“GEHARI--THE WILY ONE.”
“I OPINE it’s got to be done.”
Once more Silas and the baronet stood upon the brink of the great
abyss which had barred further progress upon their first journey.
“You see, it’s this way,” Haverly went on: “there’s just a
glimmer of a chance that Garth and Mervyn are still alive. It ain’t
the general thing with savages to kill their prisoners off-hand, and I
guess these wolf-men are no exception to the rule. That being so, we
may still be in time to pull this job off if we adopt my plan. You’ll
allow that if we’ve got to foot it twenty or thirty miles along the
edge of this yer crevice, we’re safe to arrive considerable too late
for business?”
“Tramping along the brink on the chance of finding a place
sufficiently narrow for us to jump is utterly out of the question,”
replied Seymour. “Your plan is really the only feasible one, although
it sounds decidedly risky.”
“Then here goes,” cried the millionaire. He flung himself down
upon the very verge of the chasm, and, leaning far over, hauled up the
dangling ropes which had formed the bridge.
With Seymour’s aid he cut the fastenings that bound it to the
rocky brink; then the twain applied themselves to the task of
unlashing the cross-ties, a piece of work that proved very tedious,
and which was accomplished with no little difficulty.
It was finished at length, though, and then Haverly skilfully
knotted the two long strands, each of which was about thirty feet in
length, testing the knots again and again to assure himself of their
firmness.
“I guess that’ll hold,” he remarked; “if it gives at all it won’t
be at the knots.”
At one end of this hide rope he made a running noose, and,
coiling it lasso-fashion about his arm, he rose.
“Now for a suitable rock to sling it over,” he went on, “and then
we’ll have a first-class bridge: a bit fragile, perhaps, but ‘needs
must when the old man drives,’ you know.”
Along the edge of the gorge the two men strode, searching
carefully for an out-jutting spur of rock upon the opposite side.
For a time their efforts were unrewarded, and Seymour began to
grow impatient. Every instant was of priceless value; each moment the
odds against their being able to carry out their desperate plan of
rescue increased.
Then suddenly they came in sight of a crag which appeared as
though it had been made for the purpose.
Whirling his roughly made lasso above his head, the Yankee made a
cast.
But the noose fell short, and the rope swished downward into the
gorge.
“Better luck next time,” Silas muttered, as he recoiled it.
Once more he threw the noose, and this time fortune attended his
efforts. The rope settled over the rocky spur, and was at once pulled
taut.
“I guess we’ll have to risk the rock cuttin’ the hide,” the
Yankee said, as he securely fastened his end of the rope to an
adjacent boulder.
Creeping to the verge, he took a firm grip of the hide with both
hands, and lowered himself over into the gorge.
The frail rope creaked ominously beneath his weight, as, hand
over hand, he commenced to drag himself across that yawning gulf.
Each instant it seemed as though the swaying thread on which his
life depended would snap. Beads of sweat stood out upon Seymour’s
forehead as he watched his friend’s perilous progress.
The American’s lithe body swayed and danced like a puppet, as his
hands clasped and unclasped upon the rope.
Halfway across he paused for a brief rest, then on he toiled once
more, until he reached the crag to which the rope was fastened.
With a supreme effort he dragged himself upon the rock, and lay
panting awhile as the result of his tremendous exertions.
When he had somewhat recovered, he rose, and made a careful
examination of the rope at the point where it encircled the crag.
“Unlash it for a moment, Seymour,” he called, his voice echoing
strangely from the depths of the chasm.
As the baronet complied with his request, Silas removed the
noose. Taking off his jacket, he wrapped it closely around the rock,
replacing the rope over it.
“I guess that’ll keep it from wearing through,” he said. “If
you’ll do the same your side, it will lessen the risk of it
snapping.”
Sir William followed his example, then launched himself
cautiously over the brink. Inch by inch, foot by foot, he advanced,
though the rope cut his hands like a knife. His arms seemed to be
leaving their sockets through the strain, and his eyes grew dim and
bloodshot, yet he still dragged onward.
Longingly he gazed upon the opposite lip of the gorge, where
Haverly sat at ease. Would he be able to hold out? It seemed doubtful,
for his strength was ebbing fast. His great weight made his crossing
ten times more difficult than the lighter-built Yankee’s had been.
His goal appeared to recede as he advanced. What would he not
give to rest his aching arms for just one moment?
“Courage!” cried his friend, and the word gave him strength.
Haverly had made the passage; why not he?
Slowly the distance between him and his goal lessened; ten feet,
nine--he would soon be in safety now--eight;
then----
_Crack!_ A pistol-like report echoed across the gorge.
“Grip for your life!” cried the Yankee; “the rope’s giving!”
_Crack!_ Again it sounded, like the knell of doom in
Seymour’s throbbing ears.
The next moment the rope parted behind him, and he dropped like a
stone into the depths. Instinctively his clutch tightened upon the
hide.
[Illustration: “THE NEXT MOMENT THE ROPE PARTED BEHIND HIM”(_p. 93._)]
A swift rush through the air, then, with a shock that forced a
groan of agony from his bloodless lips, he struck the canyon wall.
For a few seconds he hung, twisting and swaying, at the end of
the rope, until his feet found hold on a narrow ledge in the face of
the rock. On to this he drew himself.
For the moment he was safe.
As he stood there, gasping and panting, feeling as though he had
not a whole bone in his body, the glare of Haverly’s lantern pierced
the gloom.
Looking upward, Seymour saw his friend’s face peering anxiously
down from the cliff top.
“It’s all right, Silas,” he panted; “I’ll be with you at soon as
I’ve got my wind.”
“Jupiter!” exclaimed the American, “I reckoned you’d passed in
your checks for sure that time. It was a narrow squeak! Take your
time,” he continued, as the baronet commenced to haul himself up.
“Don’t overdo it.”
Four minutes later Seymour’s head appeared above the edge of the
cliff, and, with the millionaire’s ready help, he dragged himself over
into safety.
“I wouldn’t go through that again for a king’s ransom,” he
said.
“I guess you’d hardly come out of it so well another time,”
returned Silas; “it’s the closest call I’ve struck for a considerable
stretch. Say when you’re ready and we’ll hustle.”
“I’m ready at once,” was the answer.
A little over half an hour it took the two friends to pick up the
trail of the wolf-men, then they pushed on once more at their utmost
speed.
The character of the country changed entirely as they advanced,
the level plain giving place to a series of rolling ridges, which made
progress extremely difficult.
Added to this, the temperature appeared to be gradually rising,
and soon their bodies were bathed in perspiration.
“Warm work,” remarked Haverly, pausing on the crest of a ridge to
mop his forehead.
“Too warm to be pleasant,” replied his friend. “I should imagine
that we are approaching a subterranean fire of some sort. What’s
that?” he broke off sharply.
A shrill scream, thrilling with agony, rose from the ravine at
their feet.
“Look to your shootin’ iron,” said the Yankee; “sounds as if
you’ll need it.”
He jerked his own revolver from his pocket as he spoke.
“I must have lost my barker,” Seymour muttered, feeling through
his pockets.
“I guess your rifle will manage,” was the reply.
Once more the cry arose, and at that they commenced the descent
of the ridge.
As they neared the base, two wildly-grappling forms loomed
through the twilight. In a moment Haverly switched on the light of his
lantern, and focussed its rays upon the combatants.
Struggling desperately in the coils of a monstrous serpent was
one of the fearsome wolf-men.
Three of the reptile’s great glistening folds encircled the
savage’s body; the mighty jaws gaped expectantly above him, while the
beadlike eyes were fixed in a fascinating stare upon the unfortunate
creature.
“We can’t stand by and see him crushed to death by that brute,”
cried the baronet impulsively, “even though he is a wolf-man.”
“Best not to interfere,” returned the Yankee shortly.
At that instant the wolf-man, attracted by the light, turned his
head towards the two friends and raised his hands imploringly, while
from his lips came another agonised scream.
That settled the question for Seymour. Quick as thought he raised
his rifle and fired. At the report the great, yawning head vanished,
shattered to atoms, and the body, relaxing its grip of the savage,
thrashed up the ravine as though still endowed with life.
As it vanished into the gloom the wolf-man rose, rushed forward,
and cast himself down at Seymour’s feet.
“I’ve no small notion that we’ll strike trouble over this job,”
said Haverly ominously, “and that before a great while either. What
the Barnum we’re to do with this long-shanked freak I know no more’n
Caesar.”
“He may prove useful,” the baronet suggested.
“He may,” was the Yankee’s unpromising answer, “but I guess the
odds lie the other way. Hi, Pharaoh!”--addressing the cringing
savage--“get up from there right now. You’re black enough without
wiping your face in the mud.”
As though conscious that he was addressed, the creature raised
his head, and glared fiercely at Haverly.
“Get up,” the latter repeated roughly; then, seizing the wolf-man
by his girdle, jerked him to his feet.
A baleful light flashed from the creature’s eyes, and, for an
instant, it appeared as though he was about to spring at the
millionaire’s throat, but he checked himself, and well it was for him
that he did so.
“He’s got neither knife nor spear,” Seymour said, “so he cannot
be very dangerous.”
“Umph!” Silas snorted, “I wouldn’t trust the brute out of sight.
I guess we’ll have to keep a tight hand over him, or he’ll be settin’
a hull crowd of his pards on our trail in a brace of shakes.”
“Gehari!”
The harsh, guttural cry came from the wolf-man’s throat, and he
beat his breast with his clenched hand.
“Gehari!” he repeated, fixing his piercing eyes on Seymour’s
face.
“What’s he jawing about?” asked Silas.
“Ayuti again,” replied the baronet. “However came these brutes to
speak that language?”
“I reckon it don’t matter a heap,” retorted the Yankee, “so’s we
can turn it to our advantage.”
“Gehari!” For the third time the word broke upon the ears of the
two friends.
“What the plague does he mean by his eternal ‘gehari’?” asked
Haverly.
“It must be his name,” was the reply, “but it isn’t exactly a
classy title. The word means ‘the wily one.’”
“Jupiter!” cried Haverly with a grin, “that kind of gives the
show away. I guess he can’t grumble the handle don’t fit him, for he’s
got ‘wily’ writ large all over him. Say, couldn’t you get no news of
our pards off the fellow?”
Turning, Seymour put a few brief questions to the wolf-man.
“What’s he say?” asked Silas as he finished.
“He professes to know nothing of two white prisoners, but he says
that all captives are sacrificed to the sacred beast of his people in
the temple of Ramouni.”
“Then tell him to lead on to this yer temple, quick as he knows
how,” the Yankee snapped, “if he wants to keep his skin entire.”
The baronet interpreted the words in their full significance, and
at once the savage started off across the bed of the ravine at a
trot.
Up the opposite ridge he clambered, at a pace that severely taxed
the powers of the rescuers. Within a few moments they topped the
crest.
Before them the plain stretched level as a table for half a
league; and beyond rose the fungi-clad heights they had first sighted
from the boat.
Onward they pressed until they stood at the foot of the range;
and here, deciding to seek a few hours’ rest ere entering upon the
final stage of their perilous journey, the two friends passed into a
small cave amid the rocks. And with them, closely watched by the alert
American, went Gehari--the wily one.