THE DEATH-TRAP.
“Light a torch,” said Mr. Bruce, as he saw the stone door slowly slide
into place.
One hideous head of a native stooped and looked under the lowering door,
and shaking a torch in his hand, dodged back as if afraid of being
charged upon by the prisoners. The door fell to its place and a torch
was lighted at Mr. Bruce’s command, and an inspection of their quarters
was made. This did not take long, for the chamber was only about twenty
feet square; the ceiling was about the height of that in the hall or
passage. Try as they would they could discover no other opening, nor any
opening now, for the stone fitted the doorway so perfectly, that not
even a crack was left to show where this had been.
“We are in for it,” said Harry.
“Yes,” said Mr. Bruce, “and it looks very much as if we were here for
good, for there is no opening that I can see at all, and all our energy
and strength would be wasted in trying to dig our way out.”
“We must make an effort of some kind,” said Mr. Graham, “so let us
consider the matter for a moment.”
They all stopped, and putting their wits to work, tried to devise some
means for escape. When they realized that they were not only entombed in
a room cut out of the solid rock, but this rock, hundreds of feet
beneath the surface, the thought was not very cheering; but they were
not the ones to give up without a struggle. They had stood for some
moments thinking over their unpleasant position, and trying to formulate
some plan of procedure, when Onrai, who was probably the most helpless
of the number, began sniffing the air as if he had detected some foreign
substance in it.
“Can you not smell something strange?” said Onrai.
They all drew in a deep breath. Yes, there was something; a nasty odor,
which they had not noticed before, and it was getting plainer each
moment. They looked about them, but could see nothing.
“It may be the torch,” said Mr. Graham.
“No, it is a different smell from that, but we must extinguish the torch
or the smoke will soon suffocate us, if this other smell does not,” and
saying this, Mr. Bruce blew out the torch. But that fearful smell, what
could it be? In a short time their eyes began to smart.
“It is smoke of some kind,” said Harry, “and I am going to find out from
where it is coming.”
He relighted the torch, and for a moment the men could hardly see, so
thick had the smoke become in those few minutes.
“It is stifling,” said Mr. Bruce. “Can you see where it comes from?”
Harry, who had the torch and who was looking for the source of this new
danger, examined every nook and corner, but could find no hole or
opening. The smoke was getting thicker each moment, and the men were
gasping for breath; it would only take a very few minutes of this to
kill them all; still there seemed to be no avenue of escape. These
natives had shown great cunning in thus allowing them to get into the
chamber, imprisoning them and choke them to death with smoke.
Mr. Bruce took the torch from Harry and started inspecting himself. He
was staggering about the room half-blinded and choked by the smoke, when
the torch fell from his hands, and falling to the floor went out. He
stooped to pick it up again, when he felt a draft near the floor; he
hurriedly relit the torch and placed it near the floor; he had to get
down onto his knees and bend close to the floor before he could see, and
there, coming in a great broad stream, he saw the smoke coming through a
crack about an inch in width, and five feet in length. The crack ran
with the floor, and Mr. Bruce at once came to the conclusion that
another stone door must be at this point, and it had been lifted to
leave a space for the smoke’s entrance.
“Come quickly,” he called to the others, not knowing but that they had
already succumbed to the fearful smoke, as he could not see them. They
had been leaning against the opposite wall, fighting off that fearful
suffocation, when they heard Mr. Bruce’s voice.
“Hurry, pull yourselves together and help me, and we may escape. Who has
the spear? Bring it here.”
Harry, who had been holding on to the spear, using it for support,
staggered towards Mr. Bruce, and handed it to him mechanically.
“Brace up there, men,” he again called out, and they shuffled towards
him almost falling. “Now, get your fingers into that crack, and lift,
lift for your lives, for it is our only chance. I will work the spear
under and hold all you can get. Now.”
The men seemed to realize that there was a chance to escape, no matter
how faint a one, so making a despairing effort to overcome the
suffocation, which was parching their throats and bursting their heads,
placed their fingers in the cracks, and lifted. They strained every
nerve, stretched every muscle, and look, it was raising. Yes, the huge
stone was moving; now it was an inch higher, and now two inches higher,
and then there was a space of a foot under the door, but the wider
became the space the more smoke poured in, and the men were almost ready
to drop the fearful weight and fall over unconscious. Mr. Bruce
realizing this, broke the handle of the spear, and placed this under the
stone just as the men fell exhausted.
This act of his, if delayed one second longer, would have cost them
their lives, for he had barely gotten it under the huge stone when the
men dropped. The solid straight piece of bone held the stone, however,
but would he have strength to pull the three men through the opening;
and would there not be a body of their would-be murderers on the
opposite side to fight him back? He had no time to spend in conjectures,
however, so catching Harry by the feet he pulled him to the hole; he
rolled him through and then Mr. Graham, but when it came to Onrai, he
had to roll the man over and over, his body being too heavy to move in
any other way. And he was fast giving out himself, but he must not do so
before he got him and his friends on the other side of the hole. Getting
Onrai to the opening and pushing him through, and then crawling through
himself, he looked about him for the generator of this fearful smoke.
Groping his way about, he stumbled over a large stone brazier in which
was a powdered substance, and it was this which was smoldering and
making a dense smoke. Taking his water-skin from his back, he quickly
poured its contents over the smoldering coals and extinguished them. He
was nearly fainting and he felt that he must soon give up; his eyes were
nearly blinded, he was choking and his head was bursting; he was fast
losing his senses, but he staggered about the room, and finally found an
open archway. Through this he plunged, falling to the floor, but the air
was pure here and a cooling breeze was blowing through the apartment,
and it was this draught probably, which had forced the smoke through the
crack. Mr. Bruce lay still for a moment in the refreshing air, but
realizing that his three friends were still in the stifling smoke and
unable to help themselves, he again picked himself up, and by rolling
them over and over succeeded in getting them all in the outer chamber or
corridor.
But where were the natives? Mr. Bruce had not seen or heard them since
leaving the death-trap, and he could not account for their absence. But
he felt very thankful for their not having interfered with him, for if
they had it would have been all over with him and his friends. He had
his companions in the pure air now, and unstrapping the water-bag from
Harry’s back, he bathed their faces and poured some down each parched
throat. He worked hard with them, and at last brought them all around;
but they were not able to do much walking for a while, so while they
were recruiting, Mr. Bruce took the torch and reconnoitered. They seemed
to be in another corridor, somewhat wider than the other, but about the
same height.
Mr. Bruce, after following this for some distance, returned to his
companions and made his report.
“What had we better do?” asked Mr. Graham. “Turn back or go on?”
“I say, go on,” said Mr. Bruce, “but if you think the risk is too great
and wish to return, we will do so; what do you say, Onrai?”
“I know not what to say,” said Onrai, “but if you would like to proceed,
I am willing. I am afraid, though, I should be nothing but a hindrance
to you.”
“No, no, Onrai, you must not say that,” said Harry. “Such an ordeal as
we have just passed through is enough to make any man go under; any man
but Mr. Bruce, and he is a wonder. How did you do it, Mr. Bruce?”
“By pure force of will,” said Mr. Bruce. “I felt like giving up several
times, I can tell you; but a man can do a good deal, I believe, when his
life and the lives of his friends depend on it. But don’t let us talk of
that now. The question is, shall we retreat or advance?”
“Advance, I should say,” said Harry, “what do you say, father?”
“I am willing; but before we run into a trap again, rather let us
retreat.”
“Agreed,” said Mr. Bruce.
They now rose, and stretching their legs and taking another drink of
water, they advanced cautiously down the corridor; not knowing what
moment their escape might be detected and the natives of this hellhole
be after them again. They had not long to remain in suspense, when
suddenly into the corridor rushed a mob of howling naked natives, making
straight for them.