irresistibly down. There was still air in his lungs when
he found himself safely through the deluge so he knew that its passage
had taken him only a brief but thrilling instant. For a time he could
see nothing. Then he made out a dark form drawing itself up out of the
water. Beyond that there lay a chaos of midnight blackness, and he
knew that his eyes were staring into the depths of a great cavern!
Gripping the edge of the rock ledge he dragged himself up as both
Wabigoon and Mukoki had done, and found his feet upon a soft floor of
sand. Suddenly he felt a hand clutch his arm. A half-shout, rising
faintly above the wash of the cataract, sounded in his ear.
"Look!"
He wiped the water from his eyes and gazed ahead of him. For a moment
he saw nothing. Then, so faintly that at first it appeared no larger
than a star, he caught the faint glimmer of a light. As he looked it
became more and more distinct, and to his astonishment he saw that
it was slowly rising, like a huge will-o'-the-wisp that had suddenly
risen from the floor of the cavern to float off into the utter
blackness of space above. And even as he stared, gripping Wabi's arm
in his excitement, the strange light began to descend, and quickly
disappeared!
The two boys saw Mukoki slip off into the gloom, and without
questioning his motive they followed close behind. As they progressed
the sound of the fall came more and more faintly to their ears. A
blackness deeper than the gloom of the darkest night environed them,
and the three now held to one another's arms. Rod understood why his
companions lighted no torches. Somewhere ahead of them was another
light, carried by the mad hunter. His blood thrilled with excitement.
Where would John Ball lead them?
Suddenly he became conscious that they were no longer walking on a
level floor of sand but that they were ascending, as the light had
done. Mukoki stopped and for a full minute they stood and listened.
The tumult of the fall came to them in a far, subdued murmur. Beyond
that there was not the breath of a sound in the strange world of gloom
about them. They were about to start on again when something held
them, a whispering, sobbing echo, and Rod's heart seemed to stop its
beating. It died away slowly, and a weird stillness fell after it.
Then came a low moaning cry, a cry that was human in its agony, and
yet which had in it something so near the savage that even Wabigoon
found himself trembling as he strained in futile effort to pierce
the impenetrable gloom ahead. Before the cry had lost itself in the
distances of the cavern Mukoki was leading them on again.
Step by step they followed in the path taken by the strange light. Rod
knew that they were climbing a hill of sand, and that just beyond
it they would see the light again, but he was not prepared for the
startling suddenness with which the next change came. As if a black
curtain had dropped from before their eyes the three adventurers
beheld a scene that halted them in their tracks. A hundred paces away
a huge pitch-pine torch a yard in length was burning in the sand, and
crouching in the red glow of this, his arms stretched out as if in the
supplication of a strange prayer, was John Ball! Just beyond him was
the gleam of water, inky-black in the weird flickerings of the torch,
and toward this John Ball reached out in his grief. His voice came up
softly to the three watchers now, so low that even in the vast silence
of the cavern it could barely be heard. To Roderick Drew it was as if
the strange creature below him was sobbing like a heart-broken child,
and he whispered in Wabigoon's ear. Then, foot by foot, so gently that
his moccasined feet made no sound, he approached the madman.
Half-way to him he paused.
"Hello, John Ball!" he called softly.
The faint light of the torch was falling upon him, and he advanced
another step. The murmuring of the wild man ceased, but he made no
movement. He still knelt in his rigid posture, his arms stretched
toward the black chaos beyond him. Rod came very close to him before
he spoke again.
"Is that you, John Ball?"
Slowly the kneeling figure turned, and once more Rod saw in those wild
eyes, gleaming brightly now in the torch-light, the softer, thrilling
glow of recognition and returning reason. He reached out his own arms
and advanced boldly, calling John Ball's name, and the madman made no
retreat but crouched lower in the sand, strange, soft sounds again
falling from his lips. Rod had come within half a dozen feet of him
when he sprang up with the quickness of a cat, and with a wailing
cry plunged waist deep into the water. With his arms stretched
entreatingly into the mysterious world beyond the torch-light he
turned his face to the white youth, and Rod knew that he was trying as
best he could to tell him something.
"What is it, John Ball?"
He went to the edge of the black water and waded out until it rose to
his knees, his eyes staring into the blackness.
"What is it?"
He, too, pointed with one arm, and the madman gave an excited gesture.
Then he placed his hands funnel-shaped to his mouth, as Rod had often
seen Wabi and Mukoki do when calling moose, and there burst from him a
far-reaching cry, and Rod's heart gave a sudden bound as he listened,
for the cry was that of a woman's name!
"Dol--o--res-s-s-s--Dol--o--res-s-s-s--"
The cry died away in distant murmuring echoes, and with an answering
cry Rod shouted forth the name which he fancied John Ball had spoken.
"Dolores! Dolores! Dolores!"
There came a sudden leaping plunge, and John Ball was at his feet,
clasping him about the knees, and sobbing again and again that
name--Dolores. Rod put his arms about the old man's shoulders, and the
gray, shaggy head fell against him. The sobbing voice grew lower, the
weight of the head greater, and after a little Rod called loudly for
Mukoki and Wabigoon, for there was no longer movement or sound from
the form at his feet, and he knew that something had happened to John
Ball. The two Indians were quickly at his side, and together they
carried the unconscious form of Ball within the circle of torch-light.
The old man's eyes were closed, his claw-like fingers were clenched
fiercely upon his breast, and not until Mukoki placed a hand over his
heart did the three know that he was still breathing.
"Now is our time to get him to camp," said Wabi. "Lead the way with
the torch, Rod!"
There was not much weight to John Ball, and the two Indians carried
him easily. At the fall the rubber blanket was wound about his head
and the adventurers plunged under the cataract with their burden. It
was an hour after that before the old man opened his eyes again. Rod
was close beside him and for a full minute the mad hunter gazed
up into his face, then once more he sank off into that strange
unconsciousness which had overcome him in the cavern. Rod rose
white-faced and turned to Mukoki and Wabigoon.
"I'm afraid--he's dying," he said.
The Indians made no answer. For several minutes the three sat silently
about John Ball watching for signs of returning consciousness. At
last Mukoki roused himself to take a pot of soup from the fire. The
movement seemed to stir John Ball into life, and Rod was at his side
again, holding a cup of water to his lips. After a little he helped
the old man to sit up, and a spoonful at a time the warm soup was fed
to him.
Through the whole of that day he returned to consciousness only for
brief intervals, lapsing back into a death-like sleep after each
awakening. During one of these periods of unconsciousness Wabi cut
short the tangled beard and hair, and for the first time they saw
in all its emaciation the thin, ghastly face of the man who, half a
century before, had drawn the map that led them to the gold. There was
little change in his condition during the night that followed, except
that now and then he muttered incoherently, and at these times Rod
always caught in his ravings the name that he had heard in the cavern.
The next day there was no change. And there was still none on the
third. Even Mukoki, who had tried every expedient of wilderness craft
in nursing, gave up in despair. So far as they could see John Ball had
no fever. Yet three-quarters of the time he lay as if dead. Nothing
but soup could be forced between his lips.
On the second day Wabi revisited the subterranean world beyond the
cataract. When he came back he had discovered the secret of the
treasure in the pool. The gold came from the cavern. The soft sand
through which they had followed the strange light was rich in dust and
nuggets. During the floods of spring water came into the cavern from
somewhere, and flowing for a brief space out through the mouth of the
cave brought with it the precious burden of treasure-laden sand which
was dumped into the pool. The constant wash of the cataract had caused
most of the sand to overflow into the running stream, but the heavier
gold-dust and nuggets remained in the trap into which they had fallen.
But the joy that came of this discovery was subdued by thoughts of
John Ball. The gold meant everything to Rod, the realization of his
hopes and ambitions; and he knew that it meant everything to his
mother, and to all those who belonged to Mukoki and Wabigoon. But the
gold could wait. They had already accumulated a small fortune, and
they could return for the rest a little later. At present they must do
something for John Ball, the man to whom they were indebted for all
that they had found, and to whom the treasure really belonged. On the
third day Rod laid his plans before Wabi and Mukoki.
"We must take John Ball back to the Post as quickly as we can," he
said. "It is our only chance of saving him. If we start now, while
the water in the creek is deep enough to float our canoe, we can make
Wabinosh House in ten or fifteen days."
"It will be impossible to paddle against the swift current," said
Wabi.
"That is true. But we can put John Ball into the canoe and tow him
up-stream. It will be a long wade and hard work, but--"
He looked at Wabi in silence, then added,
"Do we want John Ball to live, or do we want him to die?"
"If I thought he would live I would wade a thousand miles to save
him," rejoined the young Indian. "It means little to us but work. We
know where the rest of the gold is and can return to it within a few
weeks."
If there had been a doubt in the boys' minds as to the right course to
pursue John Ball settled it himself that very afternoon. He awakened
from an unusually long stupor. His eyes were burning with a new light,
and as Rod bent over him he whispered softly, but distinctly,
"Dolores--Dolores--Where is Dolores?"
"Who is Dolores, John Ball?" whispered the white youth, his heart
thumping wildly. "Who is Dolores?"
Ball drew up one of his emaciated hands and clasped it to his head,
and a sobbing moan fell from his lips. Then, after a moment, he
repeated, as though to himself,
"Dolores--Dolores--Who is Dolores?"
The Indians had come near, and heard. But John Ball said no more. He
swallowed a few spoonfuls of soup and fell again into his death-like
trance.
"Who is Dolores?" repeated Wabigoon, his face whitening as he looked
at Rod. "Is there somebody else in the cavern?"
"He is talking of some one whom he probably knew forty or fifty years
ago," replied Rod. But his own face was white. He stared hard at
Wabigoon, and a strange look came into Mukoki's face.
"Dolores," he mused, without taking his eyes from Wabi. "It's a
woman's name, or a girl's name. We must save John Ball! We must start
for Wabinosh House--now!"
"While he's unconscious we can tie the rope about him and hoist him
into the upper chasm," quickly added Wabigoon. "Muky, get to work. We
move this minute!"
It was still two hours before dusk, and now that they had determined
on returning to Wabinosh House the adventurers lost no time in getting
under way. Wabi climbed the rope that was suspended from the upper
chasm, and that part of their equipment which it was necessary to take
back with them was hoisted up by him. Mukoki sheltered the rest in the
old cabin. John Ball was drawn up last. For an hour after that, until
the gray shadows of night began settling about them, the three waded
up the shallow stream, pulling the canoe and its unconscious burden
after them. That night the madman was not left unwatched for a minute.
Mukoki sat beside him until eleven o'clock. Then Wabi took his turn. A
little after midnight Rod was aroused by being violently pulled from
his bed of balsam boughs.
"For the love of Heaven, get up!" whispered the young Indian. "He's
talking, Rod! He's talking about Dolores, and about some kind of a
great beast that's bigger than anything that ever lived up here!
Listen!"
The madman was moaning softly.
"I've killed it, Dolores--I've killed it--killed it! Where is Dolores?
Where--is--" There came a deep sigh, and John Ball was quiet.
"Killed what?" panted Rod, his heart thumping until it choked him.
"The beast--whatever it was," whispered Wabi. "Rod, something terrible
happened in that cavern! We don't know the whole story. The Frenchmen
who killed themselves for possession of the birch-bark map played
only a small part in it. The greater part was played by John Ball and
Dolores!"
For a long time the two listened, but the old man made no sound or
movement.
"Better go back to bed," said Wabi. "I thought if he was going to keep
it up you would like to hear. I'll call you at two."
But Rod could not sleep. For a long time he lay awake thinking of John
Ball and his strange ravings. Who was Dolores? What terrible tragedy
had that black world under the mountains some time beheld? Despite his
better reason an indefinable sensation of uneasiness possessed him as
the madman's sobbing out of the woman's name recurred to him. He spoke
nothing of this to Wabi when he relieved him, and he said nothing of
it during the days that followed. They were days of unending toil, of
fierce effort to beat out death in the race to Wabinosh House.
For it seemed that the end of time was very near for John Ball. On the
fourth day his thin cheeks showed signs of fever, and on the fifth he
was tossing in delirium. The race now continued by night as well as
by day, only an hour or two of rest being snatched at a time. During
these days John Ball babbled ceaselessly of Dolores, and great beasts,
and the endless cavern; and now the beasts began taking the form of
strange people whose eyes gleamed from out of masses of fur, and who
had hands, and flung spears. On the eighth day the madman sank
back into his old lethargy. On the fourth day after that the three
adventurers, worn and exhausted, reached the shore of Lake Nipigon.
Thirty miles across the lake was Wabinosh House, and it was decided
that Mukoki and Rod should leave for assistance, while Wabigoon
remained with John Ball. The two rolled themselves in their blankets
immediately after supper, and after three hours' sleep were awakened
by the young Indian. All that night they paddled with only occasional
moments of rest. The sun was just rising over the forests when they
grounded their canoe close to the Post. As Rod sprang ashore he saw a
figure walk slowly out from the edge of the forest an eighth of a mile
away. Even at that distance he recognized Minnetaki! He looked at the
sharp-eyed Mukoki. He, too, had seen and recognized the girl.
"Muky, I'm going along in the edge of the woods and give her a
surprise," said Rod courageously. "Will you wait here?"
Mukoki grinned a nodding assent, and the youth darted into the edge of
the forest. He was breathless when he came up a hundred yards behind
the girl, screened from view by the trees. Softly he whistled. It was
a signal that Minnetaki had taught him on his first trip into the
North, and he knew of only two who used it in all that Northland, and
those two were the Indian maiden and himself. The girl turned as
she heard the trilling note, and Rod drew himself farther back.
He whistled again, more loudly than before, and Minnetaki came
hesitatingly toward the forest's edge, and when he whistled a third
time there came a timid response from her, as if she recognized and
yet doubted the notes that floated to her from the shadows of the
balsams.
Again Rod whistled, laughing as he drew a little farther back, and
again Minnetaki answered, peering in among the trees. He saw the
wondering, half-expectant glow in her eyes, and suddenly crying out
her name he sprang from his concealment. With a little cry of joy and
with hands outstretched Minnetaki ran to meet him.