way.
For several days we had been in the region of perpetual snow; and soon we gathered about the fire which the arriero had kindled for our camp. Its warmth was grateful, despite our native woolen garments and heavy ponchos.
The wind whistled ominously; a weird, senseless sound that smote the ear with madness. The white of the snow and the dull gray of the rocks were totally unrelieved by any touch of green or play of water; a spot lonely as the human soul and terrifying as death.
Harry had gone to examine the hoofs of his mule, which had limped slightly during the afternoon; Le Mire and I sat side by side near the fire, gazing at the play of the flames. For some minutes we had been silent.
“In Paris, perhaps–” she began suddenly, then stopped short and became again silent.
But I was fast dropping into melancholy and wanted to hear her voice, and I said:
“Well? In Paris–“
She looked at me, her eyes curiously somber, but did not speak. I insisted:
“You were saying, Desiree, in Paris–“
She made a quick movement and laughed unpleasantly.
“Yes, my friend–but it is useless. I was thinking of you. ‘Ah! A card! Mr. Paul Lamar. Show him in, Julie. But no, let him wait–I am not at home.’ That, my friend, would be in Paris.”
I stared at her.
“For Heaven’s sake, Desiree, what nonsense is this?”
She disregarded my question as she continued:
“Yes, that is how it would be. Why do I talk thus? The mountains hypnotize me. The snow, the solitude–for I am alone. Your brother, what is he? And you, Paul, are scarcely aware of my existence.
“I had my opportunity with you, and I laughed it away. And as for the future–look! Do you see that waste of snow and ice, glittering, cold, pitiless? Ha! Well, that is my grave.”
I tried to believe that she was merely amusing herself, but the glow in her eyes did not proceed from mirth. I followed her fixed gaze across the trackless waste and, shivering, demanded:
“What morbid fancy is this, Desiree? Come, it is scarcely pleasant.”
She rose and crossed the yard or so of ground between us to my side. I felt her eyes above me, and try as I would I could not look up to meet them. Then she spoke, in a voice low but curiously distinct:
“Paul, I love you.”
“My dear Desiree!”
“I love you.”
At once I was myself, calm and smiling. I was convinced that she was acting, and I dislike to spoil a good scene. So I merely said:
“I am flattered, senora.”
She sighed, placing her hand on my shoulder.
“You laugh at me. You are wrong. Have I chosen this place for a flirtation? Before, I could not speak; now you must know. There have been many men in my life, Paul; some fools, some not so, but none like you. I have never said, ‘I love you.’ I say it now. Once you held my hand–you have never kissed me.”
I rose to my feet, smiling, profoundly fatuous, and made as if to put my arm around her.
“A kiss? Is that all, Desiree? Well–“
But I had mistaken her tone and overreached. Not a muscle did she move, but I felt myself repulsed as by a barrier of steel. She remained standing perfectly still, searching me with a gaze that left me naked of levity and cynicism and the veneer of life; and finally she murmured in a voice sweet with pain:
“Must you kill me with words, Paul? I did not mean that–now. It is too late.”
Then she turned swiftly and called to Harry, who came running over to her only to meet with some trivial request, and a minute later the arriero announced dinner.
I suppose that the incident had passed with her, as it had with me; little did I know how deeply I had wounded her. And when I discovered my mistake, some time later and under very different circumstances, it very nearly cost me my life, and Harry’s into the bargain.
During the meal Le Mire was in the jolliest of moods apparently. She retold the tale of Balzac’s heroine who crossed the Andes in the guise of a Spanish officer, performing wondrous exploits with her sword and creating havoc among the hearts of the fair ladies who took the dashing captain’s sex for granted from his clothing.
The story was a source of intense amusement to Harry, who insisted on the recital of detail after detail, until Desiree allowed her memory to take a vacation and substitute pure imagination. Nor was the improvisation much inferior to the original.
It was still light when we finished dinner, a good three hours till bedtime. And since there was nothing better to do, I called to the arriero and asked him to conduct us on a tour of exploration among the mass of boulders, gray and stern, that loomed up on our right.
He nodded his head in his usual indifferent manner, and fifteen minutes later we started, on foot. The arriero led the way, with Harry at his heels, and Desiree and I brought up the rear.
Thrice I tried to enter into conversation with her; but each time she shook her head without turning round, and I gave it up. I was frankly puzzled by her words and conduct of an hour before; was it merely one of the trickeries of Le Mire or–
I was interested in the question as one is always interested in a riddle; but I tossed it from my mind, promising myself a solution on the morrow, and gave my attention to the vagaries of nature about me.
We were passing through a cleft between two massive rocks, some three or four hundred yards in length. Ahead of us, at the end of the passage, a like boulder fronted us.
Our footfalls echoed and reechoed from wall to wall; the only other sound was the eery moaning of the wind that reached our ears with a faintness which only served to increase its effect. Here and there were apertures large enough to admit the entrance of a horse and rider, and in many places the sides were crumbling.
I was reflecting, I remember, that the formation was undoubtedly one of limestone, with here and there a layer of quartzite, when I was aroused by a shout from Harry.
I approached. Harry and Desiree, with Felipe, the arriero, had halted and were gazing upward at the wall of rock which barred the exit from the passage. Following their eyes, I saw lines carved on the rock, evidently a rude and clumsy attempt to reproduce the form of some animal.
The thing was some forty feet or so above us and difficult to see clearly.
“I say it’s a llama,” Harry was saying as I stopped at his side.
“My dear boy,” returned Desiree, “don’t you think I know a horse when I see one?”
“When you see one, of course,” said Harry sarcastically. “But who ever saw a horse with a neck like that?”
As for me, I was really interested, and I turned to the arriero for information.
“Si, senor,” said Felipe, “Un caballo.”
“But who carved it?”
Felipe shrugged his shoulders.
“Is it new–Spanish?”
Another shrug. I became impatient.
“Have you no tongue?” I demanded. “Speak! If you don’t know the author of that piece of equine art say so.”
“I know, senor.”
“You know?”
“Si, senor.”
“Then, for Heaven’s sake, tell us.”
“His story?” pointing to the figure on the rock.
“Yes, idiot!”
Without a sign of interest, Felipe turned twice around, found a comfortable rock, sat down, rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and began. He spoke in Spanish dialect; I shall preserve the style as far as translation will permit.
“Many, many years ago, senor, Atahualpa, the Inca, son of Huayna-Capac, was imprisoned at Cajamarco. Four, five hundred years ago, it was. By the great Pizarro. And there was gold at Cuzco, to the south, and Atahualpa, for his ransom, ordered that this gold be brought to Pizarro.
“Messengers carried the order like the wind, so swift that in five days the priests of the sun carried their gold from the temples to save the life of Atahualpa.”
Felipe paused, puffing at his cigarette, glanced at his audience, and continued:
“But Hernando Pizarro, brother of the great Pizarro, suspected a delay in the carriers of gold. From Pachacamac he came with twenty horsemen, sowing terror in the mountains, carrying eighty loads of gold. Across the Juaja River and past Lake Chinchaycocha they came, till they arrived at the city of Huanuco.
“There were temples and gold and priests and soldiers. But when the soldiers of the Inca saw the horses of the Spaniards and heard the guns, they became frightened and ran away like little children, carrying their gold. Never before had they seen white men, or guns, or horses.
“With them came many priests and women, to the snow of the mountains. And after many days of suffering they came to a cave, wherein they disappeared and no more were seen, nor could Hernando Pizarro and his twenty horsemen find them to procure their gold.
“And before they entered the cave they scaled a rock near its entrance and carved thereon the likeness of a horse to warn their Inca brethren of the Spaniards who had driven them from Huanuco. That is his story, senor.”
“But who told you all this, Felipe?”
The arriero shrugged his shoulders and glanced about, as much as to say, “It is in the wind.”
“But the cave?” cried Desiree. “Where is the cave?”
“It is there, senora,” said Felipe, pointing through a passage to the right.
Then nothing would do for Desiree but to see the cave. The arriero informed her that it was difficult of access, but she turned the objection aside with contempt and commanded him to lead.
Harry, of course, was with her, and I followed somewhat unwillingly; for, though Felipe’s history was fairly accurate, I was inclined to regard his fable of the disappearing Incas as a wild tradition of the mountains.
He had spoken aright–the path to the cave was not an easy one. Here and there deep ravines caused us to make a wide detour or risk our necks on perilous steeps.
Finally we came to a small clearing, which resembled nothing so much as the bottom of a giant well, and in the center of one of the steep walls was an opening some thirty or forty feet square, black and rugged, and somehow terrifying.
It was the entrance to the cave.
There Felipe halted.
“Here, senor. Here entered the Incas of Huanuco with their gold.”
He shivered as he spoke, and I fancied that his face grew pale.
“We shall explore it!” cried Desiree, advancing.
“But no, senora!” The arriero was positively trembling. “No! Senor, do not let her go within! Many times have my countrymen entered in search of the gold, and americanos, too, and never did they return. It is a cave of the devil, senor. He hides in the blackness and none who enter may escape him.”
Desiree was laughing gaily.
“Then I shall visit the devil!” she exclaimed, and before either Harry or I could reach her she had sprung across the intervening space to the entrance and disappeared within.
With shouts of consternation from Felipe ringing in our ears, we leaped after her.
“Desiree!” cried Harry. “Come back, Desiree!”
There was no answer, but echoing back from the night before us came faint reverberations–could they be footsteps! What folly! For I had thought that she had merely intended to frighten poor Felipe, and now–
“Desiree!” Harry called again with all the strength of his lungs. “Desiree!”
Again there was no answer. Then we entered the cave together. I remember that as we passed within I turned and saw Felipe staring with white face and eyes filled with terror.
A hundred feet and we were encompassed by the most intense darkness. I muttered: “This is folly; let us get a light,” and tried to hold Harry back. But he pushed me aside and groped on, crying: “Desiree! Come back, Desiree!”
What could I do? I followed.
Suddenly a scream resounded through the cavern. Multiplied and echoed by the black walls, it was inhuman, shot with terror, profoundly horrible.
A tremor ran through me from head to foot; beside me I heard Harry gasp with a nameless fear. An instant later we dashed forward into the darkness.
How long we ran I could never tell; probably a few seconds, possibly as many minutes.
On we rushed, blindly, impelled not by reason, but by the memory of that terrible cry, side by side, gasping, fearful. And then–
A step into thin air–a mighty effort to recover a footing– a wild instant of despair and pawing helpless agony. Then blackness and oblivion.
Chapter VI.
CAPTURED.
The fall–was it ten feet or a thousand? I shall never know. Hurtling headlong through space, a man can scarcely be expected to keep his wits about him.
Actually, my only impression was of righteous indignation; my memory is that I cursed aloud, but Harry denies it.
But it could not have been for long, for when we struck the water at the bottom we were but slightly stunned by the impact. To this Harry has since agreed; he must have been as lucky as myself, for I took it headlong with a clean cleavage.
I rose to the top, sputtering, and flung out my arms in the attempt to swim–or, rather, to keep afloat–and was overjoyed to find my arms and legs answer to the call of the brain.
About me was blackest night and utter silence, save a low, unbroken murmur, unlike any other sound, hardly to be heard. It was in my effort to account for it that I first became aware of the fact that the water was a stream, and a moving one–moving with incredible swiftness, smooth and all but silent. As soon as I became convinced of this I gave up all attempt to swim, and satisfied myself with keeping my head above the surface and drifting with the current.
Then I thought of Harry, and called his name aloud many times. The reverberations throughout the cave were as the report of a thousand cannon; but there was no response.
The echoes became fainter and fainter and died away, and again all was silence and impenetrable night, while I battled with the strong suction of the unseen current, which was growing swifter and swifter, and felt my strength begin to leave me.
Terror, too, began to call to me as the long minutes passed endlessly by. I thought, “If I could only see!” and strained my eyes in the effort till I was forced to close them from the dizzy pain. The utter, complete darkness hid from me all knowledge of what I passed or what awaited me beyond.
The water, carrying me swiftly onward with its silent, remorseless sweep, was cold and black; it pressed with tremendous power against me; now and then I was forced beneath the surface and fought my way back, gasping and all but exhausted.
I forgot Desiree and Harry; I lost all consciousness of where I was and what I was doing; the silent fury of the stream and the awful blackness maddened me; I plunged and struggled desperately, blindly, sobbing with rage. This could not have lasted much longer; I was very near the end.
Suddenly, with a thrill of joy, I realized that the speed of the current was decreasing. Then a reaction of despair seized me; I tried to strangle hope and resign myself to the worst. But soon there was no longer any doubt; the water carried me slower and slower.
I floated with little difficulty, wondering–could it be an approach to a smaller outlet which acted as a dam? Or was it merely a lessening of the incline of the bed of the stream? I cursed the darkness for my helplessness.
Finally the water became absolutely still, as I judged by the absence of pressure on my body, and I turned sharply at a right angle and began to swim. My weariness left me as by magic, and I struck out with bold and sweeping strokes; and by that lack of caution all but destroyed myself when my head suddenly struck against a wall of stone, unseen in the darkness.
I was stunned completely and sank; but the ducking revived me; and when I returned to the surface I swam a few careful strokes, searching for the wall. It was not there, and I had no idea of its direction. But I had now learned caution; and by swimming a few feet first one way, then another, and taking care not to go far in any one direction, I finally discovered it.
My hand easily reached the top, and, grasping the slippery surface with a grip made firm by despair, and concentrating every ounce of strength in one final effort, I drew myself out of the water and fell completely exhausted on the ground.
Under such circumstances time has no place in a man’s calculations; he is satisfied to breathe. I believe that I lay barely conscious for several hours, but it may have been merely as many minutes. Then I felt life stir within me; I stretched my arms and legs and sat up. Gradually entered my mind the thought of Desiree and Harry and the Andes above and Felipe shuddering with terror as he flew from the cave of the devil.
First came Harry; but hope did not enter. It was inconceivable that he, too, should have escaped that fearful torrent; stupendous luck alone had saved me from being dashed senseless against the rocks and guided me to the ledge on which I rested.
Then he was gone! I had no thought of my own peril. I had gone through the world with but little regard for what it held; nothing had been sacred to me; no affection had been more than a day’s caprice; I had merely sucked amusement from its bitter fruit.
But I loved Harry; I realized it with something like astonishment. He was dear to me; a keen, intense pain contracted my chest at the thought of having lost him; tears filled my eyes; and I raised up my voice and sang out wildly:
“Harry! Harry, lad! Harry!”
The cavern resounded. The call went from wall to wall, then back again, floating through black space with a curious tremor, and finally died away in some dim, unseen corridor. And then–then came an answering call!
Owing to the conflicting echoes of the cavern, the tone could not be recognized. But the word was unmistakable; it was “Paul.”
I sprang to my feet with a shout, then stood listening. Out of the blackness surrounding me came the words, in Harry’s voice, much lower, but distinct:
“Paul! Paul, where are you?”
“Thank Heaven!” I breathed; and I answered:
“Here, Harry boy, here.”
“But where?”
“I don’t know. On a ledge of rock at the edge of the water. Where are you?”
“Same place. Which side are you on?”
“The right side,” I answered with heartfelt emphasis. “That is to say, the outside. If it weren’t for this infernal darkness–Listen! How far away does my voice sound?”
But the innumerable echoes of the cavern walls made it impossible to judge of distance by sound. We tried it over and over; sometimes it seemed that we were only a few feet apart, sometimes a mile or more.
Then Harry spoke in a whisper, and his voice appeared to be directly in my ear. Never have I seen a night so completely black as that cavern; we had had several hours, presumably, for our eyes to adjust themselves to the phenomenon; but when I held my hand but six inches in front of my face I could not get even the faintest suggestion of its outline.
“This is useless,” I declared finally. “We must experiment. Harry!”
“Yes.”
“Turn to your left and proceed carefully along the edge. I’ll turn to my right. Go easy, lad; feel your way.”
I crawled on my hands and knees, no faster than a snail, feeling every inch of the ground. The surface was wet and slippery, and in places sloped at an angle that made me hang on for dear life to keep from shooting off into space.
Meantime I kept calling to Harry and he to me; but, on account of our painfully slow progress, it was half an hour or more before we discovered that the distance between us was being increased instead of lessened.
He let fly an oath at this, and his tone was dangerous; no wonder if the lad was half crazed! I steadied him as well as I could with word of encouragement, and instructed him to turn about and proceed to the right of his original position. I, also, turned to the left.
Our hope of meeting lay in the probability that the ledge surrounded a circular body of water and was continuous. At some point, of course, was the entrance of the stream which had carried us, and at some other point there was almost certainly an outlet; but we trusted to luck to avoid these. Our chances were less than one in a thousand; but, failing that, some other means must be invented.
The simplest way would have been for me to take to the water and swim across to Harry, counting on his voice as a guide; but the conflicting echoes produced by the slightest sound rendered such an attempt dangerous.
I crept along that wet, slimy, treacherous surface, it seemed, for hours. I could see nothing–absolutely nothing; everything was black void; it was hard to appreciate reality in such a nightmare. On the one side, nameless dangers; on the other, the unseen, bottomless lake; enough, surely, to take a man’s nerve. My fear for Harry killed anxiety on my own account. We kept continually calling:
“Harry!”
“Yes.”
“Steady.”
“Yes. I’m coming along. I say, we’re closer, Paul.”
I hesitated to agree with him, but finally there was no longer any doubt of it. His voice began to reach me almost in natural tones, which meant that we were near enough for the vibrations to carry without interference from the walls.
Nearer still it came; it was now only a matter of a few feet; Harry gave a cry of joy, and immediately afterward I heard his low gasp of terror and the sound of his wild scrambling to regain a foothold. In his excitement he had forgotten caution and had slipped to the edge of the water.
I dared not try to go his assistance; so I crouched perfectly still and called to him to throw himself flat on his face. How my eyes strained despairingly as I cursed the pitiless darkness! Then the scrambling ceased and the boy’s voice sounded:
“All right, Paul! All right! Gad, I nearly went!”
A minute later I held his hand in mine. At that point the incline was at a sharp angle, and we lay flat on our backs. For many minutes we lay silently gripping hands; Harry was trembling violently from nervous fatigue, and I myself was unable to speak.
What strength is there in companionship! Alone, either of us would probably have long before succumbed to the strain of our horrible situation; but we both took hope and courage from that hand-clasp.
Finally he spoke:
“In Heaven’s name, where are we, Paul?”
“You know as much as I do, Harry. This cursed darkness makes it impossible even to guess at anything. According to Felipe, we are being entertained by the devil.”
“But where are we? What happened? My head is dizzy–I don’t know–“
I gripped his hand.
“And no wonder. ‘Tis hardly an every-day occurrence to ride an underground river several miles under the Andes. Above us a mountain four miles high, beneath us a bottomless lake, round us darkness. Not a very cheerful prospect, Hal; but, thank Heaven, we take it together! It is a grave–ours and hers. I guess Desiree knew what she was talking about.”
There came a cry from Harry’s lips–a cry of painful memory:
“Desiree! I had forgotten, Desiree!”
“She is probably better off than we are,” I assured him.
I felt his gaze–I could not see it–and I continued:
“We may as well meet the thing squarely like men. Pull yourself together, Harry; as for Desiree, let us hope that she is dead. It’s the best thing that could happen to her.”
“Then we are–no, it isn’t possible.”
“Harry boy, we’re buried alive! There! That’s the worst of it. Anything better than that is velvet.”
“But there must be a way out, Paul! And Desiree–Desiree–“
His voice faltered. I clapped him roughly on the shoulder.
“Keep your nerve. As for a way out–at the rate that stream descends it must have carried us thousands of feet beneath the mountain. There is probably a mile of solid rock between us and the sunshine. You felt the strength of that current; you might as well try to swim up Niagara.”
“But there must be an outlet at the other end.”
“Yes, and most probably forty or fifty miles away–that’s the distance to the western slope. Besides, how can we find it? And there may be none. The water is most probably gradually absorbed by the porous formation of the rocks, and that is what causes this lake.”
“But why isn’t it known? Felipe said that the cave had been explored. Why didn’t they discover the stream?”
Well, it was better to talk of that than nothing; at least, it kept Harry from his childish cries for Desiree. So I explained that the precipice over which we had fallen was presumably of recent origin.
Geologically the Andes are yet in a chaotic and formative condition; huge slides of Silurian slates and diorite are of frequent occurrence. A ridge of one of these softer stones had most probably been encased in the surrounding granite for many centuries; then, loosened by water or by time, had crumbled and slid into the stream below.
“And,” I finished, “we followed it.”
“Then we may find another,” said Harry hopefully.
I agreed that it was possible. Then he burst out:
“In the name of Heaven, don’t be so cool! We can’t get out till we try. Come! And who knows–we may find Desiree.”
Then I decided it was best to tell him. Evidently the thought had not entered his mind, and it was best for him to realize the worst. I gripped his hand tighter as I said:
“Nothing so pleasant, Harry. Because we’re going to starve to death.”
“Starve to death?” he exclaimed. Then he added simply, with an oddly pathetic tone: “I hadn’t thought of that.”
After that we lay silent for many minutes in that awful darkness. Thoughts and memories came and went in my brain with incredible swiftness; pictures long forgotten presented themselves; an endless, jumbled panorama. They say that a drowning man reviews his past life in the space of a few seconds; it took me a little more time, but the job was certainly a thorough one. Nor did I find it more interesting in retrospect than it had been in reality.
I closed my eyes to escape the darkness. It was maddening; easy enough then to comprehend the hysterics of the blind and sympathize with them. It finally reached a point where I was forced to grit my teeth to keep from breaking out into curses; I could lie still no longer, exhausted as I was, and Harry, too. I turned on him:
“Come on, Hal; let’s move.”
“Where?” he asked in a tone devoid of hope.
“Anywhere–away from this beastly water. We must dry out our clothing; no use dying like drowned rats. If I only had a match!”
We rose to our hands and knees and crawled painfully up the slippery incline. Soon we had reached dry ground and stood upright; then, struck by a sudden thought, I turned to Harry:
“Didn’t you drink any of that water?”
He answered: “No.”
“Well, let’s try it. It may be our last drink, Hal; make it a good one.”
We crept back down to the edge of the lake (I call it that in my ignorance of its real nature), and, settling myself as firmly as possible, I held Harry’s hand while he lowered himself carefully into the water. He was unable to reach its surface with his mouth without letting go of my hand, and I shook off my poncho and used it as a line.
“How does it taste?” I asked.
“Fine!” was the response. “It must be clear as a bell. Lord. I didn’t know I was so thirsty!”
I was not ignorant of the fact that there was an excellent chance of the water being unhealthful, possibly poisoned, what with the tertiary deposits of copper ores in the rock-basins; but the thought awakened hope rather than fear. There is a choice even in death.
But when I had pulled Harry up and descended myself I soon found that there was no danger–or chance. The water had a touch of alkali, but nothing more.
Then we crept back up the wet ledge, and once more stood on dry ground.
The surface was perfectly level, and we set off at a brisk pace, hand in hand, directly away from the lake. But when, about a hundred yards off, we suddenly bumped our heads against a solid wall of rock, we decided to proceed with more caution.
The darkness was intensified, if anything. We turned to the right and groped along the wall, which was smooth as glass and higher than my best reach. It seemed to the touch to be slightly convex, but that may have been delusion.
We had proceeded in this manner some hundred yards or more, advancing cautiously, when we came to a break in the wall. A few feet farther the wall began again.
“It’s a tunnel,” said Harry.
I nodded, forgetting he could not see me. “Shall we take it?”
“Anything on a chance,” he answered, and we entered the passage.
It was quite narrow–so narrow that we were forced to advance very slowly, feeling our way to avoid colliding with the walls. The ground was strewn with fragments of rock, and a hasty step meant an almost certain fall and a bruised shin. It was tedious work and incredibly fatiguing.
We had not rested a sufficient length of time to allow our bodies to recuperate from the struggle with the torrent; also, we began to feel the want of food. Harry was the first to falter, but I spurred him on. Then he stumbled and fell and lay still.
“Are you hurt?” I asked anxiously, bending over him.
“No,” was the answer. “But I’m tired–tired to death–and I want to sleep.”
I was tempted myself, but I brought him to his feet, from some impulse I know not what. For what was the use? One spot was as good as another. However, we struggled on.
Another hour and the passage broadened into a clearing. At least so it seemed; the walls abruptly parted to the right and left. And still the impenetrable, maddening darkness and awful silence!
We gave it up; we could go no farther. A few useless minutes we wasted, searching for a soft spot to lie on–moss, reeds, anything. We found none, of course; but even the hard, unyielding rock was grateful to our exhausted bodies. We lay side by side, using our ponchos for pillows; our clothing at least was dry.
I do not know how long I slept, but it seemed to me that I had barely dozed off when I was awakened by something–what?
There was no sound to my strained ears. I sat up, gazing intently into the darkness, shuddering without apparent reason. Then I reflected that nothing is dangerous to a man who faces death, and I laughed aloud–then trembled at the sound of my own voice. Harry was in sound sleep beside me; his regular breathing told of its depth.
Again I lay down, but I could not sleep. Some instinct, long forgotten, quivered within me, telling me that we were no longer alone. And soon my ear justified it.
At first it was not a sound, but the mere shadow of one. It was rhythmic, low, beating like a pulse. What could it be? Again I sat up, listening and peering into the darkness. And this time I was not mistaken–there was a sound, rustling, sibilant.
Little by little it increased, or rather approached, until it sounded but a few feet from me on every side, sinister and menacing. It was the silent, suppressed breathing of something living–whether animal or man–creeping ever nearer.
Then was the darkness doubly horrible. I sat paralyzed with my utter helplessness, though fear, thank Heaven, did not strike me! I could hear no footstep; no sound of any kind but that low, rushing breathing; but it now was certain that whatever the thing was, it was not alone.
From every side I heard it–closer, closer–until finally I felt the hot, fetid breath in my very face. My nerves quivered in disgust, not far from terror.
I sprang to my feet with a desperate cry to Harry and swung toward him.
There was no answering sound, no rush of feet, nothing; but I felt my throat gripped in monstrous, hairy fingers.
I tried to struggle, and immediately was crushed to the ground by the overpowering weight of a score of soft, ill-smelling bodies.
The grasp on my throat tightened; my arms relaxed, my brain reeled, and I knew no more.
Chapter VII.
THE FIGHT IN THE DARK.
I returned to consciousness with a sickening sensation of nausea and unreality. Only my brain was alive; my entire body was numb and as though paralyzed. Still darkness and silence, for all my senses told me I might have been still in the spot where I had fallen.
Then I tried to move my arms, and found that my hands and feet were firmly bound. I strained at the thongs, making some slight sound; and immediately I heard a whisper but a few feet away:
“Are you awake, Paul?”
“I was still half dazed, but I recognized Harry’s voice, and I answered simply: “Yes. Where are we?”
“The Lord knows! They carried us. You have been unconscious for hours.”
“They carried us?”
“Yes. A thousand miles, I think, on their backs. What–what are they, Paul?”
“I don’t know. Did you see them?”
“No. Too dark. They are strong as gorillas and covered with hair; I felt that much. They didn’t make a sound all the time. No more than half as big as me, and yet one of them carried me as if I were a baby–and I weigh one hundred and seventy pounds.”
“What are we bound with?”
“Don’t know; it feels like leather; tough as rats. I’ve been working at it for two hours, but it won’t give.”
“Well, you know what that means. Dumb brutes don’t tie a man up.”
“But it’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible. But listen!”
There was a sound–the swift patter of feet; they were approaching. Then suddenly a form bent over me close; I could see nothing, but I felt a pressure against my body and an ill-smelling odor, indescribable, entered my nostrils. I felt a sawing movement at my wrists; the thongs pulled back and forth, and soon my hands were free. The form straightened away from me, there was a clatter on the ground near my head, and then silence.
There came an oath from Harry:
“Hang the brute! He’s cut my wrist. Are your hands free, Paul?”
“Yes.”
“Then bind this up; it’s bleeding badly. What was that for?”
“I have an idea,” I answered as I tore a strip from my shirt and bandaged the wound, which proved to be slight. Then I searched on the ground beside me, and found my surmise correct.
“Here you go, Hal! here’s some grub. But what the deuce is it? By Jove, it’s dried fish! Now, where in the name of–“
But we wasted no more time in talk, for we were half starved. The stuff was not bad; to us who had been fasting for something like thirty-six hours–for our idea of time was extremely hazy–it was a gorgeous banquet. And close by there was a basin full of water.
“Pretty decent sort of beggars, I say,” came Harry’s voice in the darkness. “But who are they?”
“Ask Felipe,” I answered, for by this time I was well convinced of the nature and identity of our captors. “As I said, dumb brutes don’t bind men with thongs, nor feed them on dried fish. Of course it’s incredible, but a man must be prepared to believe anything.”
“But, Paul! You mean–“
“Exactly. We are in the hands of the Incas of Huanuco–or rather their descendants.”
“But that was four hundred years ago!”
“Your history is perfect, like Desiree’s geography,” said I dryly. “But what then? They have merely chosen to live under the world instead of on it; a rather wise decision, a cynic might say–not to mention the small circumstance that they are prisoners.
“My dear Hal, never allow yourself to be surprised at anything; it is a weakness. Here we are in total darkness, buried in the Andes, surrounded by hairy, degenerate brutes that are probably allowing us to eat in order that we may be in condition to be eaten, with no possibility of ever again beholding the sunshine; and what is the thought that rises to the surface of my mind? Merely this: that I most earnestly desire and crave a Carbajal perfecto and a match.”
“Paul, you say–eat–“
“Most probably they are cannibals. The Lord knows they must have some sort of mild amusement in this fearful hole. Of course, the idea is distasteful; before they cut us up they’ll have to knock us down.”
“That’s a darned silly joke,” said Harry with some heat.
“But it’s sober truth, my boy. You know me; I never pose. There is nothing particularly revolting in the thought of being eaten; the disadvantage of it lies in the fact that one must die first. We all want to live; Heaven knows why. And we stand a chance.
“We know now that there is food to be had here and sufficient air. It is nearly certain that we won’t get out, but that can come later. And what an experience! I know a dozen anthropologists that would give their degrees for it. I can feel myself getting enthusiastic about it.”
“But what if they–they–“
“Say it. Eat us? We can fight. It will be strange if we can’t outwit these vermin. And now silence; I’m going to begin. Listen hard–hard! The brutes are noiseless, but if they are near we can hear their breathing.”
“But, Paul–“
“No more talk. Listen!”
We lay silent for many minutes, scarcely breathing. Not the slightest sound reached our ears through the profound darkness; utter, intense silence. Finally I reached over and touched Harry on the shoulder, and arose to my knees.
“Good enough! We’re alone. We’ll have to crawl for it. Keep close behind me; we don’t want to get separated. The first thing is to find a sharp stone to cut through these thongs. Feel on the ground with your hands as we go.”
It was not easy to rise at all, and still harder to make any progress, for our ankles were bound together most effectively; but we managed somehow to drag ourselves along. I was in front; suddenly I felt Harry pull at my coat, and turned.
“Just the thing, Paul. Sharp as a knife. Look!”
I groped for his hand in the darkness and took from it the object he held out to me–a small flat stone with a sharp-saw edge.
“All right; let me work on you first.”
I bent down to the thongs which bound his ankles. I was convinced that they were not of leather, but they were tough as the thickest hide. Twice my overeagerness caused the tool to slip and tear the skin from my hand; then I went about it more carefully with a muttered oath. Another quarter of an hour and Harry was free.
“Gad, that feels good!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet. “Here, Paul; where’s the stone?”
I handed it to him and he knelt down and began sawing away at my feet.
What followed happened so quickly that we were hardly aware that it had begun when it was already finished.
A quick, pattering rush of many feet warned us, but not in time. Hurtling, leaping bodies came at us headlong through the air and crushed us to the ground, buried beneath them, gasping for breath; there must have been scores of them. Resistance was impossible; we were overwhelmed.
I heard Harry give a despairing cry, and the scuffle followed; I myself was utterly helpless, for the thongs which bound my ankles had not been cut through. Not a sound came from our assailants save their heavy, labored breathing.
I remember that, even while they were sitting on my head and chest and body, I noted their silence with a sort of impersonal curiosity and wondered if they were, after all, human. Nor were they unnecessarily violent; they merely subdued us, rebound our wrists and ankles more tightly than before, and departed.
But–faugh! The unspeakable odor of their hairy bodies is in my nostrils yet.
“Are you hurt, Paul?”
“Not a bit, Harry lad. How do you like the perfume?”
“To the deuce with your perfume! But we’re done for. What’s the use? They’ve lived in this infernal hole so long they can see in the dark better than we can in the light.”
Of course he was right, and I was a fool not to have thought of it before and practised caution. The knowledge was decidedly unpleasant. No doubt our every movement was being watched by a hundred pairs of eyes, while we lay helpless in the darkness, bound even more tightly than before.
“Look here,” said Harry suddenly, “why can’t we see their eyes? Why don’t they shine.”
“My dear boy,” said I, “in this darkness you couldn’t see the Kohinoor diamond if it were hanging on your nose, drawing-room travelers to the contrary notwithstanding. We have one advantage– they can’t understand what we say, but they even up for it by not saying anything.”
There was a short silence, then Harry’s voice:
“Paul–“
“Well?”
“I wonder–do you think Desiree–” He hesitated, his voice faltering.
“I think the same as you do,” said I.
“But I don’t know–after all, there is a chance. Just a bare chance, isn’t there?”
“You know as well as I do, Harry. The chances are a million to one that Desiree–thank Heaven–has escaped all this! And isn’t that best! Would you have her here with us?”
“No–no. Only–“
“Lying here, bound hand and foot? She would make a dainty morsel for our friends.”
“For the Lord’s sake, Paul–“
“Well, let us forget her–for the present. Nor do we want to make a dainty morsel if we can help it. Come, brace up, Hal. It’s up to us to turn a trick.”
“Well?”
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I guess we were both too dazed to have good sense. What have you got strapped to your belt?”
“A gun,” said Harry. “Of course I thought of that. But what good is it after that ducking? And I have only six cartridges.”
“Nothing else?”
I could almost feel his silent gaze; then suddenly he cried out:
“A knife!”
“At last!” said I sarcastically. “And so have I. A six-inch, double-edged knife, sharp as a razor and pointed like a needle. They didn’t have sense enough to search us, and we didn’t have sense enough to realize it. I can feel mine under me now against the ground.”
“But they’ll see us.”
“Not if we use a decent amount of caution. The trouble is, I can’t reach my knife with my wrists bound. There’s only one way. Lie perfectly still; let them think we’ve given it up. I’m going to try something.”
I drew up my knees, twisted over on the hard rock, and lay flat on my belly. Then I drew up my hands and let my face rest on them, like a dog with his head on his paws. And then, keeping my body perfectly still, and with as little movement of the jaws as possible, I sought the tough thongs with my teeth.
That was a tedious job and a distasteful one. For many minutes I gnawed away at those thick cords like a dog on a bone. It was considerably later that I discovered what those cords were made of; thank Heaven, I was ignorant of it at the time! All I knew was that they were, to use one of Harry’s phrases, “tough as rats.”
I did not dare pull with my wrists, for fear they would fly suddenly apart and betray me to the unseen watchers. It was necessary to cut clear through with my teeth, and more than once I was on the point of giving it up. There was a nauseating, rancid taste to the stuff, but I dared not even raise my head to expectorate.
Finally my teeth met; the cords were severed. I felt carefully about with my tongue to make sure there were no others; then, without moving my hands in the slightest degree, carefully raised my head.
It was then that I first noticed–not light, but a thinning out of the darkness. It was, of course, merely the adjustment of my eyes to the new conditions. I could make out no forms surrounding me, but, looking down, I could clearly distinguish the outline of my hands as they lay on the ground before me.
And, again looking up, I fancied that I could see, some twenty or thirty feet to the right, that the darkness again became suddenly dense and impenetrable.
“That must be a wall,” I muttered, straining my eyes toward it.
“What’s that?” asked Harry sharply.
Obedient to my instructions, the lad had lain perfectly motionless and silent for over an hour, for it must have taken me at least that long to gnaw through the cords.
“I said that must be a wall. Look, Harry, about thirty feet to the right. Doesn’t it appear to you that way?”
“By Jove,” he exclaimed after a moment of silence, “it’s getting light! Look!”
I explained that, instead of “it’s getting light,” his eyes were merely becoming accustomed to the darkness.
“But what do you think of that? Is it a wall?”
After a moment’s silence he answered: “Ye-es,” and then more positively: “Yes. But what good does that do us?”
“That’s what I am about to tell you. Listen! I’ve cut the cords on my wrists, and I’m going to get my knife–“
“How the deuce did you manage that?” Harry interrupted.
“With my teeth. I’ve been rather busy. I’m going to get my knife–cautiously, so they won’t suspect if they are watching us. We must lie close together on our sides, facing each other, so I can cut the thongs on your wrists without being seen. Then you are to get your knife–carefully. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
For the first time there was fight in Harry’s voice; the curious, barely perceptible tremor of the man of courage.
“All right. Go easy.”
We went about the thing slowly, turning but an inch at a time; a second mistake might prove fatal. We heard no sound of any kind, and ten minutes later we were lying flat on our backs side by side, keeping our hands hidden between our bodies, that the absence of the thongs might not be discovered. Each of us held in his right hand the hilt of a six inch knife. Cold steel is by no means the favorite weapon of an American, but there are times–
“Have you got your knife, Harry?”
“Yes.”
“Good! Now listen close and act quick. When I give the word reach down and grasp the cords round your ankles in your left hand, then cut them through with one stroke. Then to your feet; grasp my jacket, and together to the wall–that’s for our backs. And then– let ’em come!”
“All right, old man.”
“Don’t waste any time; they’ll probably start for us the instant we sit up. Be sure you get your feet free at the first stroke; feel them well with your left hand first. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” And his voice was now calm and perfectly steady.
“Then–one, two, three–go!”
We bent and cut and sprang to our feet, and dashed for the wall. There was a sound of rushing feet–our backs hugged the kindly rock–I heard Harry’s shout, “Here they come!”–dim, rushing forms–fingers clutching at my throat.
I felt the blade of my knife sink into soft and yielding flesh, and a warm, thick liquid flow over my hand and arm.
Chapter VIII.
THE DANCE OF THE SUN.
It seemed to me then in the minutes that followed that there were thousands of black demons in that black hole. At the first rushing impact I shouted to Harry: “Keep your back to the wall,” and for response I got a high, ringing laugh that breathed the joy of battle.
The thing was sickening. Harry is a natural fighting man; I am not. Without the wall at our backs we would have been overpowered in thirty seconds; as it was, we were forced to handle half a dozen of them at once, while the others surged in from behind. They had no weapons, but they had the advantage of being able to see us.
They clutched my throat, my arms, my legs, my body; there was no room to strike; I pushed the knife home. They fastened themselves to my legs and feet and tried to bring me down from beneath; once, in slashing at the head of one whose teeth were set in my calf, I cut myself on the knee. It was difficult to stand in the wet, slippery pool that formed at my feet.
Suddenly I heard a sound that I understood too well–the curious, rattling sound of a man who is trying to call out when he is being strangled.
“Harry!” I cried, and I fought like a wild man to get to him, with knife, feet, hands, teeth. I reached his coat, his arm; it was dangerous to strike so near him in the dark, but I felt him sinking to the ground.
Then I found the taut, straining fingers about his throat, and lunged forward with the knife–and the fingers relaxed.
Again we were fighting together side by side.
As their bodies fell in front of us we were pressed harder, for those behind climbed up on the corpses of their fellows and literally descended on our heads from the air. We could not have held out much longer; our breath was coming in quick, painful gasps; Harry stumbled on one of the prostrate brutes and fell; I tried to lift him and was unequal to the task.
It appeared to be the end.
Suddenly there rang throughout the cavern a sound as of a gigantic, deep-toned bell. The walls sent it back and forth with deafening echoes; it was as though the mountain had descended with one tremendous crash into its own bowels.
As though by magic, the assault ceased.
The effect was indescribable. We could see nothing; we merely became suddenly aware that there were no longer hands clutching at our throats or hairy bodies crushing us to the ground. It was as though the horde of unseen devils had melted into thin air. There were movements on the ground, for many of them had been wounded; a man cannot always reach the spot in the dark. This lasted for two or three minutes; they were evidently removing those who still had life in them, for the straining breath of men dragging or lifting burdens was plainly audible.
Gradually that, too, died away with the last reverberations of the mysterious sound that had saved us, and we found ourselves alone–or at least unmolested–for in the darkness we could see nothing, except the dim outlines of the prostrate forms at our feet.
The cavern was a shambles. The smell was that of a slaughter-house. I had had no idea of the desperateness of our defense until I essayed to scramble over the heap of bodies to dry ground; I shuddered and grew faint, and Harry was in no better case.
Worse, he had dropped his knife when we stumbled, and we were forced to grope round in that unspeakable mess for many minutes before we found it.
“Are you hurt, lad?” I asked when once we stood clear.
“Nothing bad, I think,” he answered. “My throat is stiff, and two or three of the brutes got their teeth in me. In the name of Heaven, Paul, what are they? And what was that bell?”
These were foolish questions, and I told him so. My leg was bleeding badly where I had slashed myself, and I, too, had felt their teeth. But, despite our utter weariness and our wounds, we wanted nothing–not even rest–so badly as we wanted to get away from that awful heap of flesh and blood and the odor of it.
Besides, we did not know at what moment they might return. So I spoke, and Harry agreed. I led the way; he followed.
But which way to turn? We wanted water, both for our dry and burning throats and for our wounds; and rest and food. We thought little of safety. One way seemed as likely as another, so we set out with our noses as guides.
A man encounters very few misfortunes in this world which, later in life, he finds himself unable to laugh at; well, for me that endless journey was one of the few.
Every step was torture. I had bandaged the cut on my leg as well as possible, but it continued to bleed. But it was imperative that we should find water, and we struggled on, traversing narrow passages and immense caverns, always in complete darkness, stumbling over unseen rocks and encountering sharp corners of cross passages.
It lasted I know not how many hours. Neither of us would have survived alone. Time and again Harry sank to the ground and refused to rise until I perforce lifted him; once we nearly came to blows. And I was guilty of the same weakness.
But the despair of one inspired the other with fresh strength and courage, and we struggled forward, slower and slower. It was soul-destroying work. I believe that in the last hour we made not more than half a mile. I know now that for the greater part of the time we were merely retracing our steps in a vicious circle!
It was well that it ended when it did, for we could not have held out much longer. Harry was leading the way, for I had found that that slight responsibility fortified him. We no longer walked, we barely went forward, staggering and reeling like drunken men.
Suddenly Harry stopped short, so suddenly that I ran against him; and at the same time I felt a queer sensation–for I was too far gone to recognize it–about my feet.
Then Harry stooped over quickly, half knocking me down as he did so, and dropped to his knees; and the next instant gave an unsteady cry of joy:
“Water! Man, it’s water!”
How we drank and wallowed, and wallowed and drank! That water might have contained all the poisons in the world and we would have neither known nor cared. But it was cool, fresh, living–and it saved our lives.
We bathed our wounds and bandaged them with strips from our shirts. Then we arranged our clothing for cushions and pillows as well as possible, took another drink, and lay down to sleep.
We must have slept a great many hours. There was no way to judge of time, but when we awoke our joints were as stiff as though they had gotten rusty with the years. I was brought to consciousness by the sound of Harry’s voice calling my name.
Somehow–for every movement was exquisite pain–we got to our feet and reached the water, having first removed our clothing. But we were now at that point where to drink merely aggravated our hunger. Harry was in a savage humor, and when I laughed at him he became furious.
“Have some sense. I tell you, I must eat! If it were not for your–“
“Go easy, Hal. Don’t say anything you’ll be sorry for. And I refuse to consider the sordid topic of food as one that may rightfully contain the elements of tragedy. We seem to be in the position of the king of vaudeville. If we had some ham we’d have some ham and eggs–if we had some eggs.”
“You may joke, but I am not made of iron!” he cried.
“And what can we do but die?” I demanded. “Do you think there is any chance of our getting out of this? Take it like a man. Is it right for a man who has laughed at the world to begin to whine when it becomes necessary to leave it?
“You know I’m with you; I’ll fight, and what I find I’ll take; in the mean time I prefer not to furnish amusement for the devil. There comes a time, I believe, when the stomach debases us against our wills. May I die before I see it.”
“But what are we to do?”
“That’s more like it. There’s only one hope. We must smell out the pantry that holds the dried fish.”
We talked no more, but set about bathing and dressing our wounds. Gad, how that cold water took them! I was forced to set my teeth deep into my lip to keep from crying out, and once or twice Harry gave an involuntary grunt of pain that would not be suppressed.
When we had finished we waded far to the right to take a last deep drink; then sought our clothing and prepared to start on our all but hopeless search. We had become fairly well limbered up by that time and set out with comparative ease.
We had gone perhaps a hundred yards, bearing off to the right, when Harry gave a sudden cry: “My knife is gone!” and stopped short. I clapped my hand to my own belt instinctively, and found it empty both of knife and gun! For a moment we stood in silence; then:
“Have you got yours?” he demanded.
When I told him no he let out an oath.
His gun was gone, also. We debated the matter, and decided that to attempt a search would be a useless waste of time; it was next to certain that the weapons had been lost in the water when we had first plunged in. And so, doubly handicapped by this new loss, we again set out.
There was but one encouragement allowed to us: we were no longer in total darkness. Gradually our eyes were becoming accustomed to the absence of light; and though we could by no means see clearly, nor even could properly be said to see at all, still we began to distinguish the outlines of walls several feet away; and, better than that, each of us could plainly mark the form and face of the other.
Once we stood close, less than a foot apart, for a test; and when Harry cried eagerly, “Thank Heaven, I can see your nose!” our strained feelings were relieved by a prolonged burst of genuine laughter.
There was little enough of it in the time that followed, for our sufferings now became a matter not of minutes or hours, but of days. The assault of time is the one that unnerves a man, especially when it is aided by gnawing pain and weariness and hunger; it saps the courage and destroys the heart and fires the brain.
We dragged ourselves somehow ever onward. We found water; the mountain was honeycombed with underground streams; but no food. More than once we were tempted to trust ourselves to one of those rushing torrents, but what reason we had left told us that our little remaining strength was unequal to the task of keeping our heads above the surface. And yet the thought was sweet–to allow ourselves to be peacefully swept into oblivion.
We lost all idea of time and direction, and finally hope itself deserted us. What force it was that propelled us forward must have been buried deep within the seat of animal instinct, for we lost all rational power. The thing became a nightmare, like the crazy wanderings of a lost soul.
Forward–forward–forward! It was a mania.
Then Harry was stricken with fever and became delirious. And I think it was that seeming misfortune that saved us, for it gave me a spring for action and endowed me with new life. As luck would have it, a stream of water was near, and I half carried and half dragged him to its edge.
I made a bed for him with my own clothing on the hard rock, and bathed him and made him drink, while all the time a string of delirious drivel poured forth from his hot, dry lips.
That lasted many hours, until finally he fell into a deep, calm sleep. But his body was without fuel, and I was convinced he would never awaken; yet I feared to touch him. Those were weary hours, squatting by his side with his hand gripped in my own, with the ever-increasing pangs of hunger and weariness turning my own body into a roaring furnace of pain.
Suddenly I felt a movement of his hand; and then came his voice, weak but perfectly distinct:
“Well, Paul, this is the end.”
“Not yet, Harry boy; not yet.”
I tried to put cheer and courage into my own voice, but with poor success.
“I–think–so. I say, Paul–I’ve just seen Desiree.”
“All right, Hal.”
“Oh, you don’t need to talk like that; I’m not delirious now. I guess it must have been a dream. Do you remember that morning on the mountain–in Colorado–when you came on us suddenly at sunrise? Well, I saw her there–only you were with her instead of me. So, of course, she must be dead.”
His logic was beyond me, but I pressed his hand to let him know that I understood.
“And now, old man, you might as well leave me. This is the end. You’ve been a good sport. We made a fight, didn’t we? If only Desiree–but there! To Hades with women, I say!”
“Not that–don’t be a poor loser, Hal. And you’re not gone yet. When a man has enough fight in him to beat out an attack of fever he’s very much alive.”
But he would not have it so. I let him talk, and he rambled on, with scarcely an idea of what he was saying. The old days possessed his mind, and, to tell the truth, the sentiment found a welcome in my own bosom. I said to myself, “This is death.”
And then, lifting my head to look down the dark passage that led away before us, I sprang to my feet with a shout and stood transfixed with astonishment. And the next instant there came a cry of wonder from Harry:
“A light! By all the gods, a light!”
So it was. The passage lay straight for perhaps three hundred yards. There it turned abruptly; and the corner thus formed was one blaze of flickering but brilliant light which flowed in from the hidden corridor.
It came and went, and played fitfully on the granite walls; still it remained. It was supernaturally brilliant; or so it seemed to us, who had lived in utter darkness for many days.
I turned to Harry, and the man who had just been ready to die was rising to his feet!
“Wait a minute–not so fast!” I said half angrily, springing to support him. “And, for Heaven’s sake, don’t make any noise! We’re in no condition to fight now, and you know what that light means.”
“But what is it?” demanded the boy excitedly. “Come on, man– let’s go!”
To tell the truth, I felt as eager as he. For the first time I understood clearly why the Bible and ancient mythology made such a fuss about the lighting up of the world. Modern civilization is too far away from its great natural benefits to appreciate them properly.
And here was a curious instance of the force of habit–or, rather, instinct–in man. So long as Harry and I had remained in the dark passage and byways of the cavern we had proceeded almost entirely without caution, with scarcely a thought of being discovered.
But the first sight of light made us wary and careful and silent; and yet we knew perfectly well that the denizens of this underworld could see as well in the darkness as in the light– perhaps even better. So difficult is it to guide ourselves by the human faculty of pure reason.
Harry was so weak he was barely able to stand, even in the strength of this new excitement and hope, and we were forced to go very slowly; I supported him as well as I was able, being myself anything but an engine of power. But the turn in the passage was not far away, and we reached it in a quarter of an hour or less.
Before we made the turn we halted. Harry was breathing heavily even from so slight an exertion, and I could scarcely suppress a cry of amazement when, for the first time in many days, the light afforded me a view of his face.
It was drawn and white and sunken; the eyes seemed set deep in his skull as they blinked painfully; and the hair on his chin and lip and cheeks had grown to a length incredible in so short a space of time. I soon had reason to know that I probably presented no better an appearance, for he was staring at me as though I were some strange monster.
“Good Heavens, man, you took like a ghost!” he whispered.
I nodded; my arm was round his shoulder.
“Now, let’s see what this light means. Be ready for anything, Harry–though Heaven knows we can find nothing worse than we’ve had. Here, put your arm on my shoulder. Take it easy.”
We advanced to the corner together within the patch of light and turned to the right, directly facing its source.
It is impossible to convey even a faint idea of the wild and hugely fantastic sight that met our gaze. With us it was a single, vivid flash to the astonished brain. These are the details:
Before us was an immense cavern, circular in shape, with a diameter of some half a mile. It seemed to me then much larger; from where we stood it appeared to be at least two miles to the opposite side. There was no roof to be seen; it merely ascended into darkness, though the light carried a great distance.
All round the vast circumference, on terraced seats of rock, squatted row after row of the most completely hideous beings within possibility.
They were men; I suppose they must have the name. They were about four feet tall, with long, hairy arms and legs, bodies of a curious, bloated appearance, and eyes–the remainder of the face was entirely concealed by thick hair–eyes dull and vacant, of an incredibly large size; they had the appearance of ghouls, apes, monsters–anything but human beings.
They sat, thousands of them, crouched silently on their stone seats, gazing, motionless as blocks of wood.
The center of the cavern was a lake, taking up something more than half of its area. The water was black as night, and curiously smooth and silent. Its banks sloped by degrees for a hundred feet or so, but at its edge there was a perpendicular bank of rock fifteen or twenty feet in height.
Near the middle of the lake, ranged at an equal distance from its center and from each other, were three–what shall I call them?–islands, or columns. They were six or eight feet across at their top, which rose high above the water.
On top of each of these columns was a huge vat or urn, and from each of the urns arose a steady, gigantic column of fire. These it was that gave the light, and it was little wonder we had thought it brilliant, since the flames rose to a height of thirty feet or more in the air.
But that which left us speechless with profound amazement was not the endless rows of silent, grinning dwarfs, nor the black, motionless lake, nor the leaping tongues of flame. We forgot these when we followed the gaze of that terrifying audience and saw a sight that printed itself on my brain with a vividness which time can never erase. Closing my eyes, I see it even now, and I shudder.
Exactly in the center of the lake, in the midst of the columns of fire, was a fourth column, built of some strangely lustrous rock. Prisms of a formation new to me–innumerable thousands of them–caused its sides to sparkle and glisten like an immense tower of whitest diamonds, blinding the eye.
The effect was indescribable. The huge cavern was lined and dotted with the rays shot forth from their brilliant angles. The height of this column was double that of the others; it rose straight toward the unseen dome of the cavern to the height of a hundred feet.
It was cylindrical in shape, not more than ten feet in diameter. And on its top, high above the surface of the lake, surrounded by the mounting tongues of flame, whirled and swayed and bent the figure of a woman.
Her limbs and body, which were covered only by long, flowing strands of golden hair, shone and glistened strangely in the lurid, weird light. And of all the ten thousand reflections that shot at us from the length of the column not one was so brilliant, so blinding, as the wild glow of her eyes.
Her arms, upraised above her head, kept time with and served as a key to every movement of her white, supple body. She glided across, back and forth, now this way, now that, to the very edge of the dizzy height, with wild abandon, or slow, measured grace, or the rushing sweep of a panther.
The thing was beauty incarnate–the very idea of beauty itself realized and perfected. It was staggering, overwhelming. Have you ever stood before a great painting or a beautiful statue and felt a thrill–the thrill of perception–run through your body to the very tips of your fingers?
Well, imagine that thrill multiplied a thousandfold and you will understand the sensation that overpowered me as I beheld, in the midst of that dazzling blaze of light, the matchless Dance of the Sun.
For I recognized it at once. I had never seen it, but it had been minutely described to me–described by a beautiful and famous woman as I sat on the deck of a yacht steaming into the harbor of Callao.
She had promised me then that she would dance it for me some day–
I looked at Harry, who had remained standing beside me, gazing as I had gazed. His eyes were opened wide, staring at the swaying figure on the column in the most profound astonishment.
He took his hand from my shoulder and stood erect, alone; and I saw the light of recognition and hope and deepest joy slowly fill his eyes and spread over his face. Then I realized the danger, and I endeavored once more to put my arm round his shoulder; but he shook me off with hot impatience. He leaped forward with the quickness of lightning, eluding my frantic grasp, and dashed straight into the circle of blazing light!
I followed, but too late. At the edge of the lake he stopped, and, stretching forth his arms toward the dancer on the column, he cried out in a voice that made the cavern ring:
“Desiree! Desiree! Desiree!”
Chapter IX.
BEFORE THE COURT.
I expected I know not what result from Harry’s hysterical rashness: confusion, pandemonium, instant death; but none of these followed.
I had reached his side and stood by him at the edge of the lake, where he had halted. Desiree Le Mire stopped short in the midst of the mad sweep of the Dance of the Sun.
For ten silent, tense seconds she looked down at us from the top of the lofty column, bending dangerously near its edge. Her form straightened and was stretched to its fullest height; her white, superb body was distinctly outlined against the black background of the upper cavern. Then she stepped backward slowly, without taking her eyes from us.
Suddenly as we gazed she appeared to sink within the column itself and in another instant disappeared from view.
We stood motionless, petrified; how long I know not. Then I turned and faced our own danger. It was time.
The Incas–for I was satisfied of the identity of the creatures–had left their seats of granite and advanced to the edge of the lake. Not a sound was heard–no command from voice or trumpet or reed; they moved as with one impulse and one brain.
We were utterly helpless, for they numbered thousands. And weak and starving as we were, a single pair of them would have been more than a match for us.
I looked at Harry; the reaction from his moment of superficial energy was already upon him. His body swayed slightly from side to side, and he would have fallen if I had not supported him with my arm. There we stood, waiting.
Then for the first time I saw the ruler of the scene. The Incas had stopped and stood motionless. Suddenly they dropped to their knees and extended their arms–I thought–toward us; but something in their attitude told me the truth. I wheeled sharply and saw the object of their adoration.
Built into the granite wall of the cavern, some thirty feet from the ground, was a deep alcove. At each side of the entrance was an urn resting on a ledge, similar to those on the columns, only smaller, from which issued a mounting flame.
On the floor of the alcove was a massive chair, or throne, which seemed to be itself of fire, so brilliant was the glow of the metal of which it was constructed. It could have been nothing but gold. And seated on this throne was an ugly, misshapen dwarf.
“God save the king!” I cried, with a hysterical laugh; and in the profound silence my voice rang from one side of the cavern to the other in racing echoes.
Immediately following my cry the figure on the throne arose; and as he did so the creatures round us fell flat on their faces on the ground. For several seconds the king surveyed them thus, without a sound or movement; then suddenly he stretched forth his hand in a gesture of dismissal. They rose as one man and with silent swiftness disappeared, seemingly melting away into the walls of rock. At the time the effect was amazing; later, when I discovered the innumerable lanes and passages which served as exits, it was not so difficult to understand.
We were apparently left alone, but not for long. From two stone stairways immediately in front of us, which evidently led to the alcove above, came forth a crowd of rushing forms. In an instant they were upon us; but if they expected resistance they were disappointed.
At the first impact we fell. And in another moment we had been raised in their long, hairy arms and were carried swiftly from the cavern. Scarcely five minutes had elapsed since we had first entered it
They did not take us far. Down a broad passage directly away from the cavern, then a turn to the right, and again one to the left. There they dropped us, quite as though we were bundles of merchandise, without a word.
By this time I had fairly recovered my wits–small wonder if that amazing scene had stunned them–and I knew what I wanted. As the brute that had been carrying me turned to go I caught his arm. He hesitated, and I could feel his eyes on me, for we were again in darkness.
But he could see–I thanked Heaven for it–and I began a most expressive pantomime, stuffing my fingers in my mouth and gnawing at them energetically. This I alternated with the action of one drinking from a basin. I hadn’t the slightest idea whether he understood me; he turned and disappeared without a sign–at least, without an audible one.
But the creature possessed intelligence, for I had barely had time to turn to Harry and ascertain that he was at least alive, when the patter of returning footsteps was heard. They approached; there was the clatter of stone on the ground beside us.
I stood eagerly; a platter, heaped, and a vessel, full! I think I cried out with joy.
“Come, Harry lad; eat!”
He was too weak to move; but when I tore some of the dried fish into fragments and fed it to him he devoured it ravenously. Then he asked for water, and I held the basin to his lips.
We ate as little as it is possible for men to eat who have fasted for many days, for the stuff had a sharp, concentrated taste that recommended moderation. And, besides, we were not certain of getting more.
I wrapped the remainder carefully in my poncho, leaving the platter empty, and lay down to rest, using the poncho for a pillow. I had enough, assuredly, to keep me awake, but there are bounds beyond which nature cannot go. I slept close by Harry’s side, with my arm across his body, that any movement of his might awaken me.
When I awoke Harry was still asleep, and I did not disturb him. I myself must have slept many hours, for I felt considerably refreshed and very hungry. And thirsty; assuredly the provender of those hairy brutes would have been most excellent stuff for the free-lunch counter of a saloon.
I unwrapped the poncho; then, crawling on my hands and knees, searched about the ground. As I had expected, I found another full platter and basin. I had just set the latter down after taking a hearty drink when I heard Harry’s voice.
“Paul.”
“Here, lad.”
“I was afraid you had gone. I’ve just had the most devilish dream about Desiree. She was doing some crazy dance on top of a mountain or something. and there was fire, and–Paul! Paul, was it a dream?”
“No, Hal; I saw it myself. But come, we’ll talk later. Here’s some dried fish for breakfast.”
“Ah! That–that–now I remember! And she fell! I’m going–“
But I wanted no more fever or delirium, and I interrupted him sternly:
“Harry! Listen to me! Are you a baby or a man? Talk straight or shut up, and don’t whine like a fool. If you have any courage, use it.”
It was stiff medicine, but he needed it, and it worked. There was a silence, then his voice came, steady enough:
“You know me better than that, Paul. Only–if it were not for Desiree–but I’ll swallow it. I think I’ve been sick, haven’t I?”
Poor lad! I wanted to take his hand in mine and apologize. But that would have been bad for both of us, and I answered simply:
“Yes, a little fever. But you’re all right now. And now you must eat and drink. Not much of a variety, but it’s better than nothing.”
I carried the platter and basin over to him, and sat down by his side, and we fell to together.
But he would talk of Desiree, and I humored him. There was little enough to say, but he pressed my hand hopefully and gratefully when I expressed my belief that her disappearance had been a trick of some sort and no matter for apprehension.
“We must find her, Paul.”
“Yes.”
“At once.”
But there I objected.
“On the contrary, we must delay. Right now we are utterly helpless from our long fast. They would handle us like babies if it came to a fight. Try yourself; stand up.”
He rose to his hands and knees, then sank back to the ground.
“You see. To move now would be folly. And of course they are watching us at this minute–every minute. We must wait.”
His only answer was a groan of despair.
In some manner the weary hours passed by.
Harry lay silent, but not asleep; now and then he would ask me some question, but more to hear my voice than to get an answer. We heard or saw nothing of our captors, for all our senses told us we were quite alone, but our previous experience with them had taught us better than to believe it.
I found myself almost unconsciously reflecting on the character and nature of the tribe of dwarfs.
Was it possible that they were really the descendants of the Incas driven from Huanuco by Hernando Pizarro and his horsemen nearly four hundred years before? Even then I was satisfied of it, and I was soon to have that opinion confirmed by conclusive evidence.
Other questions presented themselves. Why did they not speak? What fuel could they have found in the bowels of the Andes for their vats of fire? And how did sufficient air for ten thousand pairs of lungs find its way miles underground? Why, in the centuries that had passed, had none of them found his way to the world outside?
Some of these questions I answered for myself, others remained unsolved for many months, until I had opportunity to avail myself of knowledge more profound than my own. Easy enough to guess that the hidden deposits of the mountain had yielded oil which needed only a spark from a piece of flint to fire it; and any one who knows anything of the geological formation of the Andes will not wonder at their supply of air.
Nature is not yet ready for man in those wild regions. Huge upheavals and convulsions are of continual occurrence; underground streams are known which rise in the eastern Cordillera and emerge on the side of the Pacific slope. And air circulates through these passages as well as water.
Their silence remains inexplicable; but it was probably the result of the nature of their surroundings. I have spoken before of the innumerable echoes and reverberations that followed every sound of the voice above a whisper. At times it was literally deafening; and time may have made it so in reality.
The natural effect through many generations of this inconvenience or danger would be the stoppage of speech, leading possibly to a complete loss of the faculty. I am satisfied that they were incapable of vocalization, for even the women did not talk! But that is ahead of the story.
I occupied myself with these reflections, and found amusement in them; but it was impossible to lead Harry into a discussion. His mind was anything but scientific, anyway; and he was completely obsessed by fear for the safety of Desiree. And I wasn’t sorry for it; it is better that a man should worry about some one else than about himself.
Our chance of rescuing her, or even of saving ourselves, appeared to me woefully slim. One fear at least was gone, for the descendants of Incas could scarcely be cannibals; but there are other fates equally final, if less distasteful. The fact that they had not even taken the trouble to bind us was an indication of the strictness of their watch.
The hours crept by. At regular intervals our food was replenished and we kept the platter empty, storing what we could not eat in our ponchos against a possible need.
It was always the same–dried fish of the consistency of leather and a most aggressive taste. I tried to convey to one of our captors the idea that a change of diet would be agreeable, but either he did not understand me or didn’t want to.
Gradually our strength returned, and with it hope. Harry began to be impatient, urging action. I was waiting for two things besides the return of strength; first, to lay in a supply of food that would be sufficient for many days in case we escaped, and second, to allow our eyes to accustom themselves better to the darkness.
Already we were able to see with a fair amount of clearness; we could easily distinguish the forms of those who came to bring us food and water when they were fifteen or twenty feet away. But the cavern in which we were confined must have been a large one, for we were unable to see a wall in any direction, and we did not venture to explore for fear our captors would be moved to bind us.
But Harry became so insistent that I finally consented to a scouting expedition. Caution seemed useless; if the darkness had eyes that beheld us, doubly so. We strapped our ponchos, heavy with their food, to our backs, and set out at random across the cavern.
We went slowly, straining our eyes ahead and from side to side. It was folly, of course, in the darkness–like trying to beat a gambler at his own game. But we moved on as noiselessly as possible.
Suddenly a wall loomed up before us not ten feet away. I gave