IN THE CAVE OF DEATH.
With the smoking torch gripped in one shaking hand and the knife that
had done the terrible work in the other, Porfias del Norte hurried from
the scene of that frightful underground tragedy.
"I'm the only one left," he muttered thickly. "I can't last long in this
infernal hole."
He stopped in the central chamber.
"Where does all the smoke go to?" he exclaimed. "By this time the torch
should have filled the place to suffocation."
There was smoke enough in the chamber, but, as he stood there, he could
see it creeping across the roof above his head, striking the lower arch
of the passage, and passing on in a slow, gentle current.
"It finds an outlet somewhere!" he whispered, feeling his heart giving a
sudden leap in his breast. "What sort of an outlet?"
The faintest ray of hope had shot into his soul. Still he realized that
smoke might go where a human being could not pass. Nevertheless, with a
burning sensation of eagerness creeping over his hitherto chilled body,
he bent low and hastened onward into that low passage.
All the time he kept staring upward at the smoke.
Suddenly he stopped.
He had found the place where the smoke escaped!
It was directly over his head, a long crack across the roof, scarcely
wider than a man's hand. Into this the smoke was pouring in the same
slow, deliberate manner.
He stared at that crack in bitter, heart-crushed disappointment.
Smoke might escape through that narrow fissure, but a human
being--never!
The agony of disappointment that he felt nearly robbed him of his
strength and caused him to collapse. He fell back against the wall, a
groan coming from his parched throat.
"No chance!" he said hoarsely. "Ridgeway was right! We were both doomed
when the landslide came! But he is the better off, for his agony is
over!"
Then he thought of his pistol. As a last resort he could blow out his
brains and have it ended.
He thrust the deadly knife back into the bosom of his shirt,
straightened up, and thrust his fingers into the crack. He tried to
force his hand through, to reach up appealingly to the free world far
above.
A few pebbles and a little dirt came rattling down and rained over him,
bounding from his head and shoulders. Some of the tiny particles of
stone struck him on the face.
Then suddenly he began clawing like a madman at the crack, as if he
would pull the whole mountain down upon him.
His efforts brought down more stones and earth.
He found a niche into which he set the torch, and then he fell on his
knees, calling on the saints.
When he rose again to his feet he bethought himself of the knife and
once more took it from the place where it was hidden. With that knife he
began digging at the crack. He was compelled to stand in a cramped,
crouching position, but he worked fiercely, furiously.
More and more the earth rattled over him and the tiny pebbles rained
upon him. His eyes were filled and half blinded, his mouth and nostrils
inhaled the dust and caused him to cough. The smoke of the torch choked
him.
Still he worked on. It seemed a mad, hopeless task, for he knew that
above his head the slope of the mountain extended far upward. Should he
make an opening large enough for his body as far as he could reach, what
then could he do?
Even though he knew that the chances were a million to one against him,
he continued to labor at the roof of the cave, digging out the rocks and
earth with his knife. The stuff thus set free began to heap itself in a
little circular rim about his feet.
Once he stopped. The torch was dying down, and a glance showed him that
it was almost burned out.
The thought of being again left in that frightful darkness made him
quickly catch up the bit of burning wood that remained and hasten back
to seek for more of the extinguished torches. With its aid he found two
of them. He lighted one and returned to the spot where he had been at
work.
It seemed that already he had spent many days in that cave of death. He
wondered that he was not overcome with hunger, and he felt an awful
longing for water. Oh, for a drink, for a swallow, for a drop!
"There's plenty of water outside," he snarled. "There are streams, and
rivers, and lakes! I'd give my everlasting soul to drink from one of
them now!"
Dig! dig! dig! He was working in the same frantic manner as before. His
strength still held out, and he was glad of that. Even if he could not
escape, this was something to occupy his mind for the time and prevent
him from going mad.
Suddenly a considerable mass of earth, set free by his efforts, fell
into the cave. A stone, the size of a man's fist, struck him on the
shoulder, but he did not mind the pain.
"I'm dragging the mountain down upon me!" he grated. "I don't care! I am
glad! Let it come! Let it fall!"
He stood with one shoulder against the roof, reaching up into the hole
he had made, still cutting away with this once keen knife, which was now
dulled and blunted.
Suddenly something snapped--something fell on the heap of stones and
earth at his feet.
It was the blade of the knife, which had been broken in the middle!
As he stood staring at the broken blade he found the light again growing
dimmer, and then he saw that the second torch had burned to the point of
expiring.
He lighted the last torch.
When that was burned out he could not escape the dreadful darkness that
would close over him.
But the broken knife--the only tool with which he could work was
useless!
He dropped in a sitting posture on the ground and covered his distorted,
terror-drawn face with his hands. For some time he sat thus, without
moving, without making a sound.
The silence was broken by a pattering sound like hail. He lowered his
hands and saw that earth was still falling from the hole he had made. It
came in little starts and spurts.
The captive of the cave sprang up once more. He thrust both arms up into
that hole and tore with his fingers. This he continued until the nails
were worn away to the quick and his hands were cut and sticky with blood
and dirt.
Finally he stopped from sheer exhaustion. Even his frantic energy was
beginning to fail.
Then he heard something like a soft movement above him. He rolled his
eyes upward and beheld the roof of the cave directly above him moving
the least bit. At first he thought this movement was not actually taking
place, but that he imagined it.
Only an instant; then he saw that a part of the roof was settling and
seemed about to fall.
He leaped backward to escape from beneath it.
Barely in time.
It fell, and a portion of it hurled him down and caught his feet and
legs, pinning him fast.
The torch was extinguished.
At first Del Norte thought the end had come. As he lay with the weight
of earth holding his legs fast, he fully expected another mass to follow
the first and end his life without delay.
A sudden feeling of indifference came over him, and calmly he waited for
the end.
"Come, death!" he urged. "Get it over quickly!"
But no more of the roof fell.
After a little he found himself looking upward into the opening, and
far, far away, seemingly miles distant, he imagined he could detect a
ray of light.
Lifting the upper part of his body, he began dragging away, with his
hands, the earth and stones which had fallen on his legs. It did not
take him long to clear his feet.
Next he sought for the torch, but it was buried and lost beneath the
fallen mass.
This mass had made a great mound almost as high as the roof of the
passage.
He crawled upon it and finally succeeded in straightening up in the
opening left when it fell. This opening was plenty large enough for his
body; he could move his arms freely; and with his outstretched elbows he
was able to touch either side.
Standing there, he tipped back his head and looked upward.
His heart gave a fearful throb as if bursting, and through it shot a
sharp pain.
It was no fancy, no hallucination of his deranged brain; away up there
he could see light!
"If I could climb up there I might escape!" he whispered. "But how can I
do it--how?"
With his hands he felt of the rocky sides of the place where he stood.
The walls were rough, with many niches and protrusions.
He resolved at once to make the attempt, well knowing it might cause
another fall of earth and rocks, which would crush him to death.
He found a niche on one side for one foot and a protruding bit of ledge
on the other side for the other foot. He fastened his fingers in a cleft
and slowly succeeded in dragging himself up into the crack, which was
now quite wide enough for him to accomplish this.
He felt about and found other cracks and protrusions. Little by little
he climbed higher.
Once his foothold gave way and he came near falling. By bracing across
the cleft he succeeded in preventing such a calamity.
Then he found the cleft was growing narrower and narrower. It closed in
until it threatened to stop him.
He choked as he thought of the possibility. It was the most fearful
thing thus almost to get a taste of liberty and then have it denied him.
At last he was checked. For the time being he could force his way no
higher.
He felt his strength leaving him. A dizziness came upon him, and he knew
he was on the verge of falling. But he maintained his hold and began to
feel about. By working his way cautiously some distance along the cleft,
he finally came to a point where the walls were wide enough apart for
him to slowly drag his body through. Above that point was a narrow
ledge, on which he paused to rest.
Still that rift of light was far above his head. Could he ever reach it?
For some time he rested on the ledge, seeking to summon back all the
natural strength he possessed. Finally he resumed his almost superhuman
efforts.
Occasionally he paused to look up at the cleft of light. At first it had
seemed very narrow, but now it was growing wider. Each time he looked it
appeared wider than before.
"I'll reach it!" he told himself, with absolute confidence. "Porfias del
Norte still lives, Senor Merriwell, as you shall have good cause to
know!"
Now the air seemed sweeter and purer. He realized how stagnant and
stifling it had been away down there in the cave of death. He turned his
face up to it and drew in deep breaths.
Finally he came to a place where the cleft widened on either hand until
it was impossible to mount higher by clinging to opposite sides.
At that point he seemed baffled.
Was it possible he could fail and perish with life and liberty almost in
his very grasp?
There was but one course for him to pursue. He would have to abandon the
attempt to climb with the assistance of both walls; he must take to one
wall and make his way up that in some manner.
A little light came down to him from the opening, enabling him to choose
the holds for his feet and hands.
At last he came to another ledge, where he lay at full length and
rested, although the fear of slipping from it and falling back through
that fissure into the heart of the mountain caused him to suffer
intense torture. His fancy led him to imagine himself slipping, sliding,
falling, seeking to grasp the walls with his torn hands, but failing
utterly and dropping at last into the cave, where he found the dead man
laughing at him.
Above the ledge at that point he could creep no farther. He aroused
himself and crawled slowly along it. It led him out to a place where the
light shone in and the cleft was wide above his head.
"Almost free!" he panted.
Had it not been for his life that he was struggling he could never have
made that last ascent. In some mysterious manner he accomplished it,
dragging himself at last by the aid of some bushes on the brink over the
edge and dropping unconscious on the rocky mountain side.
In a little time the air revived him. He lifted his head and looked
around. A cry of joy burst from his lips, and he managed to stagger to
his feet. Around him on every side lay the beautiful world, the
mountains, the autumn-tinted woods and the blue lakes. Above him was the
sapphire sky and the gloriously golden sun, for the night had passed and
another day was well advanced. He drew in deep breaths of the clear,
sweet air, and his blood leaped in his veins.
Yet a marvelous change had taken place. At the time when he entered that
cave his hair was as black as a raven's wing; now his face was like
that of an old man, and his hair was snowy white!
"Free!" he cried. "I have escaped! But how I have suffered! That dog of
a gringo, Frank Merriwell, caused it all! He thinks me dead and out of
his path forever. I am alive, and I swear to make Merriwell suffer even
as I have suffered! I'll not kill him at one blow, but I'll rob him of
all he holds dear, his sweetheart, his beauty, his strength, his wealth,
and then I will find a way to destroy him at last!
"This is the oath of Porfias del Norte!"