Arthur woke to find some one tugging at his shoulders, trying to drag
him from beneath the heavy table, which had wedged itself across
his feet and pinned him fast, while a flying chair had struck him
on the head and knocked him unconscious.
"Oh, come and help," Estelle's voice was calling
deliberately. "Somebody come and help! He's caught in here!"
She was sobbing in a combination of panic and some unknown emotion.
"Help me, please!" she gasped, then her voice broke despondently,
but she never ceased to tug ineffectually at Chamberlain, trying
to drag him out of the mass of wreckage.
Arthur moved a little, dazedly.
"Are you alive?" she called anxiously. "Are you alive? Hurry, oh,
hurry and wriggle out. The building's falling to pieces!"
"I'm all right," Arthur said weakly. "You get out before it all
comes down."
"I won't leave you," she declared "Where are you caught? Are you
badly hurt? Hurry, please hurry!"
Arthur stirred, but could not loosen his feet. He half-rolled over,
and the table moved as if it had been precariously balanced, and slid
heavily to one side. With Estelle still tugging at him, he managed
to get to his feet on the slanting floor and stared about him.
Arthur continued to stare about.
"No danger," he said weakly. "Just the floor of the one room gave
way. The aftermath of the rock-flaw."
He made his way across the splintered flooring and piled-up chairs.
"We're on top of the safe-deposit vault," he said. "That's why
we didn't fall all the way to the floor below. I wonder how we're
going to get down?"
Estelle followed him, still frightened for fear of the building
falling upon them. Some of the long floor-boards stretched over
the edge of the vault and rested on a tall, bronze grating that
protected the approach to the massive strong-box. Arthur tested
them with his foot.
"They seem to be pretty solid," he said tentatively.
His strength was coming back to him every moment. He had been no
more than stunned. He walked out on the planking to the bronze
grating and turned.
"If you don't get dizzy, you might come on," he said. "We can swing
down the grille here to the floor."
Estelle followed gingerly and in a moment they were safely below. The
corridor was quite empty.
"When the crash came," Estelle explained, her voice shaking with
the reaction from her fear of a moment ago, "every one thought the
building was coming to pieces, and ran out. I'm afraid they've all
run away."
"They'll be back in a little while," Arthur said quietly.
They went along the big marble corridor to the same western door,
out of which they had first gone to see the Indian village. As
they emerged into the sunlight they met a few of the people who
had already recovered from their panic and were returning.
A crowd of respectable size gathered in a few moments, all still
pale and shaken, but coming back to the building which was their
refuge. Arthur leaned wearily against the cold stone. It seemed to
vibrate under his touch. He turned quickly to Estelle.
"Feel this," he exclaimed.
She did so.
"I've been wondering what that rumble was," she said. "I've been
hearing it ever since we landed here, but didn't understand where
it came from."
"You hear a rumble?" Arthur asked, puzzled. "I can't hear anything."
"It isn't as loud as it was, but I hear it," Estelle insisted. "It's
very deep, like the lowest possible bass note of an organ."
"You couldn't hear the shrill whistle when we were coming here,"
Arthur exclaimed suddenly, "and you can't hear the squeak of a
bat. Of course your ears are pitched lower than usual, and you can
hear sounds that are lower than I can hear. Listen carefully. Does
it sound in the least like a liquid rushing through somewhere?"
"Y-yes," said Estelle hesitatingly. "Somehow, I don't quite
understand how, it gives me the impression of a tidal flow or
something of that sort."
Arthur rushed indoors. When Estelle followed him she found him
excitedly examining the marble floor about the base of the vault.
"It's cracked," he said excitedly. "It's cracked! The vault rose
all of an inch!"
Estelle looked and saw the cracks.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we're going to get back where we belong," Arthur cried
jubilantly. "It means I'm on the track of the whole trouble.
It means everything's going to be all right."
He prowled about the vault exultantly, noting exactly how the cracks
in the flooring ran and seeing in each a corroboration of his theory.
"I'll have to make some inspections in the cellar," he went on
happily, "but I'm nearly sure I'm on the right track and can figure
out a corrective."
"How soon can we hope to start back?" asked Estelle eagerly.
Arthur hesitated, then a great deal of the excitement ebbed from
his face, leaving it rather worried and stern.
"It may be a month, or two months, or a year," he answered
gravely. "I don't know. If the first thing I try will work, it
won't be long. If we have to experiment, I daren't guess how long
we may be. But"--his chin set firmly--"we're going to get back."
Estelle looked at him speculatively. Her own expression grew a
little worried, too.
"But in a month," she said dubiously, "we--there is hardly any hope
of our finding food for two thousand people for a month, is there?"
"We've got to," Arthur declared. "We can't hope to get that much
food from the Indians. It will be days before they'll dare to come
back to their village, if they ever come. It will be weeks before
we can hope to have them earnestly at work to feed us, and that's
leaving aside the question of how we'll communicate with them, and
how we'll manage to trade with them. Frankly, I think everybody is
going to have to draw his belt tight before we get through--if we
do. Some of us will get along, anyway."
Estelle's eyes opened wide as the meaning of his last sentence
penetrated her mind.
"You mean--that all of us won't--"
"I'm going to take care of you," Arthur said gravely, "but there
are liable to be lively doings around here when people begin to
realize they're really in a tight fix for food. I'm going to get
Van Deventer to help me organize a police band to enforce martial
law. We mustn't have any disorder, that's certain, and I don't
trust a city-bred man in a pinch unless I know him."
He stooped and picked up a revolver from the floor, left there
by one of the bank watchmen when he fled, in the belief that the
building was falling.