FRANK’S SEARCH.
Barney gave a cry of alarm and disapproval.
“Shure, yez must niver do that!” he cried. “Your loife is too valuable
fer that, Misther Reade. Let me go in your place.”
The young inventor hesitated.
There was certainly logic in the remark of the Irishman’s. It would seem
like folly and certain death to descend into the pit upon the rope.
If it would part with the strain of Pomp’s body it would certainly do so
with his.
Frank saw this and realized the utter folly of such a move. Doubtless it
was the chafing of the rope against the sharp ledges of rock which
walled the passage which caused it to break.
So yielding to a better sense of discretion he abandoned the idea.
He was reluctant to do this, for it certainly looked as if it was the
end of Harding and Pomp.
Frank was much distressed with the thought.
“My soul!” he ejaculated; “words cannot express how keenly I shall feel
the loss of Pomp. He has been a good and faithful servant for many
years.”
“Shure, sor,” exclaimed Barney, “ye don’t mean ter give the naygur up?”
“Indeed, what else can we do?”
“To be shure, sor, it looks bad!”
“It looks desperate.”
“But, sor, I’ll not give up the naygur yet, sor.”
“Ah, what plan have you?”
Barney scratched his head meditatively.
“Shure, sor, it’s a heap av thinking I have been doin’ and, sor, I makes
up my mind that this pit is a cave.”
“A cave?”
“Shure, sor.”
Frank laughed quietly.
“Why, of course it is!” he declared. “What else could it be?”
“Well, sor,” said Barney, confusedly, “that is—I would say, sor, it is a
cave, and what is more, it is loikely a part of the other cave, sor!”
Like a flash the Celt’s meaning flashed upon Frank Reade, Jr.
It was certainly a bright thought.
“Good for you, Barney!” he declared. “I never thought of that. If it is
true, which pray Heaven it is, our friends must be all safe.”
“Very loikely, sor!” said Barney, confidently. “No, sor, I’ll niver give
up the hope that the naygur is aloive an’ safe!”
“Good enough!” cried Frank. “Now let us look this matter up. But——”
Frank paused in disappointment.
“Phwat, sor?” asked Barney, pointedly.
“How can we do that?”
“An’ phwy not, sor?”
“Somebody must stay with the air-ship.”
Barney’s face fell.
He had not thought of this.
“Shure, sor, the wan av us can go.”
“That is true!” agreed Frank, “but it is an unfortunate splitting up of
our numbers. Let me see. I think you had better stay with the Kite,
Barney. Keep a good outlook for foes.”
Barney nodded his head.
“All roight, sor!” he said. “Your worrud is law, sor. But the risk is
very great for ye, Misther Frank. I think ye had betther let me go,
sor.”
“No,” said Frank, resolutely. “I will go myself.”
The brave Celt could say no more.
He knew better than to attempt to gainsay his master, and Frank made
preparations for the search.
Of course there was the likelihood that the cave was yet in the
possession of the brigands.
In this case it would be perilous indeed to invade it.
Also, if the pit into which Harding and Pomp had fallen was connected
with the main cave, their position would be a hazardous one as well.
Barney had instructions in black and white.
This was to elevate the Kite to the height of a hundred feet, and there
to hold it anchored.
The Celt did as he was told.
Then Frank, armed to the teeth, descended over the cliff into the
defile.
He saw nothing of the brigands, and came to the conclusion that they had
deserted the place.
This was a gratifying reflection, and he kept on with confidence.
He reached the mouth of the cavern in safety.
There was no sign of the brigands anywhere.
Frank now took his bearings carefully, with the idea of locating the
possible connection of the pit with the cavern.
Then he entered the latter, and pushed on confidently from one passage
to another.
For a long time he kept on thus.
At times he would pause and listen for some sound or sign of the missing
men.
But always there remained the same dead and awful silence.
It was like being in a tomb, and was by no means agreeable to Frank.
“I certainly hope I shall soon come across them,” he reflected. “There
is a possibility of getting a bad chill in this damp and loathsome
place.”
But time passed on, and he felt sure that he must have reached the part
of the cavern directly under the pit’s mouth.
But it was not until he had burned two torches and lit a third that he
hit upon a clew.
Then suddenly a glistening object in the dirt caught his eye.
Instantly he picked it up.
It was a hunting knife with a bright silver handle, and he knew that it
had belonged to Harding.
Frank flashed the rays of his torch to the roof above.
And there he saw a circular opening which he knew was the end of the pit
into which the two men had fallen.
Barney’s ingenious hypothesis was correct, after all.
But where were the men?
Frank asked himself this question.
He examined the soft soil of the cave.
There were their footprints surely. They led away into a side passage,
and Frank followed them.
He raised his voice and shouted repeatedly.
But the only answer that came back was a strange, weird echo, which
repeated itself many times.
By the light of the torch Frank followed the trail.
In this manner he might in time have overtaken them.
But suddenly the trail came to an end. This was owing to a peculiar
change in the soil.
The soft dirt was supplanted by gravel and ashes, and no footprint could
be visible in them.
This was a great disappointment to the young inventor.
He shouted loudly again and again. But the two men were evidently far
beyond hearing.
Frank kept on for some while in the hope of striking the trail again.
But in this he failed.
And now he was confronted with a startling fact.
This was that he was himself lost. He had not the slightest idea as to
the direction to take to carry him out of the cave.
He wandered on and on for what seemed an eternity.
In vain he tried passage after passage.
The cavern was a veritable labyrinth. The more earnestly he tried to
find his way out the deeper he got into the tangle.
Finally horror and despair began to settle down upon the young inventor.
“My God! Am I to perish in this place?” he muttered, dismally. “Is there
no way out of it?”
Indeed this did not seem possible.
So deep was the maze of passages that there was no doubt that Frank had
in many cases returned again and again to the point from which he
started.
At length a dreadful weariness and faintness began to settle down upon
the young inventor.
He could not seem to overcome it, and finally, completely fatigued, he
yielded to nature, and sinking down upon the soft dirt, he slept.
How long he slept he never knew.
When he woke up the torch by his side was naught but a heap of cold
ashes.
But fortunately Frank had provided himself with a good supply of these.
Lighting another, he thrust it into a niche in the wall.
Then he sat up and rubbed the numbness from his stiffened limbs. Very
soon he felt better.
But the outlook was certainly a very dismal one.
He felt weak and faint. Fortunately Frank had a small flask of brandy in
his pocket.
A draught from this revived him for a time, and he was enabled to go on
once more.
Again he wandered on through the labyrinth.
Of course chance might at any time bring him out of the maze, but he was
not altogether hopeful. The heaviness of the air had a most depressing
effect upon him, and made him feel weak and sick.
Finally Frank came to a stop.
He began to appeal to his inventive genius. This seldom failed him.
“Here I have been going on at random,” he declared; “making a fool of
myself; and at this rate I would soon succumb to exhaustion. Now by some
system I can certainly find my way out of this place.”
If he had taken the precaution to blaze the walls upon entering all of
this trouble might have been averted.
But Frank was not to be long baffled by a problem.
He had been accustomed to solving such all his life, and he believed
that he was able to do it now.
He went to work carefully with his pocket compass to locate his
position.
He remembered that the mouth of the cave faced due east.
By keeping to every passage that led in that direction it certainly
seemed as if he ought to get out eventually.
Frank happily had a piece of chalk in his pocket.
This he employed in carefully marking numbers upon the wall of every
passage into which he turned.
Some of the passages leading eastward would come to a termination in a
most exasperating manner after having been followed for a long way.
Others would turn back upon themselves or wind again into the maze.
In this case Frank would be compelled to return to the point of
beginning.
Then he would begin over again and take another passage.
In this way he worked his way along with perseverance and good courage.
By his system of marking the false passages Frank was enabled to finally
find a continuous passage to the eastward.
A gleam of daylight showed ahead.
Ten minutes’ run and he came into a lofty roofed cavern chamber in which
all was daylight from an aperture above.
He recognized it as the treasure chamber. With a cry of joy he went on
and soon came out into the defile once more.
It had seemed eternity, yet really Frank had been lost two days and
nights in the depths of the Andean caverns.