A DISASTROUS HUNT
The island of San Murio is not over six miles wide by twenty miles
long. It is composed of two lines of hills, with a deep valley between.
The hills are rocky and much broken, and there are numerous waterfalls
and tiny brooks, as well as cliffs and caverns. The growth of trees and
underwood is dense, and Dave and his friend had frequently all they
could do to push their way along.
Both were in fine spirits, and Bob was inclined to burst into song,
only Dave silenced him.
"If you sing you'll surely scare all the game away," he said. "A wild
goat will hear your voice half a mile off."
"Right you are, Dave," returned Bob. "However, I can't repress my
spirits when I'm ashore. It's so much better than being down in the hot
and stuffy engine room of a steamship," and Bob threw down his rifle
and made a handspring or two, after which he resumed his walk, feeling
better.
A half-hour's journey brought them close to the top of the first series
of hills, at a point opposite a small inland lake.
"Go slow now," whispered Bob. "There may be goats beyond."
They peered over the top of the hill with care, and sure enough, down
at the lake shore they made out two large goats and two kids, all
drinking.
"Take the one to the right, and I'll take the one to the left!" said
Bob, in a low voice. "Ready? Then fire!"
Crack! bang! went the rifle and the shotgun, and both of the large
goats were seen to leap up and back as though struck.
But neither was fatally wounded, and both started to run slowly around
the lake shore, to the line of hills on the opposite side, with the
kids following.
"Come, we had better go after 'em!" ejaculated Bob, and led the way,
and Dave followed, both reloading as they ran.
It was no easy task to reach the lake front, and by that time the goats
were rushing up the hills opposite.
"Fire again!" cried Dave, and blazed away, bringing his game to its
knees. Bob also fired, but missed his mark. Then on they went again,
over rocks and stubble and through a mass of trailing vines, to where
Dave's goat had gone down. The animal was dead.
"Good for you!" cried Bob. "Now I must do as well!" and away he went
again, with Dave at his heels, anxious, if possible, to add the kids to
his bag.
At the top of the second line of hills the wounded goat made a sharp
turn to the left.
On went the young hunters after him, never dreaming of the pitfall into
which they were rushing.
They were now side by side, and Bob was on the point of blazing away at
the wounded goat, in full view before him, when Dave clutched his arm.
"Back!"
"What's up?"
"Nothing's up, but we'll be down if we don't take care!"
"What do you mean?"
Before Dave could reply, Bob saw what had caused the young diver to
become alarmed.
They were walking over some moss and brushwood, and the mass under
their feet was shaking like so much jelly.
Both started to retreat, but it was too late! Down went the mass of
brushwood, at first slowly and then swifter and swifter.
They tried to clutch at the sides of the opening, but in vain.
Everything they grasped gave way--sticks, moss, stones, bushes, vines.
Nothing could stop that downward course.
The moss was dry and the dust filled their eyes, almost blinding them.
"We are lost!" gasped Bob, and then the dust got into his throat and he
began to cough as though choking.
In the excitement of the moment, Dave's shotgun went off, the charge
passing directly between him and his companion.
After falling about twenty feet, the mass of brushwood became wedged
tight for a moment, and stopped descending.
"Oh!" came from Dave. "Now we are in a pickle. How are we to get out?"
For the moment they scarcely dared to move.
Then Bob took a step forward and the young diver did the same.
Instantly the mass began to sink once more, at first slowly and then
as rapidly as ever.
Down they went--thirty feet, forty, fifty, sixty--a hundred, until the
top of the hole was lost to sight and they found themselves they knew
not where.
Again the brushwood and moss became wedged fast. But now they did not
dare to move for fear of dislodging it once more.
"We are lost!" came from the engineer. "We'll never get out of this
alive!"
"Don't give up yet," answered Dave, bravely, yet his heart felt like a
lump of lead in his bosom.
"Where can we be?"
"Down in a mighty deep hole."
"I know. But is this the bottom?"
"There's no telling. We might--we are going down again!"
It was true. They were again descending, but now slowly, as if the
passage below was growing smaller.
"Shall we ever stop!" groaned Dave.
"It's all up with us!" came from Bob. "We won't be able--gracious!
Water!"
The young engineer was right.
The mass of brushwood had reached the level of some water at the bottom
of the hole.
Down they sank, into this. First up to their ankles, then to their
knees, then to their waists.
"We shall be drowned!" cried Dave.
"It looks like it," gasped Bob. "Heaven save us!"
Soon the water was up to their necks and still the stuff under them
continued to sink.
Were they to be drowned like rats in a trap?