THE FIRE GULF.
THE shock of this discovery aroused him to action. Swimming to the spot
he had picked out, he commenced once more to scale the bank. Eight feet
he climbed; his goal was almost within reach, when, without warning,
the whole face of the bank to which he was clinging gave way, and he
plunged down again into the water, the earth rattling over him as he fell.
He was somewhat alarmed when he rose again. The water was still
steadily sinking, and he was no nearer escape than at his first
attempt. Indeed, he was further from his object, for the lower the
water sank the higher he would have to climb. Escape from the pool did
not appear so easy as it had done some time before.
Once more he made an attempt to scale the side, but with no
better luck than before. After this he contented himself with treading
water for a time, reserving his energies for a final effort.
How much lower was the water going to sink? he wondered. It was
twenty feet below the level of the valley now, and its motion had not
yet ceased.
He thought nothing of the strangeness of the phenomenon. His mind
was centred upon escaping from his alarming predicament.
Suddenly the water began to swirl and eddy. He was expecting each
instant to be sucked down into some dark hole, when, with a dull roar,
that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth, the water
foamed upward.
Five minutes later it was as Wilson had found it, a silent,
somewhat ghostly-looking pool, scarce a ripple remaining to tell of
its recent movement.
Now or never! thought the engineer.
Exerting all his remaining strength, he made a desperate effort
to ascend the slippery bank. Again and again he tried, but ever with
the same result. Failure, heartbreaking failure! And upon it all,
while he rested from his last attempt, the water began to sink
again.
At that his courage failed. He had almost decided to let himself
sink beneath the surface, and so end the apparently hopeless struggle,
when the sound of voices fell upon his ears--the voices of his
friends.
The blood rushed madly through his veins at the sound, and a cry
for help rang from his lips. An instant later--it seemed an hour
to the unfortunate lad--the form of the baronet appeared on the
brink of the pool.
“Great Scott!” he cried as he saw Wilson’s white, despairing face
looking up at him; then he plunged in to his friend’s assistance.
With Seymour’s strong arm about him the pool lost its terrors for
Wilson. Together the two sank with the water, not attempting to do
aught but keep afloat until it rose again. When it once more reached
its highest level, Seymour assisted his friend to scale the bank,
while Haverly, leaning far over from above, quickly dragged him into
safety.
But the baronet’s escape had yet to be accomplished, and seemed
likely to prove a lengthier job than Wilson’s. He made no attempt to
climb unassisted, recognising the futility of such a course after the
engineer’s experience. Instead, he set his wits to work to evolve a
method of escape.
Rope they had none, and at first thought it appeared as though
there was nought at hand they could use in place of one. Presently
Haverly’s inventive genius found an expedient.
“Your belts!” he cried. “I guess we can manage it.”
He tore off his own as he spoke and buckled it to those which
Mervyn and Wilson tendered. Within a few seconds Seymour had been
hauled up out of the pool, and the four friends--so strangely
reunited--were resting upon the brink of the funnel that had so
nearly become Wilson’s tomb.
Mervyn had eyes for nothing but the curious phenomenon of the
sinking water, until the engineer recovered sufficiently from the
effects of his immersion to tell his story. Then even the motion of
the pool ceased to interest him, when Wilson told of the great
ichthyosaurus, and how Garth slew it, of the vampires, the
bell-beetle, and the ruined temple in the valley.
The professor drank in every word.
“We must see this temple,” he cried as the engineer concluded;
“it’s the chance of a lifetime. Where is this valley you speak of? Can
you find it again?”
“Yes, I can find it,” was the dubious reply; “but will it be safe
to hang about here?”
“It’s worth the risk,” Mervyn returned eagerly; “let us move on
without delay.”
Seymour and the Yankee, although they knew that the course
suggested by the scientist was not the most prudent one, had not the
heart to refuse him; so they rose, and, under the guidance of the
engineer, moved on up the valley.
“I guess we’ve got to be slick over this deal,” the millionaire
remarked, “an’ then we’ll strike for the _Seal_ right away. If
the old boat can’t carry us out of this darned underworld, we’ll be
considerable safer aboard her than knockin’ around here.”
“How about the abyss?” Seymour questioned, “you forget the bridge
is gone.”
“Not for a second,” retorted Silas. “I calculate we’ve got to
pull for the mouth of that there river and take to the water. How much
further to this yer location of yours, Wilson?”
“We’re close upon the defile now,” answered the engineer; “but
it’s a good mile through to the valley, and----”
He broke off abruptly, as the weird howl of the wolf-men trembled
out of the distance.
“I guess this picnic’s off,” snapped the American. “Mervyn, we’ll
postpone this visit to Wilson’s temple, if you don’t object. The
niggers must ha’ struck our trail again, and I take it none of us are
real anxious to be trapped in a blind gully?”
The force of Haverly’s remark was plain to each of his friends.
Even Mervyn, whose scientific zeal would have carried him onward,
dared not drag his comrades into danger. Had he been alone he would
have turned aside into the valley of the ruins at all costs, and
doubtless would have lost his life in consequence.
“We’ve got to find a road out of this,” Silas went on, “an’ real
smart, too. Them brutes’ll be on our heels in half an hour. I should
advise as we hustle some.”
With that he broke into a trot, and his comrades followed his
example. The cliffs on either side closed in steadily as they
advanced, and it soon became evident that they were approaching a
pass, or that the valley would end in a blank wall. What the latter
meant they knew only too well.
Their supply of cartridges would not last for long. Surrounded by
a shrieking mob of savages, it would not be long ere sheer numbers
would carry the day.
The air grew strangely oppressive as they raced on, and a strong
smell of sulphur came to their nostrils. What these signs portended
they did not stop to consider. “Faster!” was all the cry, and, spurred
onward by the yelping cries of their pursuers--each moment
getting nearer--they put forth every effort.
Suddenly a gasping cry broke from Seymour.
“A pass!”
Just ahead of them was the mouth of a gorge, and into this they
plunged. Impenetrable darkness surrounded them, hedged them about as
with a wall, until, of a sudden, the triangular beam from Haverly’s
lantern dispelled the gloom, and made progress practicable. Every
nerve, every muscle was strained to the uttermost, yet the savage
cries of their murderous pursuers drew nearer moment by moment. It was
a hopeless race; indeed, it could not be otherwise, pitted as they
were against such runners as the wolf-men; but if it came to the
worst, they could stand at bay until their ammunition gave out, and
afterwards--death by their own hands, rather than fall into the
power of the devilish priest.
Their throats were choked with sulphur, their tongues dry and
cracked, and the heat became intense as they advanced.
Yet they still held on, until, dashing furiously round an angle
in the wall of the gorge, they stopped dead, petrified by the terrific
grandeur of the scene before them.
To right and left the cliffs still towered, beetling and immense;
but ahead the gorge broke sheer away in a mighty chasm. And, two
hundred feet below, its molten bosom heaving, and falling in giant
waves, rolled a sea of liquid fire. All else the fugitives forgot;
they could do nought but stare, until their eyes could look no longer
upon the glaring flood.
“Stupendous!” Mervyn gasped, veiling his eyes. “Saw you ever the
like before?”
The chasm appeared to be about sixty feet in width, but the
cliffs prevented them judging of its length. As their eyes became more
accustomed to the glare they discovered that from the rocky ground at
their feet the span of a stone bridge ran out, its unfinished end
hanging about one third the way across the great gulf. The dazzling
glow had prevented their perceiving it before.
This occasioned them less surprise than might have been the case
had they not heard Wilson’s story of the ruined building in the
valley; yet, for all that, they stood amazed before this mighty work.
Unfinished though it appeared to be, it excited their wonder no less
than their admiration. What beings were they who could span this
fearful gulf with a structure that would have reflected credit upon
the finest engineer in the civilised world? Not the wolf-men, of a
certainty! Creatures of their brutish intellect could never have
planned and carried out so stupendous an enterprise; and if not they,
then what other beings dwelt in this wild and ghostly land?
“Look!” cried Seymour suddenly, “it is a drawbridge! The centre
span is drawn up.”
It was true! The bridge was not imperfect, as they had
supposed.
From the further side of the gorge a second span ran out, and
above the end of this the centre span towered, secured by chains.
“It’s what you might call real picturesque,” drawled Silas, “but
I guess it’s fixed us proper. We’re trapped like rats. Say, Mervyn,
you’d better take this knife,” and he handed his sheath-knife to the
unarmed scientist.
As he did so, from close at hand arose the hunting cry of the
wolf-men.
“Keep well within the shelter of the rocks there,” said Seymour
to Mervyn and the engineer, then moved a few paces into the gorge.
Haverly took his place beside him, and together they awaited the
coming of the foe.
Four minutes passed--minutes so full of suspense that each
seemed like an hour--and then the foremost of the pursuers dashed
round the curve. He paused as he noted the grim figures, standing
motionless as statues in the shadow of the cliffs. Before ever he
could retreat, a shot from Seymour’s weapon stretched him dead upon
his back, his piercing death-cry ringing shrilly in the ears of his
fellows as they rushed into view.
With a fiendish clamour of yells they swept down upon the
fugitives, their spears raised threateningly.
“Fire!” the baronet cried, and at that the rattle of the magazine
rifles broke out, the cliffs flinging back the echoes in a deafening
uproar.
Crack! Crack! Even the brutish courage of the wolf-men quailed
before that leaden hail. They retired precipitately, leaving eight of
their number dead upon the ground.
“That’s the style,” the Yankee said cheerily, refilling the
magazine of his weapon from his rapidly-vanishing store of cartridges;
“we’ll teach ’em a lesson ’fore we go under.”
“We must keep them back at all costs,” rejoined Seymour. “Once
they get close in they’ll sweep us over into the chasm by sheer force.
How are you two feeling?” turning to the non-combatants.
“Out of it,” the twain replied together. “I wish we had weapons,”
Mervyn went on, “that we might take a hand in the game.”
“On your guard!” Silas burst out; “here they come again, full
rip.”
Around the bend a horde of wolf-men came charging, uttering their
weird, long-drawn howl. Evidently the brutes thought to intimidate the
fugitives by their fearsome cry. But the baronet’s nerve was never
more steady than at that moment, and Haverly’s splendid courage did
not fail him. Shot after shot they poured into that yelling horde,
with a coolness and precision that excited their two friends’ keenest
admiration.
Savage after savage fell to rise no more; and still the levers of
the repeaters worked for dear life--still the fiendish forms
rushed through the glare, almost up to the smoking muzzles of the
rifles, ere once more they fell back in a disorganised mob.
The pile of dead they left behind bore witness to the deadly
accuracy of the two friends’ aim.
“Hot work,” the baronet panted, mopping his sweat-covered brow.
He thrust his hand into his pocket, then withdrew it with a startled
exclamation. An instant he fumbled with his cartridge belt, his face
paling the while.
“I say,” he asked hoarsely, “how many cartridges have you
left?”
The Yankee put his hand to his belt.
“Jupiter!” he gasped, “not a blame one.”
“Then God help us!” Seymour returned. “I’ve fired my last!”
A groan broke from the scientist as he heard the words. “We’re
done, then?” he said bitterly.
“Not by a hull piece,” Silas replied. “It’s clubbed guns for the
next scrap, an’ hit hard as you know how. I guess this is where your
tooth-picks’ll come in, professor,” and, reversing his rifle, the
American gripped it firmly by the muzzle.
Seymour followed his example. Despite the millionaire’s bold
words, each man felt that the end was near; that the next rush of the
savages would sweep them into the fire gulf. Taken alive they were
determined not to be, even though they had to leap over the brink into
the glowing depths below to escape capture.
Suddenly, while they stood awaiting the end, a sound floated
across to them from the further side of the gulf.
_It was the baying of a hound!_