THE TERROR OF THE JUNGLE.
“IS there, then, a way out of this underworld?”
Seymour’s voice betrayed his agitation as he put this question to
Chenobi. So much depended on the Ayuti’s answer that each of the
adventurers held their breath to listen.
“Yea,” came the reply, “there is a passage through the heart of
the dead fire-mountain, by which my people entered this land, but it
lies far away through the jungle.”
Rapidly Seymour translated this intelligence to Wilson and the
American.
“I guess we’ll strike for this yer passage right now,” cried
Haverly. “If it pans out all right we can come back and look for
Garth; if it don’t, we’ll be no worse off than we are now. What do you
say, professor?”
“Why not find Garth first?” suggested the scientist
cautiously.
“Wal, it’s this way,” returned Silas; “I reckon it’ll hardly be
safe to prospect for Hilton’s trail for a considerable period yet. We
must give them niggers a chance to settle down some. I guess they’re
too almighty riled at the present moment to be pleasant neighbours.
Seein’ as how our rifles are useless, it ’ud be worse than madness to
go pokin’ along the coast again; so I’d advise as we visit the Ayuti’s
fire-mountain an’ give the wolfies a chance to forget us.”
“That they’ll never do,” retorted Mervyn; “yet there is a good
deal in what you say. If Nordhu discovers that we have escaped he will
be mad with fury, and it may be well that we should be beyond his
reach for a time.”
“Then you’ll go?” questioned the baronet eagerly.
“Silas has succeeded in convincing me that it will be for the
best,” Mervyn answered smiling, “but we must leave the arranging of
the matter to Chenobi.”
The latter, who had been watching the faces of the speakers
intently during this conversation, pricked up his ears at the mention
of his own name.
“We wish to seek this passage ye speak of,” Seymour told him, “if
it be possible. Can you guide us thither?”
“Ay,” returned the Ayuti, “but the jungle is full of monstrous
beasts, terrible to look upon, and your fire-weapons, ye say, are
useless. Think well ere ye decide, for it is a perilous journey. Once
only have I been, yet I have not forgotten the track.”
“Have you no weapons you could lend us?” the baronet asked.
“I have but the spears taken from the wolf-people,” was the
king’s reply; “to them ye are welcome. I would I could supply ye with
worthier weapons, but I have none save my own.”
“The spears will do,” cried Seymour; “they are deadly enough
tools in the hands of a determined man.”
“Ye speak truly,” Chenobi answered, “yet they are scarce the
weapons for such warriors as ye. Howbeit, since we have no other, they
must needs do.”
And so the perilous expedition was decided upon. Little the
explorers thought, as they made ready for their trip, of the perils
they were soon to face, or they would scarcely have gone about their
preparations so light-heartedly.
Ere the sunlight had flashed again upon the eye of Ramouni they
had left the city, and were making their way over the plain on which
it stood towards the distant gleaming line that marked the beginning
of the great jungle.
Chenobi was mounted upon the back of the great elk, and behind
him rode Wilson, his limb being still somewhat stiff, though healing
rapidly. The air of the underworld seemed to have a peculiarly
beneficent effect upon wounds.
Beside the track the four great hounds ranged, nose to ground,
occasionally giving voice to a deep-throated bay as they struck the
trail of some wild animals. But the well-trained brutes never strayed
beyond their master’s call, a word from him bringing them to heel in a
moment.
The ground gradually rose as the party advanced, until they
topped a low ridge, on the crest of which they paused a while to rest.
Scarce three hundred yards away, like a wall of light, arose the
towering growths of the jungle. The vast size of the fungi amazed the
adventurers. Those they had already seen on the other side of the fire
gulf were but pigmies compared with these.
“Say,” the Yankee drawled, “I reckon some of them fellows ’ud
make good lighthouses.”
“Excellent,” returned Mervyn; “but I am afraid they would not
take kindly to the climate of the upper world. The sunlight would
shrivel them up directly.”
“No chance to float a company, you see, Silas,” said the baronet
laughing, “were you thinking of starting a ‘Luminous Fungi Supply
Syndicate’?”
“Wal, scarcely,” the Yankee returned; “I guess a mushroom
business ain’t exactly in my line. Say, I wonder if we’re goin’ to
knock up against any of Nordhu’s crowd this trip? I reckon it ’ud be
kinder awkward if they jumped us in the jungle there.”
“We’ll give ’em a stiff fight for their money if they do,”
rejoined Seymour, his fingers tightening upon the haft of his spear as
he spoke.
“I guess I’d feel considerable more comfortable with a gun in my
pocket,” resumed Silas. “Tooth-picks like these yer are all right in
their way, but when it comes to a scrap, give me a barker. There’s a
sorter tonic in the feel of a shootin’ iron. Makes you feel real
good!”
“What an old fire-eater you are, Silas!” laughed Wilson; “I
believe you’re spoiling for a fight now.”
“I guess not, sonny,” was the reply. “Your Uncle Sile as had
enough scrappin’ to last him for a considerable period. Say, Mervyn,
this yer picnic of yours has panned out rich in the way of trouble. If
we’d a gone lookin’ for that same commodity we couldn’t ha’ struck a
bigger pile, an’ I calculate we ain’t through yet, not by a hull
heap.”
“That we’re not,” agreed the baronet, “and it strikes me we shall
have the very old lad of a job to find the _Seal_ again. If we
had but a few rounds of ammunition apiece I should not care for all
the wolf-men in the underworld, but without it we are no better armed
than the savages themselves. Still, we’ve got to see this job through.
Garth must be found in spite of Nordhu’s savages.”
“That’s so,” replied Haverly. “As I figure it out, the sooner we
strike Garth’s trail--after we’re through with the present
deal--the better for him an’ us. This yer old underworld ain’t so
dusty, but I guess I prefer the daylight. It’s kinder more
natural-like. Down here you never know when to go to bed, and I’m
blamed if you know what time you’re getting up. Why, it might be
midnight at the present period, for all we know--midnight, pards,
an’ we a-waltzin’ around here ’stead of bein’ tucked away snug in our
little beds. I guess we’ll be developin’ inter real giddy young
night-howlers if we have to hang out long in this yer location. Say,
William, I reckon it’s about time we were progressin’ some. If you’ll
kinder intimate the same to our big pard, we’ll get a move on.”
A few moments later the party plunged in amid the fungi, the
great elk trampling a broad passage which made progress easy for the
three on foot.
Never had the explorers seen anything to equal this subterranean
jungle. The tropical forests of the upper world, with all their floral
magnificence, could not compare with the weird beauty of this
wonderland. To the mind of the scientist it seemed almost a shame that
such superb growths should be produced only to flourish where the eye
of man could never drink in the wondrous beauty of their varied
forms.
The ground was hidden beneath a mass of trailing fungi, which
rioted in luxurious confusion between the larger growths. From its
shelter as the party passed numerous small creatures broke, to scurry
into the denser growth on either side. A bell-beetle, its antennae
clanging furiously, flashed across the track almost beneath the hoofs
of Muswani, and disappeared ere Mervyn could catch more than a bare
glimpse of its form.
“I must have one of those fellows,” the scientist cried
enthusiastically. “If either of you should see another, just knock it
over with the butt of your spear.”
As he spoke a second started up almost at his feet. Quickly he
pounced upon it, but he released it even more quickly, giving
utterance to an exclamation of pain. The creature had bitten his hand
severely.
“The brute!” gasped the scientist, binding his handkerchief about
the wound, “he’s got jaws like a vice! What’s the matter?” This latter
to Chenobi, who had pulled up and leapt from his steed.
“Poison!” the Ayuti cried in his own tongue. “I should have
warned you. The bite of the bell-beetle is death!”
“Great heaven!” the scientist gasped; “I did not know. Is there
no hope?”
His comrades did not, could not, answer. With haggard faces they
looked on, while the king fought the deadly stupor that fast stole
over their friend.
Lowering Mervyn gently to the ground, the Ayuti tore up a small,
flat fungus from among a number of others growing close by. This he
forced between his patient’s teeth, bidding him eat. Mechanically the
scientist obeyed.
His three friends were horrified at the terrible power of the
beetle’s venom. Though scarce three minutes had passed since Mervyn
had been bitten, his lower limbs were already paralysed, and the
poison seemed fast mounting to his brain. He appeared unconscious of
anything around him, gazing upward with eyes death-like in their
glassy stare; the slow movement of his jaws as he munched at the
fungi, and the twitching of his eyelids, alone telling that he
lived.
Piece after piece of fungi Chenobi forced between the unwilling
lips, almost ramming it down the scientist’s throat. But, for all his
efforts, Mervyn seemed to grow steadily worse, and, as the moments
passed, his three comrades--helpless to check the action of the
subtle foe working in his veins--watched with dimmed eyes the
grey hue of death mounting to his forehead.
His lips grew blue and pinched, his eyelids ceased to twitch, and
it appeared to the watchers as though the last spark of life had
vanished.
Suddenly Chenobi rose, and at that Wilson cried out, thinking
that the king had given up hope. But he was mistaken. Plunging in amid
the fungi, Chenobi slashed off the top of a peculiar palm-like growth,
and with this he returned to the side of the motionless scientist.
First dipping the point of his knife-blade in the juicy sap which
oozed from the fungus, he gashed Mervyn’s arm. Thrice he repeated this
mysterious operation, then bound a handkerchief tightly over the
gashes.
What this strange method of injection might mean the comrades
could not tell. Sufficient for them to know that the Ayuti was doing
all in his power to give back life to their friend. They felt that
this was Chenobi’s last effort. If it failed, Mervyn was lost. With
bated breath they watched for some movement from the silent form at
their feet. Even the great hounds seemed to be aware of the nearness
of death, for they lay quiet, only occasionally giving voice to a low
whine.
Each of the three comrades passed through a lifetime of suspense
during the few moments that Mervyn’s fate trembled in the balance. The
engineer, dismounting from Muswani, had drawn close in, and now stood
beside Seymour. Slowly the minutes dragged by, until, of a sudden, a
cry came from Chenobi.
“He lives!” Rapidly the baronet interpreted the joyful news to
his friends, and a thankful prayer went up from each man’s heart as
they saw that the words were true.
All too slowly for them the life came back into Mervyn’s
enfeebled frame, and it was not until two hours had passed that he was
anything like himself again. Even then he was very shaky, and Wilson
insisted on him riding behind Chenobi when he felt well enough to
proceed.
Nothing the scientist remembered of his experience. He knew
naught of what had taken place since the king had lowered him to the
ground. The action of the venom had been painless, and, but for
Chenobi’s prompt surgery, Mervyn would have drifted away over the
Borderland into the Great Silence.
His hand trembled as he gripped that of his saviour, and murmured
a few stammering words of thanks, to which Chenobi replied with a
quaint Ayuti proverb, whereat the others, when Seymour had translated,
laughed uproariously.
The inevitable reaction after the suspense had set in, and each
man felt ready to sing for joy that their beloved chief had been
restored to them.
Ere long, with the scientist mounted in Wilson’s place, the party
were again on the move, Haverly and Seymour beguiling the journey with
many a jest.
Deeper and deeper they plunged into the jungle, the sound of
their own advance being all that broke the silence which brooded over
all things. The ground grew marshy beneath them as they went on, their
feet sinking deep at every step into the mire. It was evident to all
that they were approaching a watercourse. Soon the ripple of water
came to their ears, and, splashing through several shallow pools, they
stood at length upon the bank of a sluggish river.
Almost opposite to them, in the centre of the stream, a small
island rose, its low beach being so covered with fungi that scarcely a
yard of it was visible. It seemed one mass of glistening
vegetation--an island of silver against the dark background of
the muddy river. The hounds were already splashing across the stream,
and, following their lead, the party entered the water, wading past
the upper end of the island. The water was at no point above their
hips, so that they found no difficulty in gaining the further bank.
Here the hounds set up a clamorous baying, nosing about amid the mud
of the river side. Stooping, Seymour examined the ground, and what he
saw caused him some uneasiness.
A call brought Chenobi off his steed to his side in a moment.
“See,” said the baronet, pointing to certain great impressions in
the mud, “what tracks are these?”
The Ayuti’s face grew white as he noted the footprints.
_“The terror of the jungle!”_ he muttered; “may Ramouni
preserve us!”
With a word he stilled the noise of the hounds, and they retired,
whining, to heel.
“We must move with caution,” he said to the wondering Seymour;
“the prints are those of the most fearsome beast of the jungle, whom
my people called ‘the terror.’ I fear me that the baying of the hounds
will have roused them if any be within hearing. Howbeit, we will move
silently.”
Though they knew not what this beast might be, the adventurers
were aware that it must be terrible to encounter, else Chenobi, who
seemed almost fearless, would not be uneasy at the proofs of its
presence in this part of the jungle. Accordingly their advance was as
noiseless as possible, and their caution was redoubled. Every rustle
from the fungi on either hand brought them to a halt, wondering if the
jungle terror were upon them.
But as the time went by, and there came no sign of the beasts,
their spirits rose. They ceased to listen for suspicious sounds, and,
though their progress was just as silent, their thoughts were fixed
rather upon the end of their trip than upon the monstrous inhabitants
of the jungle. What was to be the result of their quest? Would they
find a way of escape through the passage whence the light came, or
would their journey end in failure? They were tired of this
underworld, wonderful though it was. They longed for the sunlight and
the singing of birds, for the murmur of the wind amid the tree-tops.
As the blind man craves for sight, so yearned they for these
things.
Even Mervyn, with all his scientific zeal, would gladly have
exchanged the rare treasures of the land of eternal twilight for the
humbler ones of his own sphere.
So they pondered, until suddenly they were recalled to a sense of
the dangers of their present position as a cry broke the stillness of
the underworld, a cry so full of dreadful menace, so thrilling with
murderous purpose, that the adventurers pulled up, trembling in every
limb.
“Great Heaven!” Seymour cried, “what was that?”
“The terror of the jungle!” replied the Ayuti hoarsely; “look
well to your weapons, for I doubt not ye will need them ere long.”
With every nerve quivering with a nameless fear, they stood for a
moment, expecting, yet dreading to hear the cry again. But it did not
come, and at length, shaking off the nightmare-like terror that
gripped them, they pressed on, intent only on placing a safe distance
between themselves and the author of the cry.
Then once more it arose, weird and terrifying, and at that
Chenobi turned his steed abruptly to the right. To this course he kept
for perhaps a hundred yards, then swerved again, this time to the
left. Following close behind, his comrades found themselves within
what at first they took to be a small valley, but a second glance
corrected this impression. It was a disused quarry!
From this, perhaps, in the past ages, the great blocks had been
hewn which now graced the walls of the city of Ayuti, though how they
could have been conveyed such an incredible distance, and over so
rough a route, passed comprehension. The implements of the long-dead
quarrymen still lay where they had been left; picks and shovels of
quaint and curious make were scattered over the floor, while not a few
stone trolleys, broken now and useless, lay upon their sides amid the
scattered clumps of fungi which managed to flourish in the crevices of
the stone.
But they had no time to examine the quarry. Scarcely had the
Ayuti alighted and assisted Mervyn to dismount, ere, for the third
time, the cry of the jungle beast arose, and the hounds answered with
their deep-throated bay. Evidently they had no fear of the creature.
They seemed rather anxious than otherwise to meet him.
“He has scented us,” Chenobi announced, placing himself at the
narrow entrance to the quarry. Seymour and Haverly took their stand
beside him, and, fixing their eyes upon the fungi belt a few paces
distant, they awaited the coming of the jungle terror. Soon came the
sound as of some heavy body forcing its way swiftly through the fungi.
The towering growths swayed as though shaken by a strong wind.
Suddenly the fungi parted, and a hideous head was thrust forth,
at sight of which Silas and the baronet involuntarily sprang backward.
At the same instant a terrified cry burst from the scientist:
“Great Heaven! _Megalosaurus!”_