A Tale of Amazing Adventure
In the Under-world

BY

FRANK POWELL

WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE
ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR

CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED

LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK AND
MELBOURNE. MCMVI

All Rights Reserved

“YOU’LL come, then?”

Professor James Mervyn’s voice quivered with eagerness as he put this question to his companion, Sir William Seymour, in a private room of a large London hotel. The baronet, a man in the prime of life, over six feet in height, and broad in proportion, his bearded face tanned by many a year of travel under a tropical sun, rose, and paced the chamber for some moments ere answering.

“Yes, I’ll come,” he said at length. “I had made all arrangements to leave England to-morrow for a spell in India; but that must slide. I can’t miss this chance of a trip to the Pole. But now tell me something more of this wonderful idea of yours.”

The professor’s spare form seemed to dilate with scientific zeal, and his eyes flashed as he commenced to speak.

“To begin at the beginning,” he said. “I have had the idea in my mind for some years, but until the last six months I saw no chance of putting it into execution. Although my theory has been ridiculed and laughed to scorn by most, if not all, of my colleagues, yet I am still convinced that it is not only feasible, but that it is the only way in which the secret of the Pole, so jealously guarded by Dame Nature, may be wrested from her grasp.

“This was my line of reasoning: that it would be possible for a properly equipped submarine vessel to dive beneath the great ice barrier, and so reach the open sea which we know exists beyond. But the submarines of the day were in no way suitable for the attempt. Mere toys in size, and in some instances proving veritable death-traps to their unfortunate crews, of what use were these to cope with the perils of the Arctic seas? So my theory remained dormant until, some weeks ago, I received a letter from Garth Hilton. You remember what a fellow Garth always was for making model boats?”

Seymour nodded affirmatively.

“Well,” Mervyn continued, “it seems that he has had his old school chum, Tom Wilson, the engineer, staying with him at Hilton Manor for several months, and between them they have managed to construct a submarine, which, if it but answer their expectations, will prove the very thing I have been waiting for all these years. This is Garth’s description of his craft,” and, extracting a letter from the depths of a bulky note-book, Mervyn read as follows:

“Total length, three hundred and fifty feet; beam, fifty feet; torpedo-shaped, with turret or wheelhouse, from which the vessel is governed, in centre of deck. Tanks for submerging or raising; air reservoirs for supply whilst beneath the surface; liquid air engines, a patent of Wilson’s, maximum speed of which is forty-five knots per hour upon the surface, and thirty submerged.”

“Whew!” The professor’s companion whistled in his astonishment at this last statement.

“Liquid air engines!” he said. “Why, I always thought that liquid air was a powerful explosive agent?”

“True,” returned Mervyn; “but you must also remember that steam becomes an explosive when compressed, as witness the recent boiler explosion, so that is no argument against the use of liquid air as a propelling power.”

“But I don’t quite see——” the baronet began in a puzzled tone.

“Let me try to make it clear to you,” interrupted Mervyn. “Though but eighteen, young Tom Wilson is already recognised as an authority on the subject of liquid air and its capabilities as a propelling agent. As you will recollect, his father was a famous engineer, and the family talent appears to have descended to the lad.

“Ever since he left school Tom has been working on his engines, lack of funds alone preventing him from perfecting them before now. With financial aid from Garth, however, he has at last been enabled to complete them, and I give you my word they are the finest set of engines I have ever been privileged to examine.

“The huge boiler is somewhat similar in shape to that of an ordinary marine engine, but is much larger, and contains a number of immense tubes, in which is stored the liquefied air. From these the stuff works direct upon the powerful cylinders. Heat, of course, is entirely unnecessary; in fact, it would shatter the whole affair to atoms, liquid air being many degrees colder than ice.

“The first two gallons of the stuff cost Garth six hundred pounds to make; but there the expense ends, the engines drawing their own supplies from the air as they work.”

“Wonderful!” Seymour cried; “and the vessel does forty-five knots to the hour, you say? What will the world think of it when the news becomes public?”

“The news will never become public,” retorted the scientist, “if we can avoid it. Garth has taken the greatest care to prevent the facts leaking out. All his workers are picked men, and have been sworn to secrecy with regard to the nature of the vessel upon which they are engaged.”

“It will leak out,” asserted Seymour, “despite his precautions. A thing of that sort cannot remain a secret long. The very secrecy will attract the attention of the curiously inclined.”

“Exactly,” returned Mervyn, “that is what we are afraid of. Already, it seems, some hint of the matter has reached the Continent, in spite of Garth’s care. Two days ago I ran down to the Manor to look over the boat ere the final details were completed, and while there, Garth called my attention to a couple of suspicious-looking characters—foreigners, evidently—who, he said, had been hanging round the village for some days. Still, I think there is little to fear. The dock where the submarine floats is guarded night and day.”

The scientist refolded the inventor’s letter, and replaced it, ere resuming the conversation.

“Of course, what I have read to you is a very bald statement of the facts. When I went down I confess I was surprised at the singular beauty of the craft. She is built of steel throughout, and furnished in a most luxurious manner; in fact, she must have cost Garth a fortune.”

“When do you start?” questioned Seymour.

“Within three days,” was the answer, “if the trial trip proves satisfactory. You will come down for that, I suppose? Then there is the affair of the christening to be gone through—we have not yet decided on a name for the vessel.”

“There will be room for a weapon or two, I suppose? I should feel lost without my guns.”

“Bring a whole armoury if you like,” replied Mervyn, smiling, “though I doubt if you will find much scope for your sporting instincts in the icy realms of the north. There is a special chamber fitted up as an armoury aboard the vessel, and there are racks in the turret in which a few weapons will be kept in case of emergency. Oh, I forgot to tell you—Silas is coming.”

“What!” cried Seymour, “Silas Haverly? That’s good. He’s always ready for any adventure that may turn up. Is he down at Hilton now?”

“No,” returned the scientist; “he goes down to-morrow.”

He pulled out his watch as he spoke.

“By Jove!” he cried, “I’ve only twenty minutes to catch the express. Are you coming down with me?”

“Yes,” returned the other. “I’ll just leave word for my traps to be sent on, and then I’m with you.”

Three minutes later the two men passed out of the hotel entrance, and, entering a cab, were driven rapidly away into the night.

AT THE MERCY OF CONSPIRATORS.

SILAS K. HAVERLY, millionaire and explorer, settled himself comfortably back in the corner of a first-class smoker. He had ten minutes to wait ere the express—which was to bear him sixty miles across country to Stanwich, the nearest station to Garth Hilton’s place—was timed to start.

To look at him no one would ever have imagined that he was the owner of a colossal fortune—one of the railway kings of America. Yet such he was. Starting at the very foot of Fortune’s ladder, he had worked his way upward, until he owned the greater part of the vast network of rails upon which he had worked as a boy.

A wiry figure of a man he was, with endurance written all over him. He had a cool, determined face, and the firm set of his chin revealed the dogged resolution which had enabled him to amass one of the largest fortunes in the world. Altogether, he was not a man with whom one would care to trifle.

“H’m!” he muttered, blowing a cloud of smoke from a fragrant cigar, “I guess I’m having it all to myself this trip.”

Indeed, it did seem as though he was to travel alone, for the time of departure arrived, and all the passengers appeared to have taken their places. There was a whistle from the guard, a warning shriek from the engine, then the iron monster began to glide out of the station. As it did so, two men rushed across the platform, flung open the door of Haverly’s compartment, and, despite the cries of the officials to “Stand back,” precipitated themselves into the carriage.

“Only just in time,” one of them said with an oath, as he slammed to the door behind him; “it would have been all up with the scheme if we had missed this train, for——”

He broke off short as he became aware of the presence of Haverly, and took his seat, scowling darkly at the American, who appeared to be blissfully unconscious of the existence of his fellow-travellers.

Yet already the Yankee had “sized up” the twain as a pair of rascally adventurers who would stick at nothing to secure the success of their plans. That they were engaged in some nefarious scheme seemed plain from the few words that one had let slip as he entered, and the millionaire wondered what could be the nature of their enterprise.

In low tones the two conversed as the train sped over the gleaming rails, rapidly leaving the brick and mortar tentacles of the London octopus behind. Through the smiling countryside the express flew, belching forth a blighting, poisonous cloud of smoke, which hung for a time almost motionless, ere dissolving into the atmosphere, so still was the evening air.

The first stop was at Granley, and here Haverly’s companions alighted.

“I wonder what their dodge is?” the millionaire muttered, as they passed down the platform; then an exclamation escaped him.

Just beneath the seat where the two men had been sitting lay a crumpled sheet of paper. Promptly Haverly secured this.

It was a letter. He opened it out quickly, and the first word to catch his eye was “submarine”!

Instantly his alert brain grasped the significance of the discovery. He connected it immediately with a message he had received from Hilton some days previously, referring to the suspicious characters hanging about the vicinity of the Manor, and to the fear that an attempt might be made to steal the boat. At the time he had dismissed the idea as absurd, but now——! Without further scruple, he proceeded to make himself master of the contents of the letter.

It was brief, but very much to the point, running thus:

“DEAR FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE,—It is imperative that the affair be carried out without delay, as we are advised that the expedition starts within two days. Once the vessel leaves the dock, not all the plotting in the world could ever give us possession of her. Therefore it remains for you, my friend, to carry out your part of the programme with all speed. You must gain possession of the submarine to-night. Let nothing hinder you. We hear that Hilton Manor is a lonely house, and four determined men, well armed, should be able to overcome all resistance offered by the inventor and his friends. What matter a few lives more or less, so that our plan succeeds and we attain our object? The Night Hawk will await you at the appointed spot, outside the bay. We remind you of the penalty of failure!”

That was all, but it was enough to startle even the cool-blooded Yankee for a moment.

The missive was practically the death-warrant of his friends down at Hilton, who were even now preparing for departure on their North Polar trip. Hastily he placed the incriminating sheet in his breast pocket, wondering the while why the conspirators had left the train, instead of going straight through to Stanwich.

Hardly had the thought crossed his mind ere the twain reappeared, and climbed into the carriage. Haverly noted with secret satisfaction that they seemed strangely uneasy, glancing about as though searching for something.

“Lost anything?” he inquired casually, as the train moved off again.

“No,” one of them snarled, but the look with which he favoured the American made that gentleman glad that he carried a six-shooter in his pocket. Ere long the express was once more racing over the country at sixty miles an hour.

The millionaire’s scoundrelly companions seemed by this time to have given up their search, for they settled themselves back against the cushions, muttering together in low tones, which the roar of the train completely drowned. Haverly, whilst apparently studying the flying landscape, contrived to keep his eye upon the pair, who had evidently made up their minds that their fellow-traveller had picked up their lost letter.

At length one of them addressed the American.

“Could you oblige me with a match?” he asked. He produced a cigar-case as he spoke, and extracted one of the three cigars within.

“Pleasure,” muttered the Yankee briefly, offering his match-box with his left hand, while his right closed menacingly about the haft of the weapon in his pocket.

“Thanks,” returned the stranger, “can I offer you a cigar?” and he passed over his case, from which Haverly selected a weed.

Some thought of drugged cigars flashed over the Yankee’s mind, but he dismissed the idea, arguing to himself that the adventurers could not have foreseen the loss of their letter, so could not have prepared for it. Yet this good-fellowship did not deceive the millionaire for a moment. That there was some purpose in the conspirators’ action he did not doubt; but it would never do to let the fellows think he feared them. Therefore, keeping a wary eye upon the movements of the twain, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and proceeded to light up.

He was holding a match to the end of the cigar when the stranger’s hand shot out suddenly.

Match and cigar were dashed from Haverly’s lips, and a rag, soaked with some sickly-smelling chemical, was pressed over his mouth and nose. Holding his breath, he struggled to remove the suffocating thing, mad that he should have been caught napping when he imagined himself on the alert for an attack. With all his might he strove, but the second conspirator came to the aid of his friend, pinioning Haverly’s arms, and soon the chloroform did its work. Helpless and unconscious, the Yankee sank back on to the cushions; and while the express still rattled on at full speed, the two ruffians went through their victim’s pockets.

Everything they replaced save the letter they had taken so much trouble to secure, despising the American’s cash as game too much beneath them. With repeated applications of the chloroform rag, they kept Haverly unconscious until the train reached Stanwich. Almost ere it came to a standstill, they alighted, and, supporting their victim between them, led him to a train waiting alongside the opposite platform.

Into one of the carriages of this they hustled him. Then, while one remained in the carriage, the other moved off to the booking-office, returning presently with a ticket, which he fixed prominently in the American’s hat-band. Very few people were upon the platform, and doubtless those that observed the movements of the conspirators thought that their unconscious companion was drunk.

A final application of the rag, and the scoundrels left the carriage, closing the door upon the sleeping figure of the millionaire.

Within a few moments the latter was whirling northward, leaving further and further behind him each instant the men who were commissioned to rob his friend of the fruits of his genius, and perhaps of his life.

With every mile the train advanced the Yankee’s chances of warning Garth lessened.

An hour passed ere he recovered from the stupefying effects of the drug, and by that time he was forty odd miles from Stanwich.

At first his numbed brain refused to grasp the situation, but, as his faculties recovered their normal condition, the recollection of all that had transpired swept upon him. Inwardly cursing himself for his folly, he moved to the window and gazed out.

But the landscape, over which night was fast settling, presented no familiar features. He pulled out his watch, and by the lateness of the hour, he knew that he must be far from his destination.

Suddenly the reflection in the window of his hat and its pasteboard ornament caught his eye.

He pulled out the ticket. It was for Carnmoor, a place he had never before heard of.

“They meant to get me far enough out of the way,” he growled savagely. “If it hadn’t been for this the officials would have turned me out at the first place they took tickets,” and he crumpled the offending card in his hand. The slowing down of the train caused him to glance once more through the glass. Soon they swept into a station. The glimmering gas-jets, shining feebly through the gathering dusk, revealed the name of the place.

The conspirators had timed his recovery to a nicety. It was Carnmoor! Hardly waiting for the motion of the carriages to cease, Haverly leapt out, and made straight for the telegraph office.

If he could not warn his friends in person, he could wire them.

Rushing into the office, the American startled the sleepy operator by bawling for a form.

“Tick that off,” he cried, after he had scribbled a message, “and lively,” and over the wires there flashed this warning:

“Danger! For God’s sake, beware. Plan to capture the submarine to-night. Will explain when I come.—Haverly.”

Somewhat easier in his mind, the millionaire strolled forth to inquire about the next train to Stanwich.

“There ain’t none,” was the brusque reply of the porter he questioned, who appeared to be the only specimen of that genus upon the station.

“Then I guess I must have a special,” returned Haverly. “Where’s your boss?”

“Here he comes,” was the response, as the station-master approached. “This gent wants a special, Mister Burnside.”

“Special, eh?” remarked the official; “it’ll cost you sixty pound.”

“If it cost six hundred I should have to have one,” returned the millionaire. “I haven’t the dollars with me, but I can give you a cheque.”

“Cheque!” exclaimed the station-master scornfully. “I ain’t taking no risks. How do I know as the bank would honour it? Nice sight I’d look with a cheque as wasn’t worth the paper it’s wrote on, and the comp’ny coming down on me for sixty quid. What say, William?”

The porter agreed heartily with this verdict of his chief.

“Say,” put in Haverly, somewhat irritably, “here’s my card. I reckon you’ve heard of me even in these God-forsaken parts. I’m Silas K. Haverly, the millionaire.”

The station-master took the proffered card, but without troubling to read it, he placed a finger beside his nose and gently closed one eye, which piece of dumb show greatly pleased the worthy William.

“Well?” asked Haverly sharply.

“You must think we’re green to swallow a yarn like that,” retorted the official. “Do you think a bloomin’ millionaire would go about without a few quid in his pocket?”

At that moment the phut! phut! of a motor sounded from without the station gates, and a car pulled up at the entrance.

“Hullo! Doctor Oswyn,” cried the station-master, as a tall, good-looking young fellow loomed through the gloom; “here’s a fellow as professes to be Haverly, the American millionaire.”

“And so he is, you thundering blockhead!” cried the newcomer, as he gripped the Yankee’s hand.

“Frank!” exclaimed the latter, returning the pressure; “this is great!”

“Whatever brings you to this hole, Silas?” Oswyn asked.

Withdrawing beyond earshot of the astounded porter and his equally astonished chief, Haverly gave his friend a brief outline of his adventures in the express.

“I can go one better than a special,” averred Oswyn; “my car’s outside, ready for a run; come along; we’ll be at Hilton in about an hour.”

“That’s the style!” cried Haverly. “I’ll be a heap in your debt for this, Frank.”

HOW HAVERLY FOILED THE BOAT-STEALERS.

WITHIN a few seconds the two men were flying between the hedges of a country road, with the powerful engines of Oswyn’s “Panhard” throbbing beneath them.

“Say,” the Yankee asked, after a few moments’ travelling, “how far do you reckon it?”

“About forty-five miles to Hilton Manor,” was the response.

“What speed have you got on?” was Haverly’s next question.

“Forty,” returned Oswyn.

“I guess she’ll do better than that. Chuck the lever over.”

“It’s risky in the dark,” warned Oswyn, yet he obeyed his companion’s order notwithstanding. Beneath the added power the car leapt forward like a thing of life, her monstrous headlights glaring through the gloom like the eyes of some huge animal. Her every bolt and rivet quivered and sang with the throbbing of the mighty cylinders.

She was a veritable projectile, yet the doctor’s hand was as steady as a rock as he gripped the wheel. Presently Haverly consulted his watch.

“Is she doing all she knows?” he asked.

“Every inch,” was the reply. “Great Scott! You surely don’t want her to do any more? We’re going over fifty now. What would happen if we struck an obstruction?”

The American smiled grimly.

“I guess we’re going to strike nothing this side of Hilton,” he remarked. “We’ll do the striking when we arrive.”

Round sharp corners they whirled on two wheels, the other pair high in the air. A hundred times the car seemed like to overturn, yet somehow the catastrophe which appeared inevitable never happened. Always, at the last moment, Oswyn’s consummate skill and his knowledge of the road saved the situation.

The dark stretch of road trailed swiftly away behind them as the moments flew by, and once again Haverly drew forth his watch.

“How much further?” he questioned.

“Nearly there,” his friend replied. He shut off the power as he spoke, and the car, rounding a curve by its own momentum, came to a standstill before a massive pair of iron gates, flanked by a lodge.

Leaping out, the millionaire pulled the great bell-handle which hung down from the pillar.

Ere the clanging of the bell had ceased, the door of the lodge opened, and the keeper stepped out, carrying a lantern.

“What do you want?” he asked suspiciously, throwing the light upon the two men and the motionless car.

“Open the gates,” Haverly demanded. “I must see your master at once. I’m Haverly.”

“You might be, but then again you mightn’t,” was the dubious reply. “Anyway, I’ve got strict orders to keep a sharp look-out for anybody suspicious-looking.”

“You darned fool!” cried the Yankee, “do you size me up as a suspicious party?”

“Orders is orders,” retorted the man sullenly, without budging an inch.

“Say, Frank,” Haverly said, “give us a leg up, will you? This fool means to keep us out here all night.”

With the aid of his friend, Silas swarmed over the barrier, and dropped lightly down on the other side. Quickly he flung open the gates, and the next moment the car was spinning up the drive, leaving the lodge-keeper staring blankly after it.

“It’s agin orders,” he muttered at length, and, shaking his head sagely, he closed the gates, and withdrew to his room.

Up the broad, gravelled track Oswyn drove the automobile, at a speed that made the shrubs which bordered the drive dance past in one dark line.

Soon the lights of the Manor gleamed before them, and from afar the sound of the sea came to their ears.

Bringing the car to a standstill before the porch, the doctor sprang out, followed by his friend.

“I guess we’re in time,” Haverly said. “You’ll see this through, Frank?”

“Rather!” replied the young doctor enthusiastically. “We’d better take a look round before we make an entrance.”

Leaving the car where it stood, the two men crept round to the rear of the building.

The light, streaming through the open French windows of the dining-room, attracted their attention, and Oswyn with difficulty stifled an exclamation of rage as, crossing the lawn, they peered in.

Within sat Seymour, the inventor, and Mervyn, before a table which still held the remnants of a meal; but each was bound securely to his chair and gagged.

In one corner of the room stood Haverly’s two companions of the express, and with them two others, one in the dress of a footman. They were conversing in low tones, and at intervals a gleam of metal beneath the electric light showed that all were armed.

“Well, gentlemen,” one of them said at length, addressing the helpless trio, “I think we may venture to leave you. You will be perfectly safe for the night, but I am afraid your proposed Polar expedition will have to be indefinitely postponed.”

The scoundrel’s words floated distinctly to the ears of the watchers, and Oswyn was seized with a mad desire to rush in upon the plotters. Haverly restrained him, however.

“Got a gun?” he questioned hoarsely.

“No,” was the reply, “worse luck.”

“Wal, I guess we can’t tackle the hull crowd with only one shooter. See here: I’m going to skid down to the dock, an’ if I don’t get the drop on ’em before long, my name ain’t Si. K. Haverly!”

“But where do I come in?” asked the doctor.

“You stay right here,” replied Haverly, “until them greasers come out, then you can nip in an’ unfix our pards.”

“Couldn’t we rush ’em?” suggested Oswyn eagerly.

“If you want a couple of funerals knockin’ around,” returned the millionaire grimly. “No, my son, you take it from me, it’s best to play a waiting game.”

“Very well,” assented Oswyn, “get off down to the dock; I’ll wait here.”

At that the Yankee turned, and vanished into the darkness of the surrounding shrubbery.

For ten minutes Oswyn waited outside the window, then the four scoundrels filed out, the footman switching off the light ere he left.

“Good-night, gentlemen,” he called mockingly, as he closed the window behind him, and it was all Oswyn could do to restrain the hot rage which rose within him, prompting him to knock the rascal down as he passed. But he controlled himself by a strong effort, and the four plotters, striding over the lawn, passed down the drive towards the dock gates. These the footman opened with one of a bunch of keys, and the quartette passed through into the yard.

Around them, wrapped in darkness, lay the great workshops, wherein the various sections of the marvellous submarine had taken shape.

Past these deserted buildings—which but lately had rung with stroke upon stroke of the workmen’s hammers—they went, under the guidance of the footman, until they stood beside the great dock, wherein lay floating the craft they had dared so much to obtain.

Producing an electric lantern, the footman cast its beams over the gleaming hull of the vessel.

“Wonderful!” the conspirators cried, as their eyes drank in the singular beauty of the boat. For a few moments they stood lost in admiration. On the quay alongside stood the piles of stores, awaiting shipment on the morrow, should the trial trip prove satisfactory, and the sight of them reminded the leader that that vessel was not yet theirs.

“Aboard with you,” he cried, and led the way over the gangway.

His two colleagues followed, leaving the footman on the quay.

A moment later a blaze of light came from the turret of the submarine.

The boat-stealers had switched on the great searchlight which topped the turret of the vessel, and its beams illumined the whole dockyard.

“Sharp there, Benson!” the leader called, and at the words the footman moved to a great winch, which stood beside the dock.

Putting forth his whole strength, he commenced to turn the handle, thus opening the gates of the dock, and making a free passage for the submarine to the North Sea.

The plotters had chosen their time well, for the tide was at its flood. Casting off the mooring ropes, the footman leapt aboard, and passed down the steps to the engine-room.

Three minutes later the submarine crept out into the bay upon which the dock gave. The object of the conspirators’ plotting had been attained; the scheme was a gigantic success.

The three scoundrels were not a little pleased with themselves as the boat glided swiftly across the bay under the guidance of the leader.

They jested and laughed, flavouring their conversation with many an oath, as they pictured to their own delight the mortification of the inventor, whose craft they had stolen.

Their mirth would perhaps have been less hilarious had they noted the grim figure creeping along the corridor below, towards the foot of the steps.

“Jesting apart,” said the leader at length, “it’s a marvellous vessel. With this craft, armed in an up-to-date manner, we shall have the shipping of the entire world at our mercy. Not a warship on the seas will be able to resist us.”

“For which we have to thank our estimable friend, the inventor,” returned one of his companions with a grin.

At that moment there came a flash, twice repeated, from the darkness far ahead.

“The Night Hawk!” cried the leader; “it is——”

“Checkmate, gentlemen,” drawled a quiet voice behind them.

At the words the three turned, to look into the gleaming barrel of Haverly’s revolver.

“Hands up, you scoundrels!” he cried.

“Ah! would you?”

This last to the leader, who, with a savage oath, had made a grab for his breast pocket.

A vicious spurt of flame leapt from the millionaire’s weapon, and as the report rang through the turret, the fellow fell back with a shattered wrist.

“Out west,” snapped the Yankee, “when I say put ’em up, they generally calculate to put ’em up at once! I shouldn’t advise you to play tricks; this gun’s kinder impatient, and might go off again. Say, sonny! Just grab them spokes, and turn her round for the dock.”

The scoundrel addressed moved trembling to the wheel, and, under the watchful eye of the American, brought the submarine round.

“That’s the style,” Haverly said, “keep her there. I reckon you’re in for a warm time when Mr. Hilton gets hold of you. You should never attempt to run a picnic of this sort; it needs brains, gentlemen, and——”

What Silas would have said further will never be known, for he broke off suddenly and ducked, just in time to escape a bullet from the revolver of the footman, who, aroused by the Yankee’s shot, had crept from the engine-room.

Quick as thought Haverly’s weapon answered, and the footman, with a neat little hole in the centre of his forehead, dropped like a log.

“Any more comin’ along?” Silas asked coolly; but the scoundrels had no heart left for resistance.

“Get down to the engine-room, you there,” the millionaire continued. “Drop your barker first; that’s better. Now slope, an’ let’s have no tricks, or you’ll get hurt.”

Like a beaten hound, the fellow slunk below, never attempting to possess himself of the dead footman’s revolver, which lay beside the corpse.

The American was master of the situation.

*          *          *          *          *          *

As the sound of the plotters’ footsteps died away, Oswyn flung open the window of the dining-room and rushed in.

One moment he fumbled for the switch, the next, a dazzling flood of light poured into the room.

Before the three bound men had recovered from their surprise at his unexpected appearance, Oswyn had cut their bonds and removed the gags.

“Where have you sprung from, Frank?” cried the inventor, stamping about the room in his efforts to restore the circulation to his numbed limbs.

Briefly the doctor told him of his fortunate meeting with Haverly at Carnmoor, and the succeeding events.

As he finished speaking, Seymour left the room, returning in a moment with a brace of revolvers.

“Come,” he cried, “we may yet be in time to take a hand in the game.”

Out into the night the four men plunged, and raced down to the dockyard; but they were a few moments too late. The submarine had gone.

The shock of this discovery stunned them for a time.

They had counted on Haverly keeping the scoundrels from boarding the vessel; but it seemed clear to them that their American friend had failed in his undertaking, and had paid the penalty of his daring.

“Silas must have got wiped out,” Oswyn muttered sadly; “he would never have let them get possession of her otherwise,” in which statement, as the reader knows, Frank was mistaken.

“What’s the next move?” Seymour asked. “Your craft’s too swift to think of pursuit, I suppose?”

“It’s hopeless to think of recovering her,” returned the inventor. “What’s that?”

A brilliant light had flashed over the dark waters of the bay.

“There she is!” Mervyn cried, and an instant later the torpedo-shaped craft became visible to each of the watchers.

But her movements puzzled them; she appeared to be making for the dock entrance.

Slowly she crept forward, seeming to feel her way as she advanced, until the four standing on the quay could make out the three forms in her turret.

Then comprehension burst upon them!

“Good old Silas!” cried Seymour; “he’s got the drop on our bold conspirators this time.”

Garth laughed boisterously in his rapture at the recovery of his invention.

Through the dock gates the vessel crept to her old mooring-place. Almost ere the engines had ceased to throb, the four had leapt aboard, and were crowding into the turret.

Within a few moments the two uninjured rascals and their wounded chief were securely trussed, and locked away in one of the workshops, there to await removal to the local jail.

The body of the footman was laid upon the quay and covered with a sheet. Only when these matters were attended to would the American satisfy the curiosity of his friends as to the manner in which he had managed to turn the tables upon the boat-stealers.

“Where’s your watchman?” he asked, after dismissing the subject in half a dozen pithy sentences.

“You’ve locked him up,” Garth returned; “it was the fellow who steered you in. He must have been heavily bribed by the plotters. Had Wilson been here, this would not have happened, for he has been guarding the boat himself at night.”

“Where’s he gone?” asked the doctor.

“Down home,” was the reply, “to say good-bye to his people. We thought of starting at midnight to-morrow, but, of course, this job”—pointing to the corpse of the footman—“will delay us for several days. There will have to be an inquest, and no end of fuss before we can get away.”

“I wish I were coming with you,” Oswyn said impulsively.

“I wish you were, old chap,” Garth agreed; “but I suppose it’s impossible?”

“Utterly,” replied the doctor; “the practice would go to beggary were I away for a month or two, just now. All the same, you have my best wishes for the success of your trip. May you return safe and sound!”

“Thanks, old man; I sincerely hope we shall.”

Moving to the winch, Garth closed the gates of the dock; then, leaving the Yankee, at his own request, on guard, the rest of the party adjourned to the house to finish their interrupted meal, and to seek a much-needed rest.

As they went, the inventor pondered over an idea of Haverly’s.

“Say, Garth,” the millionaire had remarked, as the party passed out of the yard, “if you’re wanting a name for your boat, I guess you might do worse than call it the Seal.”

“Seal it shall be,” Garth muttered to himself, and so it was.

BEYOND THE GREAT BARRIER.

THE Seal sped swiftly over the rolling waves of the northern seas, her whole hull vibrating with the throb of her powerful engines.

Her inventor, a huge cigar between his lips, lounged over the rail which surrounded the vessel’s deck, scarce seeming to feel the bite of the keen wind as he gazed dreamily into the distance.

At the wheel, his wiry hands holding the polished spokes in an iron grip, stood the American, his watchful eye fixed upon the masses of ice which rolled and wallowed around the vessel.

The explorers had been glad to don their heaviest furs, but found even the thickest of them poor enough protection against the icy breath of the Frost King; yet they were occasionally obliged to have the turret door open, despite the cold, when the renewal of the air supply became a necessity.

Two months had passed since the events recorded in our last chapter; the first part of the voyage had been almost completed, and the Seal was rapidly nearing the great barrier, beneath which she was to dive to the North Pole.

It was the Arctic summer; but little of summer was visible in the gloomy scene around; and above a leaden canopy of a sky hung, grey, dismal, and depressing.

For three days the sun had not appeared, and there was every indication of a heavy snowstorm ere long.

Little the party cared for this, however; storm or shine, within twelve hours they would know the result of their quest; would know whether the professor’s theory was a fact or a delusion, and all were eagerly awaiting the moment of decision.

Here, amid the towering crags of the icebergs, some hardy seafowl wheeled, uttering at intervals a shrill shriek of defiance; there a seal, waiting until the submarine had approached to within a few yards of the ice-floe on which it lay, would dive with scarce a splash into the swelling green waters. But beyond these no sign of life was visible.

Unless there was more game in the realms they expected to find beyond the barrier, Seymour’s weapons were like to grow rusty through disuse. Suddenly a cry came from Garth:

“The barrier! At last!”

The Seal, obeying a slight movement of her wheel, had rounded a monster berg, and ahead, many miles distant yet, but looming nearer with every yard the vessel advanced, rose the towering peaks of the barrier ice, the grim and silent guardians of the secret of the Pole.

Crag upon crag, pinnacle after pinnacle, they towered, glittering with an unearthly brilliance, through the rarefied air of these high altitudes.

The inventor’s shout brought Seymour and the scientist up, and out on deck in an instant.

One glimpse they got of the marvellous range of ice mountains, then a giant berg floated across the line of vision.

“Ugh!” the Professor shivered, “let’s get inside. It’s too cold to stand out here.”

Forthwith the three passed into the turret, and closed the door. As they did so, a score of feathery flakes drifted across the vessel’s deck.

“Snow!” cried the baronet.

Ere a moment had passed, the submarine was surrounded by a dazzling white veil, through which it was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead.

“Better submerge her,” Garth said; “we shall be less likely to collide with any of the bergs beneath the surface. This smother is worse than a London fog.”

He touched a button on the switchboard beside the wheel as he spoke, and instantly the throb of the pumps sounded through the vessel, and she began to sink.

Soon, with her searchlight gleaming brightly before her, she was gliding swiftly along beneath the surface.

The water was filled with life: hundreds of strange fish flashed past the turret, their gleaming eyes reflecting the electric rays in a myriad rainbow hues.

Once or twice, through the grey-green water, came the ghostly shimmer of ice, as some berg trailed into view, to be left rapidly behind.

So for an hour the Seal moved onward; then the searchlight gleamed on a glistening white wall some distance ahead.

The inventor grasped the telephone, which communicated with the engine-room.

“Stop your engines,” he called, “and sink her.”

“Right you are,” came the answer.

Gliding gently forward by her own momentum, as the propellers ceased to revolve, the Seal nosed almost up to the edge of the barrier; then she sank slowly, her crew keeping a sharp look-out for an opening in the grim wall.

Fifty—sixty—eighty fathoms she sank, and still the ice glittered before her. A hundred—and still no opening, and Mervyn’s face grew strained and white as the moments sped by.

What if the base of the great ice barrier rested upon the ocean bed? What if it were not a floating chain of ice mountains, as he believed, but an immovable line of cliffs, their icy feet gripping the sandy bed of the Polar Sea?

Such might easily be the case; and if so, what then?

Ay! what then?

The scientist answered the question for himself.

A humiliating retreat from the barrier which had battled them; a still more humiliating return to their native shore, there to endure the scoffs and sneers of every dabbler in science who could put pen to paper.

He had staked so much on the outcome of this expedition. His very reputation trembled in the balance. Never again would he be able to lift his head among his rivals, should this, his pet theory, prove a delusion.

Still lower the submarine sank, and no sign was there of an ending of the ice; lower, every plate in her hull creaking beneath the enormous pressure.

Mervyn glanced uneasily at Garth.

“Will she stand it?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. The inventor consulted a small dial set in the turret wall.

“Yes,” he replied; “she was built to stand greater pressure than this.”

“Thank heaven!” muttered the scientist. “You know what this means to me, Garth? Failure spells ruin!”

“We’re not going to fail,” Garth retorted, cheerfully; “we’ll pull through if I have to blow the barrier into fragments first.”

His hopeful words somewhat revived the drooping spirits of the professor, and he turned once more to the window with renewed hope.

But still no break appeared in the grim face of the ice-cliffs.

Caves there were in plenty, small openings worn in the ice by the action of the water, but not one was large enough for the Seal even to insert her nose; yet each of these Mervyn eyed anxiously as the vessel sank past them, hoping to discover in one of them a passage through the heart of the barrier.

Then, amidst the creaking and groaning of the vessel, came a slight shock, and she ceased to sink.

“I guess we’ve struck bottom,” the Yankee said, glancing keenly at Mervyn.

He grasped the tube. “Ease her up half a dozen yards,” he called, “and start your engines at four knots.”

Almost ere he had ceased to speak, the Seal rose for a few feet, until her keel no longer rested on the sand; her screw: commenced to revolve, and, under the millionaire’s able guidance, she crept slowly along the base of the ice-cliffs.

Not a word passed between the occupants of her wheelhouse.

Each was anxiously looking for an opening, even the cool-blooded Yankee being somewhat concerned at this deadlock.

As the moments went by without their hopes being realised, a fit of gloomy depression swept over them all, which was lifted at length, as a sharp cry broke from Seymour.

“Look!”

The submarine had crept round a great out-jutting spur of the ice-cliffs, and before her, in the face of the glittering wall, loomed a monstrous archway, full one hundred feet in width and almost as much in height.

Before this enormous cavern the millionaire brought the Seal to, with her brow pointing directly into the darkness, which even the rays of the searchlight failed to dispel for more than a few yards distant.

“I reckon we might do worse than try this,” he suggested.

“Take her in,” Mervyn said eagerly; “there is a chance. We can but return, should it prove to be a cul-de-sac.”

Forthwith the submarine passed cautiously through the archway into the great domed chamber which opened beyond.

Through this she crept, with searchlight flashing on the alabaster walls, till a second archway loomed before her, smaller than the first, yet wide enough to give her passage.

Her pace within this narrow tunnel was scarcely a crawl, but no faster dared Haverly drive her, lest, through the sudden narrowing of the passage, she should collide with the ice.

Two hours dragged by, and still the eternal ice gleamed around them in dazzling monotony, and they grew sick of gazing upon its never-ending sameness. Mervyn alone knew no weariness.

Close to the glass he stood, his nervous hands clenching and unclenching as he gazed ahead.

Suddenly a glad cry pealed from his lips.

“At last!”

The ice tunnel had ended; the Seal had passed out into open water.

“Raise her,” roared the American down the tube. “I guess we’ve struck the Polar Sea!”

The scientist could scarcely control his eagerness as the submarine slowly rose. Back and forth he paced, as the tinge of the water without faded from deep green to grey. Then the dim light gave way to a flood of brilliant sunshine, and Garth switched off the searchlight, as the Seal emerged into the full glory of the Northern sun.

For here no leaden grey sky overhung the scene, but a pure blue vault of matchless brilliance, its beauty unmarred by a single cloud.

As, in response to Haverly’s signal, the engines stopped, Mervyn flung open the door, and a flood of bracing air poured into the turret.

Keen it was, but without the sting of the frost, and its sharpness was tempered by the warming rays of the sun.

Stepping out on to the wet and glistening deck, Silas moored the vessel securely by her stern cable to a projecting pinnacle of ice, then turned and gazed about them.

Above rose the heights of the barrier range, towering peak above peak for thousands of feet into the splendour of the Arctic sky; before him, silent and deserted as a sea of the dead, rolled the mighty waters of the Polar Sea.

“Glorious!” breathed Mervyn rapturously. “Glorious!” and he shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun, as he gazed in an ecstasy of enthusiasm across the shimmering wave-crests.

Then, from far away, came a low, rumbling roar, as of distant thunder.

“What was that?” the scientist asked sharply; “not thunder, surely?”

“Hardly,” returned Seymour; “but now let us turn in for a spell. It’s been over forty-eight hours since we had a wink of sleep.”

“You’re right, Seymour,” admitted the scientist; “do you all go below for an hour or two. I will take the watch; I cannot sleep until I know the result of our quest.”

Despite the persuasions of his comrades, the Professor’s determination remained unshaken, and at length they left him and went below.

For an hour Mervyn paced the deck excitedly, listening to the thunder-like detonations, which rolled up at frequent intervals from the far horizon; then, for the first time, he became conscious that the vessel was quivering beneath him, as though in motion.

He glanced astern.

The Seal was straining at her cable like a thing of life!

“The current must be strong,” he exclaimed to himself, and walking aft he tried the lashing of the rope.

It was secure, for the American was an adept at knotting. Retracing his steps, Mervyn leaned against the rail and fell into a reverie.

What could there be beyond? he thought. Was there a great island in the midst of this sea, an undiscovered realm whose forests afforded refuge to strange animals, or perhaps stranger men?

The deserted sea around seemed to give little hope of this.

Surely, if there were habitable land within the Arctic circle, within the confines of the barrier ice, some flying creature would be visible; some seafowl would be disporting itself above the waters, or diving for its food beneath the curling crests of the sparkling waves? But no sign was there of bird; not even a seal furrowed the lifeless waters.

Crack!

A pistol-like report startled Mervyn out of his abstraction.

Crack! Again it sounded, from directly overhead, and the Professor looked up quickly.

A thin, dark line was spreading rapidly along the face of the ice-cliffs, and even as he gazed it widened, and a huge mass of ice, thousands of tons in weight, leaned outward. For an instant it hung poised, then thundered downward.

The enormity of the peril appalled Mervyn! He stood as one spellbound. It seemed as though naught could save the Seal and her crew from utter destruction; yet, in the very instant of her dire peril, deliverance came in a marvellous manner.

There came a sharp snap from the stern, and the Seal, leaping forward like hound from leash, passed clear beneath the huge, descending mass, and sped seaward. Her cable had parted!

A fearful roar, a mighty wave which almost swept Mervyn from the deck, an avalanche of falling fragments, then the whole thing was over.

As the last of the débris plunged into the seething water, and before the scientist had recovered from the shock, his comrades, awakened by the uproar, darted out on deck.

“Whatever has happened?” Garth gasped, gazing in amazement at Mervyn’s ashen-white face, and then at the rapidly receding ice-cliffs.

Somehow Mervyn stammered through his explanation.

“Great Scott!” Seymour cried, as the scientist finished, “if the cable hadn’t parted, the Seal would have been crushed like an egg-shell!”

“It was a close call,” Haverly broke in. “I guess we must ha’ struck a fairly healthy current, to snap the cable like that. However, all’s well as ends right side up.”

He grasped the wheel as he spoke, and the engineer, who had hurried on deck with his friends at the alarm, went below once more to his engines.

A moment later the Seal was leaping forward, with her engines running at twenty-five knots.

For some little time Garth stood watching the wall of foam flung up by the Seal’s sharp prow as she raced over the waters of the Polar Sea.

A vessel to be proud of was she, and none were more thankful than her inventor for her marvellous escape.

At length he turned towards the stairhead.

“I think I’ll go down and prepare a bit of grub,” he said. “I dare say you fellows can manage a feed?”

“Rather,” Seymour returned, and at the word Garth left the turret.

Some moments later Haverly noticed a decided increase in the speed of the vessel.

“Say!” he growled down the tube, “what speed have you got on?”

“Twenty-five,” came Wilson’s answer.

“I guess we’re doing more like fifty,” returned the Yankee. “Ease her off ten knots and stand by.”

For a time the way of the Seal slackened, but not for long. Within ten minutes she was sweeping on as fast as before.

Again Silas grasped the tube, and there was a note of irritation in his voice as he called sharply, “Half speed astern!”

There came a clank from the engine-room as Wilson flung over the levers; then a jarring, grinding crash, that shook the vessel from stem to stern, and the purr of the engines ceased.

With an exclamation of annoyance, Mervyn left the turret, and went below. As he disappeared a cry broke from Seymour.

“Land ho!”

Far away on the horizon a dark, cloud-like shadow rose out of the sea, growing in size each moment as the vessel raced on.

Glass in hand, Seymour sprang to the door; but though he exerted all his huge strength, it defied his efforts to open it.

“Lock the wheel for a second, Silas,” he said, “and give me a hand with this door; it’s got jammed somehow.”

“I guess the wheel don’t need any locking,” retorted the Yankee, as he loosed the spokes.

“What do you mean?” Seymour asked.

“The steerin’ gear’s got jammed, too,” returned Silas, with a grim smile, and he applied himself to assist Seymour with the door.

But the thing refused to budge, and at length, sweating from the violence of their exertions, they gave up the attempt.

“What the plague has taken the things?” Seymour cried angrily. “First the engines break down, then the door jams, and now you say the steering gear’s gone wrong!”

As he spoke, Mervyn re-entered the turret.

“They can’t make out what’s wrong with the engines.” he announced. “Nothing is out of place, yet they will not run. It seems as though something were holding them back!”

“Exactly,” returned the millionaire. “I guess we’ve struck the magnetic attraction of the Pole!”

For an instant this announcement, given in the coolest of tones, staggered his comrades; then Mervyn spoke:

“Then this is no current which is urging the vessel on?” he began interrogatively.

“But real fifty thousand horse-power magnetism,” replied the Yankee; “and I guess it’s goin’ to take an extra large-size miracle to get the old boat out of its grip.”

His companions stared at him incredulously for a few seconds; then, as the full significance of this statement became clear to them, both turned and glanced out of the window.

“You say the door’s immovable?” the scientist questioned.

“Hopelessly!” returned the baronet; “but we can smash the glass if we wish to get out.”

“I reckon there’ll be no call to smash the glass,” Silas said; “another ten minutes and the hull outfit’ll be bust.”

He pointed ahead as he spoke.

Scarce a mile away, looming nearer each moment, a terrible line of cliffs rose black and beetling from the water’s edge; and above, veiling their summits, hung a threatening black smoke cloud, from somewhere in the heart of which came the rumbling explosions they had heard at frequent intervals since their entry into this sea.

The speed of the Seal increased as the moments flew by, until her pace could not have been less than forty knots an hour, and that without any aid from her engines.

“This is terrible!” muttered Mervyn. “Have we escaped one peril, only to be dashed to pieces against those cliffs?”

He was pale to the lips, and his hands shook as with an ague; the nearness of that terrible wall, upon which the Seal was rushing so blindly, unmanned him. He turned to his comrades.

“I’m afraid the old boat’s doomed,” he murmured brokenly; “she will go to pieces like matchwood against that barrier. I am sorry that our trip will have so disastrous an ending——”

“Say,” the Yankee interrupted, “don’t you be too previous, Mervyn. I guess we ain’t done yet, by a considerable piece. If I ain’t dreamin’, there’s a gap in the darned barrier, and the old Seal’s a-shovin’ her nose straight towards it.”

“You’re right, Silas!” Seymour cried. “Heaven grant she clears the entrance!”

Ten seconds later, the Seal, rushing madly forward, cleared by a fraction of an inch the mighty rocks which guarded the entrance, and plunged into the darkness of a canyon.

As she did so, Haverly switched on the searchlight.

Thirty feet above her hung a dense, poisonous cloud of smoke, blotting out the light of the sun like an immense black curtain, and making the canyon dark as midnight.

The rugged walls of the canyon flashed past in a gleaming line as the electric light danced upon them, and around the vessel a shower of ashes began to fall, converting the spotless paint of the deck into a mass of sooty-grey blotches.

Boom! A thunderous explosion reverberated down the canyon, shaking the instruments in the turret lockers, and a burst of flame leapt up some distance ahead, its vivid crimson glow paling the beams of the great searchlight.

It died away in a moment,

“A volcano!” gasped the scientist. Then the Seal, narrowly escaping collision with the rocky wall, swept out of the gorge.

Before them, seen dimly through the falling ashes, lay the black and silent waters of a great lake; and, in the midst, its fiery crest glowing like the mouth of the Pit, towered a mighty volcano.

TRAPPED!

SWIFT as an arrow the submarine swept forward towards the volcano, the foam leaping from her steel nose in two mighty, diverging lines.

Without a doubt she was the first vessel to furrow the waters of the lake; yet the explorers would gladly have dispensed with the empty honour of being the discoverers of this barren and desolate region, if, in exchange, they might have retraced their course.

But the magnetic power held them too tightly!

With a shock which flung the occupants of her turret to the floor, the Seal struck the beach immediately below the crater, burying her prow deep in the yielding sand.

As her quivering hull came to a standstill, another booming explosion burst from the volcano, and once more a lurid flash of flame leapt from its glowing mouth, far into the sulphur-laden air above.

“Great Heaven!” cried Seymour, “we’re done now for sure!”

As the words left his lips Garth entered the turret.

“The engines are absolutely useless,” he said gloomily. “Heaven alone knows what’s come to them——”

Glancing outside, he paused in the middle of his sentence, stricken dumb by the perilous position of the Seal.

“Let me introduce you to the North Pole,” Silas said sarcastically; “nice cheerful location, ain’t it?”

“And this is the lodestar of the explorers!” Garth exclaimed in disgust, “to reach which so many lives have been sacrificed on the ice-fields of the Arctic Seas.”

“It is a terrible disappointment,” muttered Mervyn. “I thought to find here a habitable island, with perhaps men and beasts; but even the sense of disappointment wanes before the peril of the position into which we have been dragged by this magnetic attraction.”

“Magnetic attraction!” cried the inventor; “whatever do you mean?”

“This,” returned the scientist: “the mysterious force which is holding your engines, which prevents us opening the door, and has also jammed the steering gear, is the same power that causes the needle of the compass to point to the north!”

The inventor stared in amazement.

“Then what hope have we of ever getting away?” he asked at length.

“None whatever,” was the reply, and at that Garth relapsed into silence. Each man was busy with his own thoughts, each was striving to find some way of escape from the perilous situation in which they found themselves; but, try as they might, no gleam of hope presented itself.

The vessel on which their very existence depended was helpless as a log in the grip of the giant natural forces of the magnetic mountain; and, added to this, was the ever-increasing peril from the crater, which was now flinging out a veritable cataract of glowing stones, to the accompaniment of numerous awe-inspiring explosions.

“I’m afraid it’s a case,” Seymour said at length. “Twenty-four hours will see the last of this expedition, unless the sulphur cloud lifts so that we can get some air. How long do you reckon the air will last, Garth?”

The inventor’s answer was drowned in a thunderous detonation, which shook every plate in the Seal’s hull.

The side of the cone above her burst open, and a torrent of glowing lava, leaping forth, plunged downward towards the lake.

For an instant it seemed as though the ill-fated submarine would be overwhelmed; but, changing its course at the last moment, with a deafening roar the lava river emptied itself into the lake.

The uproar which followed baffles description.

A series of fearful reports rang out as the two elements met, and the maddened waters, driven backwards for a moment by the fury of the molten torrent, rolled shoreward once more in one tremendous wave, beneath which, for a short time, the Seal was completely submerged.

The water hissed and boiled as it poured over the cooling lava, and a cloud of sulphurous vapour rolled upward from the surface of the lake, to lose itself amid the whirling wreaths of the brooding cloud above.

The heat became terrible as the time went on.

The atmosphere of the boat was like that of an oven, and great beads of sweat poured off the watchers, as they stood, with straining eyes and haggard faces, gazing on all the awful grandeur of the eruption.

Their furs they had long since laid aside, and, ere long, their jackets followed; but the feeling of oppression seemed to lessen not a whit.

Their tongues were dry as parchment, despite the copious draughts of water with which they attempted to slake their thirst.

The food which Garth had prepared lay untasted on the saloon table; for their terrible situation had, for the time, at any rate, driven all thoughts of eating from the explorers’ minds.

The engineer was still below, striving even yet to discover the cause of the—to him—inexplicable behaviour of his engines.

“I am sorry for this, my friends,” Mervyn said at length, with a strange, unnatural quiver in his voice. “Would God I had never led you on this fatal voyage! As for me, I have almost reached the allotted span; my work is done, and I may as well face death here as elsewhere. But you had many years of life before you yet, had it not been for this ill-fated journey, and my own death will be embittered by the thought that I have led you into yours.”

The American fixed his piercing eyes upon the scientist’s face as he finished speaking.

“See here, Mervyn,” he said, “don’t you go blamin’ yourself for what ain’t your fault. I guess not one of us reckoned on strikin’ this yer magnetic volcano, else we’d ha’ come in a wooden boat, ’stead of this old steel tank. What we’ve got to do as I figure it out is to keep a stiff lip to the last. I calculate me an’ Seymour’s been in tighter corners than this before now, an’ come out right side up after all, eh, William?”

“Yes,” Seymour replied, “we’ve pulled some big things off together, you and I, Silas, but I am afraid this is the end. We only realise our own weakness when we are pitted against the forces of Nature. Great Heaven!”

His sentence ended in a startled exclamation, as a monster boulder, white-hot from the crater-mouth, hurtled close over the turret roof and splashed into the lake, hissing and spluttering scarce three yards from the stern of the Seal.

But of all the showers of glowing missiles which followed, not one came near the boat.

Her very nearness to the base of the cone proved her salvation from this frightful peril; for the flying boulders, any one of which could have crushed the Seal to scrap-iron, whizzed high overhead, illuminating the waters of the lake with a fiery glare, as they plunged, hissing, beneath the surface.

The beach beneath the vessel heaved and fell, and tongues of flame leapt from the lake, to meet the glowing hail of stones.

The outer line of cliffs bent and swayed as though shaken by a giant hand, and, amid all this fearful confusion, rang the thunderous reports from the crater, deafening and terrible.

Crash succeeded crash, explosion followed explosion, and the waters of the lake, lashed to fury, once more roared over the helpless Seal.

For the second time since her arrival in this gloomy lake the vessel was submerged.

When the waters again receded the din of the eruption had ceased, but the brooding silence—pregnant with sinister meaning—which had followed, was almost worse than the volcanic outbreak.

The character of the surrounding cliffs was altogether changed.

Where the canyon had been a steaming wall of rock towered, its summit lost to sight in the overhanging veil of smoke, so that there was now no possible means of escape to the sea!

The watchers gazed with despairing eyes upon this fresh misfortune.

It was the last straw.

“Wal, I guess that fixes us,” the Yankee snapped; “unless there happens to be a miracle knockin’ around, this yer outfit’s on its last legs.”

His words sent a shiver through his comrades. Knowing Haverly as they did, knowing the indomitable spirit of the man, the words sounded as their death-warrant.

Bad indeed was the case when Silas gave up hope.

“Say, Mervyn,” he continued, after a pause of a few moments, “you call this location the North Pole? I reckon if I had the naming of it, it ’uld be the ‘Gate of Hell,’ spelt large. Of all the God-forsaken parts I ever struck, this romps in an easy first. The Yellowstone Badlands are a paradise to this yer settlement!”

Hereafter a gloomy silence settled upon the party, broken at length by the appearance of Wilson.

“The thing’s beyond me!” he exclaimed; “not a rod is out of place, not a screw is missing, yet never a stroke can I get out of them for all my trying.”

In a few terse sentences Garth explained to the engineer the cause of the breaking down of the machinery.

“Great Scott!” cried Wilson, “you don’t mean——?”

He broke off short, as a rumbling explosion burst from the crater.

The eruption had recommenced!

Moving to the window, Wilson peered out through the steam-covered glass. As he did so a great shaft of flame shot upward from the water alongside, scorching the paint on the vessel’s hull.

With a startled exclamation the engineer shrank back from the window.

“Can nothing be done?” he asked, turning to Garth.

“Nothing,” returned the inventor, “for, see, even could we get the engines to work, the passage to the sea is blocked.”

“But you cannot mean that there is no hope?” Wilson persisted. “Surely there is some way out of this accursed lake?”

“Then I guess it’s got to be found,” the Yankee broke in sharply. “This is how the thing pans out: if we stop here it means suffocatin’; if we bust the glass and clear outside, the sulphur’ll do the trick for us in a little less than no time.”

“It resolves itself into a choice of deaths,” remarked Seymour, “one slow and terrible, the other terrible enough, but mercifully swift.”

“Precisely,” agreed the millionaire; “but I reckon there’s no manner of sense in rushin’ on your fate. I’m stayin’ right here.”

Even as the words left his lips, a series of deafening explosions rang out, each one louder than the preceding: the whole culminating in one stupendous crash, which shook the island to its very foundations.

While yet the last echoes of this fearful cannonade reverberated amid the cliffs, a giant wave roared furiously up from the bed of the lake, and tearing the Seal from her sandy bed, bore her fifty feet into the air.

For one brief instant it swayed there, then its crest curled over, and with a thunderous roar, it plunged downward.

Downward—the water seething and boiling around the vessel, threatening each moment to beat in the glass of the turret; still downward—the Seal whirling like a straw in the grip of the maddened waters, and the occupants of her turret clinging for dear life to the walls. The deck of the vessel sloped like the roof of a house as she surged downward in the glissade of waters.

Behind her an inky wall curled and foamed, urging her into the depths. Then suddenly she righted for a moment, and Haverly, gazing out anxiously over the waste of waters from his post at the wheel, caught a glimpse of a fearful black chasm, which yawned where once the bed of the lake had been, and into this the waters were plunging in a mighty cataract.

“My God!” cried the American hoarsely, and even as the prayer left his lips, the vessel lurched, heeled over, and was borne swiftly downward into the depths of the abyss.

OVER THE CATARACT’S BRINK.

TWICE the Seal turned turtle in the course of that terrible dive, dashing her crew with stunning force against the turret walls. In vain they strove to regain their balance. Helpless as logs they were hurled to and fro, until, battered beyond all human endurance, they one and all sank into insensibility.

And still the submarine plunged downward, still she lurched and wallowed in the rioting waters.

Suddenly she was brought up with a fearful shock that snapped off both propellers like rotten sticks. A veritable avalanche of water thundered down upon her, battering her hull so that the steel plates groaned beneath the enormous strain.

Each instant it seemed as though the stout glass of the turret must be beaten in; yet it held bravely, and at length the downpour ceased, and the Seal shot forward like an arrow.

Two hours went by, and then Haverly recovered his senses. Staggering to his feet, he steadied himself against the wheel, and gazed outside.

The rays of the great searchlight gleamed white and dazzling on the walls and roof of a rocky tunnel, through which the Seal was racing at headlong speed, urged on by the fearful force of the torrent, on whose foaming bosom she was borne.

With an effort—so enfeebled was he by his terrible experience—Silas moved to the door. To his great joy it opened easily, and he flung it wide, admitting a flood of life-giving air.

“Thank Heaven!” he murmured fervently, damping his parched and blackened lips, while he drew in deep draughts of pure, cool air; “another hour and we’d all have passed in our checks.”

Turning, he found his friends already stirring, their recovery hastened by the beneficent influence of the refreshing atmosphere.

Crowding to the door, they stood for some moments filling their exhausted lungs.

“Whatever have we struck?” Seymour asked at length, gazing in amazement at the dripping, glistening walls of the passage.

“A subterranean river, I reckon,” responded Silas, “an’ one with a fairish slope, judgin’ by the speed we’re travellin’ at.”

“I have no doubt,” Mervyn began, “that this strange tunnel is of volcanic origin; at one time probably a lava passage, through which the molten metal was forced from the bowels of the earth to the crater of the volcano we have left far behind us.”

“If that is true,” interrupted Seymour, “we are plunging each instant deeper and deeper into the bowels of the globe, and at the present moment must be far down below the bed of the Polar Sea!”

“Exactly!” returned Mervyn. “We started upon this trip as a North Polar expedition, but it seems we are to end up with a journey to the centre of the earth. Whether we ever return therefrom depends wholly upon Providence.”

“Then where shall we end up?” the inventor asked, his face a picture of incredulous amazement. “I mean, what is there below?”

“Heaven alone knows,” the scientist returned gravely; “yet, as we have been delivered in so marvellous a manner from the grip of the magnetic mountain, we will hope for the best.”

“I guess we’ve just got to sit tight and see it through,” cried the Yankee. “Without her screws the old boat’s as helpless as a log, though I doubt if they’d ha’ been any use against this darned current. I calculate that feed you was preparin’ would be acceptable at the present period, Garth.”

Taking the hint conveyed in the last sentence, the inventor withdrew, and soon from below came the rattle of crockery and the clatter of knives and forks. The walls of the tunnel still flashed by in an eternal monotony, and long, pendant mosses, trailing their slimy lengths from the rocky roof, seemed to writhe and twist like dark green snakes as the vessel swept past beneath them.

And with every yard of her advance—and this was the thought that haunted her crew—the Seal plunged deeper into the unknown depths of the earth!

Her pace became terrific as the time went by, and the eyes of the watchers in her turret were strained ahead, expecting—yet dreading—each moment that some fearful abyss would yawn before them, in the black depths of which their faithful vessel would be swallowed up.

Steering was utterly out of the question, even had the vessel not been damaged; for so great was the speed, that no sooner had they sighted a dangerous curve in the tunnel, of an out-jutting rock, than the Seal was upon it. The swiftness of the current alone prevented the submarine from shattering herself to fragments against the numerous obstacles.

Glad were the party when Garth’s voice summoned them below, and, leaving the vessel to take care of herself, they retired, to forget for a while the danger of their novel position in the pleasures of the table.

Then, when their hunger was satisfied, they resumed their places in the turret, wondering what would be the end of their marvellous and terrible journey. Now the roof of the passage would sink, until a few inches only separated the rock from the top of the turret; anon it would rise and become lost to sight as the Seal swept into some vast subterranean chamber, whose midnight darkness the light of the great arc-light seemed but to render more intense, as it trembled through it for a brief moment, then vanished as the vessel swept on.

Where would it end?

The fateful question hammered at the watchers’ brains as they stood through the long hours, silently awaiting the end.

“For Heaven’s sake, speak, some of you!” Seymour cried at last, after a long interval, during which no word had been spoken, “this silence is enough to drive one mad!”

“Of what should we speak, my friend?” the scientist asked gravely. “The while our fate is trembling in the balance, our lives hanging, as it were, upon a thread, there seems but little attraction in conversation, however interesting in the ordinary course of events the subject may be.”

“I hold there’s no call to despair yet awhile,” Silas interrupted sharply; “the old Seal’s a stayer, an’ so long as she keeps her end up, we’ll pull through.”

“Good old Silas!” Seymour cried, clapping his friend on the back.

“Wal, it’s this way,” Haverly went on, “I’ve come out of so many tight corners with a whole skin, that one more or less makes no difference. You Britishers pride yourselves on your ‘never say die’ motto. I guess this is a suitable time to apply the same. Say, William, you recollect that little bit of a scrap on the Amazon, six years back?”

“Rather,” Seymour returned.

“Wal, I reckon as that was considerable tighter than the present situation. You see, professor, it——”

He broke off abruptly, as from somewhere far ahead came a murmuring drone, like the first low note of some giant organ.

“What is it?” Mervyn asked.

The millionaire flung open the door.

A cool, damp wind, laden with spray, whistled up the tunnel, and the drone grew in volume as the submarine swept on.

A puzzled expression passed over Haverly’s features as he stood listening for some moments.

Then his brow cleared and he slammed to the door.

“I guess we’re nearing the end,” he said; “it’s the sound of a waterfall.”

His comrades gazed despairingly into each other’s faces. What they had feared for so long was about to happen.

Somewhere, not far ahead, the river thundered into space over the brink of some subterranean precipice, and towards this spot the Seal was racing.

The water hissed and foamed about her stern, and long lines of bubbles, gleaming like pearls beneath the searchlight’s glare, danced far ahead, to lose themselves in the darkness of the tunnel.

And ever the drone grew louder, moment by moment, until the Seal, flashing round a curve, swept out into a huge, arched cavern, and the droning note changed to a thunderous roar—the voice of a mighty cataract!

Every plate, every rib which went to form the vessel’s frame, sang with the vibration of the falling waters.

Ahead, the watchers could see the waters leaping, tumbling, foaming in mad confusion, and, beyond, a mighty cloud of mist hovered, veiling, like a white curtain, the terrors of the fearful abyss into which the river plunged.

“Hold tight!” roared Haverly, his voice ringing clear and true above the din of the falling waters.

The others gazed, half fascinated, in spite of the peril at the scene before them. Swiftly the vessel sped on to her doom, the dancing waves lapping her hull playfully as they hurried her forward.

Helpless as a log, the splendid craft was turned and twisted in the grip of the cataract. She paused for an instant as she reached the verge, like some terrified animal shying from a leap; then a tremor passed through her plates, and she plunged swiftly over into the depths.

Pale as death were her crew, yet never a cry escaped them as their stout vessel pitched downward, stern in air.

Through each man’s mind ran the same question: was there deep water beneath the fall, or a row of jagged rocks, on whose giant teeth the unfortunate Seal would shatter herself into a thousand fragments!

The time seemed interminable! Would she never stop falling?

In reality a few seconds only were occupied by the descent, but to the explorers ages seemed to pass, ere, with a terrible crash, the submarine struck the foaming whirlpool below the cataract.

High above the boom of the waters sounded the shock of that fall, and a huge column of spray was flung upward by the impact of the vessel’s hull.

Her crew, shaken from their hold, were hurled like puppets against the walls of the turret, and a merciful oblivion once more swept over them.

Quickly the vessel was beaten downwards by the enormous weight of the plunging water. Lower and still lower she went, whirling madly, until it seemed as though she would never rise again.

Thrice she was swept round in the grip of the whirlpool, only to be drawn back once more to the foot of the fall, as the needle is drawn to the magnet. By some miraculous chance she escaped collision with the rocky walls which formed the basin of the boiling cauldron, although many times within an ace of destruction.

Then she was once more swept forward, and this time, escaping the power of the eddy, sped out into the river beyond.

A mile lower down she came to the surface and drifted on, her searchlight gleaming through the darkness like the eye of some huge aquatic monster. Hour after hour passed, and still she was borne gently forward on the bosom of the subterranean river. The roar of the fall died to a murmur as she floated on, and at length ceased altogether.

Past iron-toothed rocks she drifted, which reared their jagged crests threateningly amid the swirling waters; past huge caverns and grottoes, the stalactites of which flashed crystal like as the electric light penetrated for an instant into their dark obscurity; past seething mud-banks, in the midst of which foul, loathsome forms sprawled and wallowed.

And still her crew lay unconscious in the wheelhouse, knowing naught of the perils through which their craft was passing.

Slowly the force of the current expended itself, and at length the Seal, drifting into shoal water, grounded gently on a shelving bank of mud.

Then, out from the filth and mire of the mud-flats on either hand, hideous heads were thrust, and monstrous goggle eyes glared upon the motionless vessel.

Moving with a strange, shuffling motion, full a score of these horrible river-creatures—loathsome beyond all imagination—shambled towards the Seal.

Their great claws—hideous in their likeness to men’s hands—were outstretched eagerly, ravenously, and their green eyes were aglow with fiendish desire. Soon they reached the rail, and, gripping it, dragged their misshapen bodies aboard.

Gibbering and snarling, the monsters crept along the deck until they reached the turret, the glass of which appeared to puzzle them for some little time. Then one shambled to the rail and plunged over, returning shortly with a fragment of rock, with which he presently began to batter the glass.

Bang! bang! Even the stout, specially-toughened glass of the turret could not long withstand those blows. Bang! The creature’s arms rose and fell with tireless, machine-like monotony. His fellows, squatting upon their haunches, awaited his efforts impatiently.

Ere long the sound of the blows penetrated to Haverly’s brain, and he stirred uneasily. As it noted the movement, the river-creature paused in its attack, and, pressing its hideous face against the glass, glared ferociously at the American.

Slowly Silas rose, steadying himself against the wheel; then, as his eyes swept round the turret, he encountered the malignant gaze of the horror without, and, with a startled exclamation, he leapt back, drawing his revolver.

At that the river-creature once more raised its clumsy weapon, and dashed it with terrible force against the glass of the door.

With a splintering crash the door burst open, and, as one, the whole band of waiting monsters rose, and, with teeth gnashing savagely, plunged towards the doorway.

THE LAND OF ETERNAL TWILIGHT.

Crack! The Yankee’s revolver spoke viciously, and the foremost, with a shuddering death-sob, dropped in his tracks.

Two others, stumbling over his prostrate form, also fell to Haverly’s unerring aim; whereupon the rest, gibbering savagely, paused in their advance, seeming to be undecided whether to resume the attack or no.

At that instant, whilst they still hesitated, and the American was hoping that they would retire, Garth—aroused from his swoon by the din—sat up.

One glimpse he caught of the nightmare-like forms clustered beyond the doorway, then a terrified cry burst from his lips.

“Great Heavens! What devils!”

He leapt to his feet, and at that, as though aroused to fresh fury by his movement, the river-creatures burst en masse through the doorway.

Never will Garth forget that terrible moment!

Often, long afterwards, he would awake, trembling in every limb, from some hideous dream, wherein he was once more at close grips with the loathsome inhabitants of the subterranean river.

The whole thing was a nightmare of glaring eyes and grabbing, misshapen limbs, and through it all the inventor, scarcely yet recovered from his long period of insensibility, was conscious of but one thing, the intermittent cracking of the millionaire’s weapons.

The turret was filled with smoke, through which the ghastly forms of the attackers loomed monstrous and terrible.

Suddenly the sound of Haverly’s revolvers ceased: his last chamber was empty!

But the creatures had had enough. Eight of their number lay dead, while two or three of the rest were badly wounded, and, obeying a common impulse, they dragged themselves through the doorway, shambled across the deck, and plunged overboard.

“Thank Heaven!” Haverly’s voice was a trifle shaky as he mopped his smoke-grimed brow.

“Amen!” Garth responded fervently; then, fearing that his nerve would give way unless he exerted himself, he applied his energies to the restoration of his unconscious friends; while the Yankee, dragging the hideous relics of the narrowly-averted disaster to the rail, flung them far out into the stream.

Soon Garth had the satisfaction of seeing his three friends once more upon their feet. Badly shaken they were by their terrible plunge over the cataract, yet thankful that they had been spared the ordeal which had fallen to the lot of Garth and the Yankee.

“I guess there’s no call to make a fuss,” the latter said as they crowded round him. “I couldn’t have been knocked about so badly as you, or I wouldn’t have come to in time to check those brutes.”

“Thank God you did!” the scientist cried. “This must be a warning to us in the future. Knowing that this subterranean river contains such monstrous creatures, we must be ever upon our guard, lest upon another occasion they should succeed in overcoming us.”

His listeners shuddered at his words.

Though none but Silas and the inventor had seen the river-creatures—mud devils, Garth called them—yet the latter’s vivid description of the things had aroused in the three an unspeakable horror and loathing.

For a week the Seal remained aground on the mud-bank, while Garth and the engineer, often up to the waist in water, thoroughly overhauled her, fixing duplicate propellers in place of those broken, and replacing the shattered glass with new panes from the store-room.

Numerous minor damages which the Seal had sustained in her leap they also repaired.

And over them, while they worked, Haverly and the baronet took turns on guard, but no further sign came from the river-creatures, save that once a hideous head rose out of the mud fifty feet from the Seal, to vanish like a flash ere Seymour, who was on guard at the time, could draw trigger.

No attack followed this appearance, however, and at length all was completed. The last rivet had been driven into place, the last bolt fixed, and nothing remained but to get the Seal afloat once more.

Grasping the wheel, Haverly signalled for full speed astern; the propellers began to revolve, and, slowly but surely, the submarine glided off the mud-bank into deep water. An instant’s pause while the engines were reversed, and then the Seal moved forward on the bosom of the subterranean river at ten knots to the hour. Between the heaving mud-flats she glided, from the surfaces of which arose a nauseous odour of decaying matter, and a dense, malarial vapour ascended, to lose itself in the inky darkness that veiled the cavern roof.

For here neither walls nor roof were visible. Nought met the eye but the water—wherein slimy water-snakes writhed and twisted—and the seething mud. Scarce a wave rippled the placid surface of the stream, save those occasioned by the passage of the Seal, and not a sound broke the profound stillness of the vast cavern but the purring note of the engines.

So two days went by, with nothing to disturb the dreary monotony of the depressing voyage. Ever the same muddy, grey prospect stretched before the explorers, and they had begun to wonder whether they should ever find a way out of this loathsome river, when something happened.

Haverly was at the wheel, the others being below, engaged in their several duties, when a shout brought them rushing into the turret.

“Look!” cried the American, pointing ahead.

The Seal had passed out of the river, and, before them, shimmering in the rays of the searchlight, rolled a vast, subterranean sea.

To starboard, a cable length away, a low, sandy shore was visible, clothed almost to the water’s edge with a weird and curious vegetation which sparkled and gleamed with a dazzling lustre.

Flinging open the door, Seymour stepped out on deck, quickly followed by Garth and the professor.

“The heart of the globe!” the latter cried excitedly. “A subterranean world! My friends, we have the honour to be the discoverers of an unknown world. Steer her close in, Silas; I am curious to know what manner of growths those are.”

There was cause for the old scientist’s excitement. An absolutely unknown world lay before them, untrodden—for aught they knew—by any human foot, a world whose stupendous size was veiled as yet from their knowledge by its weird and ghostly twilight.

Above them the gloom hung thick as a funeral pall, a dense eternal canopy of midnight darkness.

How far down they were beneath the earth’s surface they dared not think. Sufficient for them to know that, somewhere above them, perhaps thousands upon thousands of feet, was the vast dome which formed the inner roof of this subterranean world. They could but stare upward into the darkness, open-mouthed, and marvel at the immensity of it all.

The weird growths ashore puzzled them not a little, even Mervyn for a while being perplexed to give a name to the things. Fleshy as a cactus, and having a somewhat similar branching habit of growth, each glowed throughout its entire length, as though an electric bulb were hidden within its pulpy heart.

The things were weirdly beautiful as they towered there—many of them over twenty feet in height—flashing a rainbow-hued challenge to the great arc lamp of the Seal. They were Nature’s own illuminants, without which this underworld would have been dark as Hades.

Suddenly a cry came from Mervyn.

“I have it!” he cried. “They are fungi—luminous fungi!”

“Fungi!” exclaimed his comrades in a breath.

“Luminous fungi!” repeated the scientist triumphantly, “but of such vast size that they more nearly resemble trees. If we ever succeed in making our way back to civilisation our news will astonish the world.”

“I don’t know,” Garth murmured. “It seems to me that you will have great difficulty in getting anyone to believe your statements. For instance, who will believe that the interior of the globe is hollow and contains an immense sea, and probably a great continent. See, there is a range of hills.”

It was true. Far away in the distance, their existence betrayed by the glittering vegetation which clothed their slopes, rose a line of hills; and between them and the shore stretched a vast forest of luminous fungi—a gleaming jungle of fleshy growths.

“I’m afraid you’re right, Garth,” said the professor somewhat ruefully, “yet that will not prevent me revealing my knowledge should we ever return.”

“Do you think there is any game in the jungle there, Mervyn?” asked the baronet at this point.

“Probably,” returned the scientist, “but I would not build upon it if I were you, lest you are disappointed. A run ashore will be acceptable to all of us, I expect?”

“Rather!” replied Garth. “See, there’s a little bay into which we might run the vessel.”

Already Silas had sighted the spot the inventor mentioned, and, putting the wheel over, he steered the submarine for the entrance.

Ere long she was lying securely moored to a huge black rock which thrust its scarred surface some feet above the wave-crests; then Haverly and the engineer joined the group on deck, and they fell to discussing the proposed trip ashore.

“We must go well armed,” the baronet said.

“That goes without saying,” replied Haverly, “and I guess yer Uncle Sile ’ud better go along with you to see as you don’t get into trouble. You see, you might get lost in this yer plaguey jungle without the guidance of yer humble.”

“Oh. come, Silas!” Seymour laughingly retorted, “draw it mild, you know.”

“As legal adviser to this yer outfit,” returned Silas drily, “I feel kinder called on to keep an eye on you young fellers.”

“Oh, dry up, you old fraud,” Garth cried, rolling up a pellet of paper and dexterously flipping it on to the tip of the Yankee’s nose.

“See here, sonny,” the latter remarked in mock severity, rubbing his offended nasal organ the while, “I reckon you’re considerable lackin’ in due and proper respect for yer elders. What was yer mommer thinkin’ about to bring you up in such a style? I’m shocked, young feller, real shocked!”

A roar of laughter greeted this quaint speech.

“Well, if you don’t take the proverbial biscuit, Silas,” the engineer said; then a gigantic ripple passed over the water alongside.

“What was that?” Mervyn cried sharply.

Quick as a flash came the answer, but in a terrible and unexpected manner.

A long, lithe, whip-like tentacle, its under-side armed with hundreds of terrible suckers, writhed up over the rail, swayed for an instant high above the Seal, then fell heavily across the deck.

The startling suddenness of this attack paralysed the explorers for a moment, and, ere they could recover their wits, a second great arm hissed upward, and flung its wet and glistening length around the rail.

“A squid!” gasped the Yankee.

As he spoke, a third tentacle wriggled into view, and the Seal listed slightly beneath the grip of those terrible arms.

Recovering from his stupor, Haverly made a dash for the turret; but, ere he could reach it, with a curling snap—for all the world like the crack of a whiplash—a giant feeler coiled about his waist.

High above the deck he was lifted, struggling desperately, yet vainly, against the grip of the suckers which seared his flesh like red-hot iron.

His fearful plight aroused his comrades to a sense of their own peril, and, as two more tentacles flashed over the rail, Seymour leapt into the wheelhouse.

Escaping by a miracle the writhing, groping arms of the cephalopod, and urged to action by the feeble groans of the American—fast becoming exhausted by the unequal struggle—Seymour entered the turret. Snatching down a couple of axes from the rack, he skimmed them towards his friends; then, with a third, he commenced a furious attack upon the nearest tentacle.

Two lusty blows, with all the baronet’s giant strength behind them, and the great arm fell with a whack across the deck, wriggling still, although severed from the monstrous, pulpy body which gave it life. Springing forward, the baronet was about to lop in twain the tentacle which held his friend, when the Seal heeled over, almost flinging him from the deck. With great difficulty he regained his balance; then a cry escaped him. Out of the water alongside came a huge, black body, armed with many more feelers. Slowly it dragged itself, clutching and clawing, over the rail, falling heavily inboard with a shock which threatened to capsize the Seal.

The octopus had come aboard!

There was something so weird, so uncanny in the appearance of the brute; something so diabolical about the writhing, twisting arms, as they groped and waved over the deck, that Seymour stood for an instant, half fascinated.

The creature’s great eyes glared like green lamps, and its parrot-like beak snapped viciously, while from its pulpy body came an overpowering odour of musk.

Suddenly a shrill cry of terror burst from Wilson. One of the great thrashing feelers had gripped him, and, dropping his axe in his deadly fear, the unfortunate engineer strove with all his strength to dislodge the suckers.

As he was dragged slowly towards that terrible beak, an inspiration swept into his brain.

“Quick, Seymour!” he gasped. “Your elephant gun!”

Quick as thought the baronet leapt back into the turret, and took down the great gun from its rack.

Slipping a couple of shells into the breech, he took a quick aim at the great, glaring orbs of the cephalopod, and fired both barrels.

The recoil of the weapon sent him reeling backward against the wheelhouse wall, but he recovered himself in a moment, and sprang forward to note the result of his shot.

The explosive cartridges had almost shattered the monstrous, pulpy body, and the mighty tentacles were feebly beating the deck.

A few strokes with the hatchet quickly freed the two victims, both of whom were more dead than alive by this time.

Carefully they bore them below to their cabins; then, leaving them in the care of the scientist, Garth and Seymour returned to the deck, to clear away the remains of their terrible visitor.

“What a brute!” the inventor exclaimed with a shudder, as he plied his axe upon the ghastly, slippery mass; “if it hadn’t been for that gun of yours, Seymour, he’d have had the lot of us.”

“True enough,” replied the baronet; “but who would have imagined the brute would board us?”

Three hours it took to clear the deck of the mass of jelly-like pulp, Garth chopping it into fragments, which Seymour shovelled over the rail. And even then there was life in the creature, the severed feelers twitching feebly when they were touched. Two of the longest of these latter they measured, finding both to be over twenty feet long.

Two days passed ere the Yankee and Wilson were able to resume their duties, and for long afterwards a great ring of scars about the waist of each testified to the narrowness of their escape from the grip of the giant octopus.

On the third day after this adventure—the explorers could but reckon days by the calendar in this gloomy subterranean world—the engines were once more started, and the Seal soon left the scene of the struggle far behind.

Along the low, sandy shore she sped for many miles, until Seymour, no longer able to restrain his restlessness, announced his intention of going ashore.

“I’m with you,” Garth said, and rushed below to make preparations.

Steering the vessel close inshore, Haverly brought her to. Seymour ran out the gangway, then followed Garth below, returning shortly with a magazine rifle slung over his shoulder, while from his pocket bulged the grim outline of a revolver.

“Who is coming?” he asked.

“I guess I’ll stay and look after the old boat,” returned Silas, and Wilson—still feeling somewhat shaky from his terrible adventure with the great cephalopod—decided to remain with him.

Strapping on a specimen case, the scientist joined Garth and Seymour, and the three, passing over the gangway, stepped ashore.

“Take care,” the engineer called after them.

“Never fear,” was Garth’s cheery reply; and so they departed, light-heartedly, on a trip which was to bring at least two of them face to face with death in its most terrible form, vanishing at length from the sight of their friends amid the towering growths of fungi jungle.

Around them the strange and lustrous growths rose in lavish confusion, the ground between being thickly carpeted with glorious mosses, the flowers of which gleamed like pearls on a background of dark green velvet.

The professor was in raptures over the rare treasures of this subterranean world, and soon his specimen case was packed full as possible, and his pockets were in a like condition.

New beauties dawned upon them with every step they took. Fungi in every fantastic shape towered around, shimmering silver-like through the ghostly twilight.

“It is a land of eternal twilight!” Mervyn exclaimed, pausing for a moment to rest. “Nowhere else would these strange, uncanny fungi grow to advantage; but here, in this dim land, they fulfil a useful mission. See what curious forms some of the growths take!”

Here rose a towering fungus, like nothing so much as a giant hand; there one like an immense mushroom; others there were like spectral palms, but all glowed with a brilliance that was dazzling to the eye.

The baronet, less interested than his companions in these natural beauties, kept a sharp look-out for game of any description, well knowing that fresh meat, were it obtainable, would be a welcome addition to their stores. But the jungle seemed silent as the grave. No form moved amid the fungi, and the scientist was not slow to remark upon this strange absence of life.

“It is very strange,” he said, “that hitherto we have seen neither reptile nor beast. One would have thought that amid these jungles many forms of life would have found a home; yet perhaps this absence of life is a peculiar feature of this weird world?”

“It’s a bit slow,” growled Seymour, “after the forests of the upper world, with their myriads of animals——”

The words died on his lips, as, out of the distance, trembled a weird howl.

“Wolves!” he cried grimly; “we were mistaken about the absence of life, Mervyn,” and, unslinging his rifle, he examined the magazine.

Again that thrilling cry vibrated through the silence, like the wail of a lost soul.

Mervyn paused irresolute, glancing anxiously at his comrades.

“Need we return?” he asked of Seymour. He was longing to penetrate further into this unknown land, yet his natural discretion suggested a speedy return to the safety of the vessel.

“It’s no use turning back now,” Seymour answered, “if the brutes have scented us, they’ll be down upon us before we can reach the boat. So forward, and let each of us keep a sharp look-out for a place where we can stand at bay if necessary.”

For the third time that wolfish howl broke upon the ears of the three comrades, then a grim silence fell once more upon the land.

A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY AND ITS SEQUEL.

BUT the mood of the adventurers had changed. No longer did this underworld appear to them as the paradise of beauty they had first thought it. Its very silence seemed full of menace, and Mervyn found himself repeatedly listening to imaginary rustlings among the fungi.

Garth’s interest flagged, too, as time went on, and he longed to retrace his steps, yet, while his comrades held on, he could not for shame suggest return. The boy—for he was little more—was brave enough, but these ghostly jungles were so weird, so unnatural, in their stillness, that it was scarcely to be wondered at that he felt nervous.

And, added to this, was the knowledge that somewhere in these wilds lurked wolves or, at least, some beast with the voice of a wolf.

Yet no sign did Garth show of his growing uneasiness, save that his hand tightened on the butt of the revolver in his pocket.

Seymour alone—his sporting instincts fully aroused—was in his element; indeed, it is not too much to say that he was longing for an encounter with some beast; his finger itched to press the trigger; yet, although he looked around keenly, he could discover nothing on which to test his aim.

Mervyn moved a few paces in advance, for the discovery of a fresh fungus of rather peculiar growth had rekindled his scientific zeal, and, despite Seymour’s repeated warnings as to the danger of such a course, he plunged fearlessly in among the fungi in search of fresh treasures, often being lost to the sight of his friends for some moments, then reappearing with a choice specimen for their inspection.

Suddenly an excited cry burst from his lips, and his friends, fearing that some accident had befallen him, hurried in the direction of the sound.

They found him standing upon the crest of a rocky ridge, which broke away sharply upon the other side, descending precipitously into a small valley, the sides of which were fairly ablaze with a mass of trailing fungi, somewhat after the habit of ivy in growth.

“What is it?” they asked as they joined him.

“Sh!” was the whispered warning. “Look there!”

Then they saw. In the midst of the fairy-like glade, with its mighty sides rising and falling by its heavy breathing as it slept, lay a monstrous animal.

The glowing light of the fungi revealed with startling distinctness the huge bulk of its body and the great, rhinoceros-like head, which, armed with three fearful horns, was further protected by a ridge of bony plates about the base of the skull.

It needed nought else to enable the explorers to identify the creature.

“Triceratops!” gasped Garth and the baronet in a breath.

“Triceratops!” repeated Mervyn triumphantly; “one of the first inhabitants of the globe! It seems too good to be true. That it has been permitted for us to discover the monster here, in these wilds, when the whole species was thought to be extinct eras ago, is a slice of luck which we cannot too highly appreciate.”

“What a monstrous brute!” Seymour exclaimed. “Of course, I have often read of the creature, but never, in the wildest stretch of my imagination, did I dream of a monster so vast. Why, the brute must be thirty-five feet long if it’s an inch!”

“And look at the armour plates along its back,” Garth added; “nothing less than a six-inch shell would penetrate that hide!”

The professor, note-book in hand, was busily scribbling down a description of the monster.

“Total length,” he murmured as he wrote, “thirty-five feet. I think that is what you said, Seymour?”

“About that,” replied the baronet.

“Length of skull, eight feet,” Mervyn went on, standing perilously close to the edge of the ridge, and leaning far over in his eagerness to obtain a good view of the Triceratops.

“Take care!” Seymour cried sharply, “or you’ll fall.”

Scarcely had he spoken when the catastrophe he feared happened.

The treacherous ground crumbled beneath the scientist’s feet, and, amid an avalanche of loose stones and débris, he pitched headlong into the glade.

But for a fortunate chance he would assuredly have broken his neck in the fall. Instead of striking the solid ground below, Mervyn landed with a thud upon the back of the sleeping monster.

The shock awoke the creature, and, with a hoarse snort of rage, it rose to its feet, shaking itself furiously to dislodge its unnatural burden.

Terrible enough it had looked as it lay asleep, but now, in its rage, its appearance was enough to daunt the boldest.

Small wonder that Mervyn was half mad with terror, as, clutching desperately at the monster’s bony necklet, he strove to prevent the brute unseating him, and pounding him to a jelly beneath its terrible hoofs, which, even now, were trampling the floor of the glade in a paroxysm of fury.

At length, finding himself utterly unable to get rid of the encumbrance, the monster broke out of the glade at a lumbering trot, and thundered across the plain which lay beyond.

As for Garth and Seymour, they stood for a few seconds as though stunned. The thing had happened so suddenly that it had paralysed their powers of action, dried up the fountain of their energies.

When at last they recovered their scattered wits, the two scrambled recklessly down the side of the ridge and hurried out on to the plain.

But the thunderous tread of the Triceratops had already died away, and there was no sign of their friend.

“We must follow the trail,” Seymour muttered, pointing to the broadly-defined track made by the monster’s hoofs, which stretched away into the darkness.

“Yes,” Garth assented, with a quiver in his voice, “and may Heaven grant we find him safe!”

The plain looked particularly gloomy and uninviting, owing to the almost total absence of fungi, save for a few isolated clumps, whose presence but made the twilight more gloomy by contrast.

Yet over it the twain must go if they would find their friend, daring its hidden dangers, and braving all the terrors of this unknown land. So, looking well to their weapons, the two comrades stepped out.

Hardly had they taken half a dozen paces when once more that thrilling, wolfish cry arose, but this time it came from somewhere close at hand.

Seymour pulled up sharply, listening intently.

“By Jove! they’ve scented us!” he cried as the howl was repeated. “Back into the valley; we shall stand a better chance there.”

Quick as a flash he turned, and leapt for the glade they had left.

Garth, following, tripped over a trailing fungus, and, losing his footing, pitched heavily to earth. Ere he could rise a bony hand gripped his neck; he received a sharp blow on the head, and then consciousness left him.

“Where are you, Garth?” Seymour called; “this is the way.”

Alarmed at receiving no answer, the baronet retraced his steps.

“Garth!” he cried. “Hilton! Where are you, old chap?” But there was no answer, save the echoes which seemed to mock; even the wolf-like howls had ceased, and Seymour appeared to be the only living thing in the whole ghostly underworld.

Anxiously he searched the ground around, but not a trace could he find of his comrade. For over an hour he sought diligently, eagerly, yet all his efforts were vain. It seemed as though the earth had opened and swallowed the unfortunate inventor. Mervyn’s accident had seemed terrible enough, but Garth’s disappearance eclipsed even that. It was so appallingly mysterious!

Not a sound had Seymour heard but the wolf cries, yet his friend had been snatched almost from under his nose, and that without the baronet catching even a glimpse of his abductors.

“It’s maddening!” he burst forth at length. “Something must have carried him off. He cannot have disappeared into thin air! I’ll fetch Silas, and between the pair of us we may pick up some sort of a trail.”

So ruminating, with his mind still exercised with the baffling problem, he turned, climbed the ridge, and retraced his steps through the jungle.

Suddenly he stopped, thinking he heard a footstep behind him; but nothing could he see moving, and, telling himself that the disappearance of his friend had shaken his nerve and made him fanciful, he pressed on once more.

Three minutes later he pulled up again, and this time he knew there was no mistake. Something was dogging his steps, moving when he moved, and stopping when he came to a halt!

For an instant a wild, unreasoning fear swept over him, urging him to break into a run, but, with an exclamation of disgust at his own weakness, he shook it off, and moved forward again, cool, determined, and watchful.

But once more behind him came those ghostly footsteps.

Roused to a fury by the grim persistency of the thing which was tracking him, Seymour faced round with a jerk, and fired point-blank into the fungi behind him. As the report of the rifle rang out, a fearful death-scream awoke the echoes of the underworld, a scream so full of diabolical rage and impotent fury that the usually iron-nerved baronet trembled like a child as he heard it.

Controlling his agitation with some difficulty, he moved cautiously towards the spot whence the cry had come; but, though he searched long and well, he could see no sign of the creature he had shot, save in one place, where the green of the moss was disfigured by a dark, red stain.

At length he moved on again, with that fearful cry still ringing through his ears, and his heart throbbing madly with a nameless fear.

What creature was it, he wondered, that could give voice to a cry like that? What animal could it be that tracked him with such devilish cunning? Doubtless when he discovered that, he would have found the key to the mysterious fate of the inventor. He shuddered still at the mere thought of the cry.

Then, of a sudden, his heart seemed to stand still. Behind him, tireless as ever, came the pad-pad of feet upon the moss!

So there were more than one of these creatures, and they meant to track him down to the end. A cold sweat broke out upon Seymour.

If he could only see the Thing which menaced him; if he but knew the extent, the nature of his danger!

Against visible foes he would have fought with the bull-dog courage which was his chief characteristic, but against the phantom inhabitants of this land of shadows he was helpless.

The jungle, hitherto silent and lifeless, seemed, to his excited fancy, to be full of strange, ghostly sounds. Weird rustlings sounded amid the gleaming vegetation, but above all these noises came the sound of the relentless footsteps of his invisible pursuers.

A choking sob rose in Seymour’s throat, but he crushed it down with a strong effort of will. It seemed so terrible that he, who had come scatheless through so many dangers, should meet his death amid these wilds, at the hands of the terrible creatures that inhabited the jungles.

Yet, in spite of all, he was determined to sell his life dearly if the chance of a fight came to him, and with that intention he swung round suddenly, rifle at shoulder, and for the second time the report of his weapon broke the silence.

At the sound a dark brown shadow leapt up from the shelter of the dense growth, and, with a choking sob, fell back again.

It all happened too quickly for the baronet to catch more than a glimpse of the Thing, but, as he moved forward to discover what creature it was that had fallen to his aim, something flashed through the twilight.

Startled, he pulled up, and the missile, humming past him, stuck quivering in the ground ten paces to the rear.

It was a great, broad-bladed spear!

While yet the baronet stood hesitating, the wolfish howl he had heard before arose from the jungle around him.

It rose, fell, and rose again, then died away in a series of snarling yelps that made Seymour’s blood run cold.

What could these creatures be, he thought, that howled like wolves, and yet used spears?

Once more that terrible chorus rose, until the whole underworld became hideous with the sound.

At that Seymour turned and broke into a run, tearing through the jungle like one possessed. And after him, spectre-like, flitted a crowd of dusky figures, grim and menacing.

THE ELK-HUNTERS.

FOR some time after the departure of their friends, Wilson and Haverly sat yarning, the latter arousing the admiration of the engineer by his thrilling stories of train robberies and Indian fighting on the early railways of the States. Then their talk turned upon their absent comrades, and the American had many a tale to tell of Seymour’s daring in the face of dire peril.

So the time passed pleasantly enough, until suddenly, in the midst of a particularly thrilling yarn, Haverly leapt to his feet and strode to the door.

“What is it?” asked Wilson.

“Listen!” was the reply.

From somewhere in the jungle came a chorus of wolfish yelps, succeeded by a faint cry, “Help!”

“It’s Seymour!” cried the engineer, and snatched up a rifle.

Silas darted out on deck, revolver in hand.

“Help!” The cry was repeated, this time much nearer than before.

Quick as thought, Silas skimmed over the gangway, and leapt ashore, closely followed by the engineer.

As their feet touched the shingle, some heavy body burst out of the jungle.

It was the baronet! Gasping for breath and sweating at every pore from his terrible exertions, he plunged madly down the beach, his eyes fixed in a glassy stare of terror.

Suddenly he stumbled over a loose stone and fell heavily. It was the most fortunate fall he ever had; for, as he pitched forward, three great spears hummed out of the fungi, passing close over his prostrate body.

Had he not tripped, he would certainly have been impaled by the murderous weapons.

Emptying his revolver into the undergrowth to secure immunity from further attack, Haverly assisted his friend aboard, and, after a short rest, Seymour told his story.

“Wal!” exclaimed Silas, when the baronet had finished, “I allow this licks all I ever heard! Mervyn carried off by a tricera—what do you call it?—an’ Garth wiped clean out as though he never existed, without you clappin’ eyes on the brutes that attacked him.”

“What do you advise?” asked Seymour hoarsely; “we must act quickly, whatever course we decide upon. There is a chance—faint, I admit—that our friends are still alive, and if we go well armed we may manage to effect their rescue.”

“And you don’t know what sort of brutes these are, that jumped you?” the American questioned.

“Haven’t the least notion,” was the reply; “but I’ll admit they fairly scared me. Those wolfish cries of theirs completely unmanned me. There was something so devilish about the whole thing that my fear got the better of me, and I bolted for my life.”

“Small blame to you,” replied Silas. “We heard a bit of the entertainment here. But now for business. This is how I figure things out. We’ll sink the boat, an’ trot her along a bit further up the coast, in case any of the gentry that trailed you are hidin’ in the mushroom bed there. Don’t think I funk meetin’ ’em; you know that ain’t my style. But it won’t do to take no chances on a picnic of this yer sort. With the lives of our two pards hangin’ on our efforts, I guess we’ve got to hustle some. I assume you can find that gully you mentioned again?”

“Blindfold!” returned Seymour.

“That’s well. If we don’t strike some kind of a trail, my name ain’t Si. K. Haverly. You don’t mind stoppin’ aboard alone, Wilson?”

“Certainly not,” answered the engineer; “but for Heaven’s sake be careful. If you don’t return, and I am left alone, I think I shall go mad in this ghostly hole!”

“I guess it’ll have to be a mighty smart nigger to get the drop on me and Seymour,” Haverly asserted. “Just skip down to your engines, like a good chap, an’ we’ll get a move on.”

Within a few moments the Seal—totally submerged—was moving cautiously up the coast, under the able guidance of the American, while Seymour hastily packed a couple of knapsacks with provisions necessary for their expedition. Not knowing for how long a time they might be absent, Seymour, with the forethought of an old sportsman, stowed away the greatest possible amount of food in the limited space at his command.

Then, filling a couple of cartridge belts, and chopping a handful of cartridges into his pocket in addition, he judged the preparations for the perilous undertaking to be complete.

For four miles the Seal crept along the coast line, then she was once more raised to the surface, and the two friends made ready to disembark.

“Don’t shift the Seal from here,” Silas said as they stepped ashore. “If we are beaten back we shall make straight for the boat.”

“You may depend on me,” Wilson called, and, at that, the two would-be rescuers plunged into the jungle.

For an hour they pressed on, and, realising full well the need for haste, they put forth every effort, while yet making their passage through the fungi as noiseless as possible.

Scarce a word passed between them, and what little was said was in whispers.

To Seymour, fresh from his terrible experience, every fungi-clump concealed an imaginary foe, and every moment he expected to hear the terrifying cry of his enemies.

But they reached the ridge in safety, and, with a final glance round to assure themselves that they were not followed, they descended into the valley, and passed out on to the plain.

Here Silas produced a small electric lantern, which, with his usual forethought, he had brought with him; and, while Seymour kept a sharp watch for enemies, animal or otherwise, he made a thorough examination of the ground around the entrance to the valley.

The footsteps of the mighty Triceratops were plainly to be seen, but of Garth or his captors there seemed no trace for a time.

Then suddenly a smothered cry left Haverly’s lips.

“Jupiter! I’ve got it!”

Seymour hurried to his side. In the ground at his feet, plainly revealed by the light of the lantern, was the impression of a horrible, ape-like foot, and close beside it was the imprint of a boot.

The baronet gave a whistle of astonishment.

“The brute must have been close behind Garth when we turned for the valley,” he said. “See, here are more footprints leading out across the plain.”

With eyes bent upon the trail, the two comrades moved forward over the spongy ground in the direction of the distant hills.

Two miles they covered, then a certain peculiarity about the trail struck Haverly.

“Say, Seymour,” he remarked, “have you noticed? The footprints of the critturs we’re followin’ run close alongside the trail of the Triceratops. I reckon that looks considerable queer!”

“I think I can tell you what it means,” replied the baronet, after a moment’s thought.

“Wal?” Haverly inquired.

“The brutes must have seen Mervyn carried off,” Seymour asserted, “and have followed the trail in the hopes of his being pitched off the animal’s back, when, of course, they could capture him, if he were still alive, without much trouble.”

“I guess you’re right,” returned the American, and once more silence fell between them.

Three hours went by, and then Silas called a halt.

Flinging themselves down in the shadow of an enormous boulder—only one of many with which the plain was dotted—they made a hasty meal.

They were sitting resting for a short time, ere resuming their journey, when, sudden and terrible, the hideous wolf-cry they knew so well trembled over the plain.

Thrice it was repeated; then, as the two men sprang to their feet in expectation of an attack, the sound of running feet broke upon their ears.

The next instant, through the twilight, loomed the monstrous form of a gigantic elk.

“Jupiter!”

“Great Scott!”

The exclamations burst simultaneously from the two men, as the huge bull—almost as large as an elephant—flashed past them. His great tongue was lolling out, and his mighty sides heaved madly, as the breath poured, hissing, through his nostrils.

He was evidently nearly spent, for, when he had covered a score yards or so, he swung round and stood at bay, with his back against a boulder almost opposite to the one in the shadow of which the rescuers were flattening themselves, with their rifles at the ready.

His towering antlers gleamed like silver in the light of a great fungus growing close at hand; yet, for all the vast size of the creature, for all his great strength, there was something indescribably pathetic in the droop of the proud head, and a great feeling of pity rose in the hearts of the watchers for the hunted brute.

“What a magnificent creature!” Seymour whispered; “but where are its——”

His sentence ended in a choking gasp, and his face paled beneath its tan, as, silent as phantoms, six sinister forms glided out of the shadows.

So hideous were they in form that the two comrades stood as though stunned, every energy being completely paralysed by the horror of the things.

Had the creatures attacked Seymour and the Yankee at that moment theirs would have been an easy victory, for neither man could have lifted a weapon in defence; but they apparently had no idea of the presence of other than themselves.

Their long, fearfully-distorted limbs, their hideous feet and hands, armed with talon-like nails, their lean, emaciated bodies, covered with coarse, brown hair; their low, receding foreheads, flat noses, and immense, protruding, wolf-like fangs—all this, crowned by a mass of thickly-matted hair, which hung almost to the loins, seen in the dim, ghostly twilight of the underworld, made up a picture of diabolical horror such as would be difficult, if not impossible, to beat.

Their thick, coarse lips were drawn back in an everlasting snarl, and their bloodshot eyes gleamed savagely as they sighted the motionless figure of the giant elk.

“What are they?” Haverly whispered hoarsely, when the first shock of their appearance had passed, “men or devils?”

“Heaven knows!” was the low answer. “They are more like wolves than either!”

No scrap of clothing did the creatures wear, save a hide girdle, in which was stuck a broad-bladed knife, fit companion to the deadly-looking spear which each carried in its hand.

Straight towards the great ruminant the creatures glided, their faces aglow with savage expectancy.

Half a dozen paces from their quarry they paused, and, squatting on their haunches in a semicircle, raised a series of ghastly howls which thrilled the two spectators.

The great bull trembled at the sound. Doubtless he knew these wolfish brutes of old; perhaps had been hunted by them, and had managed to shake them off. But now his time had come.

Planting his forefeet firmly, he stood with lowered head, awaiting the end.

Suddenly one of the hunters rose. Gripping his spear firmly with his teeth, he crouched for an instant, then leapt into the air.

The amazing height of his leap staggered the watchers, while rousing a grudging admiration.

“The brute must have sinews like watch-springs!” Seymour whispered, then——

A swift, upward flash of the great palmated antlers, a sound like the ripping of sacking, and, with a fearful death-cry, the daring leaper pitched heavily to the ground.

The elk had drawn first blood!

But it was his last effort in a hopeless struggle. Quick as lightning another of the elk-hunters sprang.

High above the bull’s drooping head he leapt, and, ere the ill-fated animal could make another move, the wolfish creature was upon his back, stabbing out his life with his great spear.

A few moments of feeble struggling, and then the elk fell with a crash, the life-blood pouring from his severed arteries.

Scarcely was he down ere the waiting four were upon him, rending the still quivering flesh with their great nails.

“Poor brute!” Seymour muttered compassionately; “let those demons have it, Silas.”

The reports of the two rifles rang out as one, and a couple of the fearsome elk-hunters rolled over upon the carcase of their quarry, the rest diving like a flash to cover behind it.

“I guess we’ll have to wipe them out now,” said the Yankee grimly, “or they’ll bring a hull hornet’s nest about our ears in half an hour.”

A spear flashed up from behind the carcase as he spoke, and, missing Seymour by a hair’s-breadth, shivered itself to fragments against the boulder.

“A close call,” remarked Silas.

“Close indeed,” Seymour returned. “They’ll have one of us next time, sure as fate, if we remain here. Let us move round in opposite directions, and outflank them. Down!” he hissed suddenly, pushing Haverly violently to one side, as a second missile hummed towards them.

His quick action saved the American, who would undoubtedly have been transfixed by the great weapon but for that.

An instant later a hideous head poked up from behind the dead elk.

Seymour let drive with a jerk, but, owing to the uncertain light, missed, his shot striking a monstrous puff-ball growing within a few feet of the spot whereon the carcase lay.

A vivid sheet of flame leapt from the fungus, followed by a terrible explosion, the shock of which hurled Silas and the baronet violently to the ground.

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE SEAL.

SOME moments later, when the shock had somewhat passed, the two friends rose, not a little dazed and bewildered.

But their astonishment knew no bounds when they saw that the dead elk and its late hunters had vanished, blown to fragments by the bursting of the explosive fungus. Even the boulder, in the shadow of which the bull had met his doom, had been partly destroyed.

By what marvellous chance the two comrades had escaped the flying fragments they themselves could not imagine, and they moved on their way, feeling deeply thankful that they had escaped the fury of the elk-hunters, and had also come safely through the explosion.

“I guess we’ll have, to be careful what we’re shootin’ at,” remarked Haverly. “This pesky mushroom stuff seems to be made of gunpowder!”

“It got us out of a tight corner, anyway,” returned Seymour; “we should scarcely have come off scatheless but for that explosion. What do you think of the natives of the underworld?”

“I guess they don’t improve on acquaintance,” was the answer. “For sheer devilry they romp in an easy first. Heaven help Garth and Mervyn if they’re in the power of them critters!”

“I reckon ‘wolf-men’ would be a suitable handle for the brutes,” Silas went on, “with a fair marjority of the ‘wolf.’ They’re real stunners! Say, I guess old Darwin could ha’ had a hull heap of missing links if he’d only ha’ burrowed his way down here.”

“I wish the brutes were missing literally,” Seymour retorted.

“We’ll do our best to give ’em that same distinction,” replied the Yankee. “I guess this old planet ’ud wobble along quite as well without these lantern-jawed freaks trottin’ around in her innards. Anyway, the population of this yer desirable location is going to find itself considerable reduced at an early date if our two pards ain’t handed over safe and sound. My barker’s kinder impatient occasionally.”

Another hour went by, and still the dual tracks of Garth’s captors and the great Triceratops stretched before them.

The plain grew more and more gloomy as they advanced, the fungi failing entirely, so that the two had to grope their way as best they could through the dim twilight of this subterranean world; and, though haste was so necessary, Haverly dared not use his lantern, save occasionally, when the trail grew indistinct, lest the light would attract some of the hideous creatures whom he had well named “Wolf-men.”

Suddenly the baronet stumbled over some bulky object lying beside the track.

Recovering himself, he stooped and picked it up.

It was the scientist’s specimen case.

“I assume the professor must have got pitched off somewhere hereabouts,” remarked the Yankee. “You can gamble on it he’s in the same boat as Garth. See, here’s the identical spot where he struck earth,” pointing to a deep impression in the clayey soil.

“Perhaps the fall killed him!” Seymour suggested.

“It may be better for him if it did,” retorted Silas; “Heaven alone knows what tortures these darned, red-haired freaks will be trying on him if he’s a prisoner in their hands; but I guess they’ll hardly have taken the trouble to cart his body off, if he’d been killed by the drop, so let’s get a hustle on.”

Nothing loth, the baronet stepped out briskly again.

Now the trail of the wolf-men led over stony ground, and many precious moments were lost in tracing the faint tracks, sometimes all but invisible. Then it would pass through the midst of some quaking morass, where a false step meant death, and that in a form so hideous that even the boldest could not face it calmly. Yet they kept tenaciously to their task, determined to do their utmost to rescue their friends, or, failing that, to avenge them.

For the most part they proceeded in silence, with hearing strained to catch the first sound of approaching foes; then suddenly to their ears came the noise of rushing waters.

A few paces farther and a great, black chasm yawned before them, splitting the plain in twain. At its depth they could only guess, but in width it appeared to be about thirty feet, and from its black depths arose the roar of a mighty torrent.

“See!” cried the baronet, “the ‘wolf-men,’ as you call them, must have crossed here.”

He pointed to where a frail, hide rope bridge—formed by two long strands united by numerous cross-ties after the manner of a rope ladder—swayed giddily above the abyss.

“It will take a bit of nerve to cross that flimsy thing,” he went on, “but I suppose there’s no other way; so here goes.”

He placed one foot carefully upon the first rung of the bridge, and was about to commit his whole weight to it, when suddenly he was dragged forcibly backward by his companion.

The next moment a knife flashed through the twilight on the farther side of the chasm, and the hide bridge, severed from its fastening, swished downward into the depths, and hung dangling against the rocky wall.

Quick as thought the Yankee’s revolver spoke, and a dark figure, leaping high into the air, hurtled over the brink of the abyss.

“I calculate he was a trifle too previous,” drawled Silas. “The flash of his knife gave the show away, or you’d ha’ been down there by now.”

Seymour gazed into the darkness below, then turned and gripped his friend’s hand.

Not a word of thanks did he speak, but that grip expressed more eloquently than words his gratitude to Haverly for the prompt action which alone had saved him from a fearful death.

“I assume it’s a case of checkmate,” the American remarked after a few moments, gazing ruefully at the dangling bridge. “We’ll have to get back to the Seal, and bring her round past the mouth of this plaguey river.”

“I suppose there’s no chance of the chasm being narrower higher up,” Seymour hazarded, “so that we might jump it?”

“Not an eyeful of a chance,” was the reply. “You can bet your last dollar that if this yer land-crack was jumpable anywhere hereabouts these wolfish brutes wouldn’t ha’ troubled to sling a bridge across. I take it the sooner we get back to the old boat the better for Garth and the professor. Say, what’s that?”

Far away on the plain beyond the chasm an arch of light arose, flashing and scintillating with dazzling brilliance. High into the darkness it towered, like a golden rainbow, and, as the two men watched in amazement, against its shimmering surface appeared a number of strange, black figures.

A few moments it hung thus, then vanished as mysteriously as it had come.

“Wal,” remarked Silas, “I reckon that’s a real caution. What do you make of it, William?”

But the baronet did not answer. He was puzzling over certain of the figures—weird, animal-like forms—which had appeared upon the arch.

Strangely familiar they seemed to him, yet, try as he might, he could not call to mind where he had seen them before.

He was still pondering the matter when they turned to retrace their steps towards the coast, and Haverly, though not knowing the cause of his abstraction, forbore to question him.

A mile of the return journey they had covered when light came to Seymour’s mind.

“I’ve got it” he cried.

“Got what?” asked the millionaire.

“The meaning of those signs on the arch,” was the answer. “I have been trying to recall where I saw those figures before. It has just flashed across me. Do you remember that visit Mervyn and I paid to an island in the South Atlantic?”

“Ayuti?”

“The same. Well, it was there I saw the signs. Both Mervyn and I learnt the language during our stay.”

“Then I take it you can read them hieroglyphics?”

“I can,” returned Seymour. “The six signs meant ‘Leino yos tragumee!’”

“I’d be almighty obliged if you’d translate the same. I guess my list of languages don’t include Ayuti.”

“It is a warning,” Seymour murmured reflectively, “and one that we cannot afford to neglect, though I cannot imagine why it was given, or why it should be in the language of Ayuti.”

“But the translation?”

“Let the white strangers beware!”

“Jupiter! That’s kinder queer,” cried Silas, startled for once out of his composure. “The fireworks were mysterious enough, without this message. I reckon the citizens of this yer location are educated some, for all their peculiar appearance.”

“You surely don’t consider that the wolf-men were responsible for the warning?” asked the baronet in surprise.

“Seems more like a threat than a warning to me,” Haverly rejoined. “I guess they’d hardly hang a message up that all the wolfish freaks in the underworld could see, if they intended to warn us. No pard, you take——”

A screech awoke the echoes of the underworld; there was a whirring of mighty wings, and out of the gloom swooped a monstrous black shape, swift and terrible.

Seymour was knocked sprawling to the ground as the creature flashed past him and vanished again into the darkness whence it had emerged.

The millionaire stared in amazement, then, as his friend rose, he found voice.

“I guess that’s the biggest bat I ever struck!”

“Bat!” ejaculated Seymour, “you don’t mean to say that was a bat?”

“It was nothing more or less,” retorted Silas; “but here he comes again; now’s your chance to get your own back.”

Simultaneously the two men pulled trigger, and the huge creature swooping down upon them, flapped wildly for a moment, then sank heavily to earth, beating the ground madly with its mighty wings.

Its eyes glared savagely at the two comrades, and it made a futile effort to drag itself towards them, seeming to know that they were the cause of its injury.

Half a dozen shots they fired into the great body ere the creature lay still; then, when all movements of the wings had ceased, they moved forward to examine the carcase.

It was, as Haverly had said, a gigantic bat or vampire, armed with hyæna-like teeth and great curved claws that made it a terrible enemy.

Its membranous wings, outstretched, could not have been less than fifteen feet from tip to tip, and it would apparently have had little difficulty in carrying off either of the comrades had it succeeded in gripping one of them at its first swoop.

“What hideous monsters this underworld contains!” exclaimed the baronet disgustedly, as they pushed on once more. “Mervyn would be in raptures could he see that brute. Anything new or strange attracts him like a magnet.”

“I reckon we’ll have to flicker if we’re to save him and Garth,” returned Silas shortly, and increased his pace.

Pressing forward with redoubled speed, every nerve and muscle strained to the utmost, they reached the glade.

A brief rest, then on again until they emerged upon the beach, off which they had left their vessel.

Eagerly they looked for the welcome gleam of the searchlight. But they looked in vain.

The “Seal” had vanished!

A despairing cry burst from the baronet as this fresh misfortune became apparent.

What hope was there for Garth and Mervyn? What chance of their ultimate rescue now?

Even Haverly grew depressed as he thought of the issues at stake. It seemed as though fate itself were against them.

That now, while their comrades’ lives were perhaps trembling in the balance, the vessel, upon whose aid they had relied, should fail them, was a blow indeed.

“Perhaps Wilson’s been attacked, and had to put out from shore,” Seymour suggested gloomily, after standing for some time in moody silence; but the hopelessness of his tones belied his words. In his heart he fully believed that the faithful Seal had vanished for ever.

Vividly to his mind came the adventure of a few days before—the attack of the giant octopus. What if another of the huge cephalopods had attacked the vessel, and had dragged both it and the engineer below the surface!

He shuddered at the thought.

“I reckon we’ll be getting used to reverses shortly,” said the Yankee bitterly.

“He may return,” Seymour answered.

“I wouldn’t gamble on it,” was the retort; “but we’ll camp here awhile, and see if he turns up. If he don’t, I guess it’s a case!” He finished with a significant gesture.

For ten long hours they waited on that dreary beach, waiting vainly for the vessel that was their only hope in this land of eternal twilight.

They slept and watched by turns; but no welcome flash from the searchlight of the submarine made glad their aching eyes, no voice answered their repeated hails.

At intervals they discharged their rifles, caring nought for the risk they ran in so doing should any wolf-men still remain on this side of the abyss.

But no answering report echoed over the water, and at length, fully persuaded that their faithful vessel had disappeared for ever, they turned reluctantly inland once more.

THE COMING OF THE GREAT FISH-LIZARD.

“HEAVEN grant they may return in safety!” muttered the engineer as his two friends vanished amid the fungi.

For a while after their departure he amused himself by gazing at the weird and glistening growths ashore; but ere long he grew tired of the monotonous gleam of the things.

They were so uncanny, so spectral in their splendour.

Securely fastening the turret door, he went below, determined to give his beloved engines a thorough clean.

Although to an unpractised eye the gleaming cranks and levers appeared spotless, the engineer found sufficient to occupy his attention for three hours, ascending at intervals during this period to the turret to assure himself that all was well.

Only when the engines glistened like burnished silver did Wilson cease his efforts; then, cleansing his grimy hands, he returned to the wheelhouse, to await the return of his comrades.

Little did he think what the future held in store for him; little he dreamed of the perils through which he was to pass ere he saw his friends again!

Slowly the hours dragged by, and there came no sign from the absent ones, and no sound broke the appalling, death-like silence of the underworld.

Once Wilson thought he heard a faint explosion, but the sound was too indistinct for him to judge with any certainty.

Within the boat and without all was silent as the grave.

To the lad’s excited imagination even the homely interior of the Seal seemed to partake of the ghostly character of her surroundings. Every plate in the vessel he knew, every bolt had been adjusted under his own supervision, yet he found himself continually fancying that queer noises came from below.

The eternal ticking of the saloon clock seemed to intensify the unnatural stillness. He craved for some noise—anything, he cared not what—as thirsty men crave for water, yet no sound came to him.

At length, unable to bear the strain longer, he flung open the door, and stepped out on to the deck.

For some time he paced to and fro, the ring of his boots upon the steel plates sounding cheerily in his ears.

Then suddenly he paused in his stride, and glanced sharply astern.

One hundred yards away a strange, rippling eddy appeared on the swell of the heaving water.

Remembering that the attack of the octopus had been heralded in like fashion, Wilson bolted into the turret and closed the door. A moment later, with face pressed against the glass, he was watching eagerly for developments.

“If it’s another squid,” he muttered, “I’m afraid he’s a trifle too late. That ripple gives the show away. By Jove! he’s keeping it up,” looking with surprise at the violently eddying water.

Still the water boiled and hissed and foamed, racing round in an ever-increasing circle.

Then, “Great Heaven!” burst from the lips of the engineer. “Ichthyosaurus!”

Up in the midst of the eddy, with a rush and a swirl, appeared a monstrous reptile. Never before had the engineer seen aught to equal the thing; yet instinctively he knew what the creature was, recognised it in an instant as the great fish-lizard, that old inhabitant of the prehistoric seas.

Full two hundred feet the reptile was in length, and its body was covered with great, overlapping, scaly plates. The gaping jaws revealed a double row of yellow fangs, and its monstrous eyes glowed like moons, as the brute fixed them curiously upon the motionless vessel.

So for a few minutes it remained.

Then, in a flash, its curiosity turned to furious rage as it noted an unfortunate movement of Wilson’s. But for that the creature might have departed as it had come, silently and peaceably.

Its four mighty paddles churned the already racing water into a mass of froth as, snorting furiously, it swept down upon the Seal.

Just for a moment the lad stood petrified. The suddenness of the thing, and, above all, the fearful size of the attacker held him spellbound.

He realised only too well the need for instant action if the Seal were to be saved, yet his trembling limbs refused to obey the prompting of his brain.

But to him came the recollection of his friends’ dependence upon the vessel; if she were destroyed his absent comrades were lost!

The thought gave him strength.

With a bound he leapt to the stairhead, and darted down to the engine-room. Thrusting over the lever to the last notch, he dashed back again into the wheelhouse, just as the Seal, straining under the full power of her engines, snapped her mooring cable like a cotton thread and sped seaward.

Past the raging reptile she flashed like a meteor, and for a few moments the engineer’s heart bounded with hope that the giant brute would not give chase.

But not so easily was the ichthyosaurus shaken off. With a sweep of his tail he turned and swung after the flying vessel.

Fast as the submarine was travelling, it soon became evident that the reptile could travel faster. With a few powerful strokes he drew alongside, and his mighty teeth snapped within an inch of the vessel’s rail, Wilson turning the Seal only just in time to avert disaster.

This temporary failure appeared to increase the reptile’s rage, and he swept forward again like a flash of light.

Four walls of green, foam-capped water poured from his thrashing paddles, and washed clear over the submarine’s deck.

The monster’s tail, swinging, rising, and falling, lashed the water with strokes that rang like the reports of guns.

Something must be done, and that quickly, Wilson thought. But what? That was the question.

If that swinging tail once smote the Seal, her course would be ended on the instant. Stout as were her plates, they could not stand a blow of that sort. Glancing desperately about him, the engineer’s eye fell upon Seymour’s elephant gun.

It was a forlorn hope, yet, in his desperate plight, he determined to try a shot with the great weapon.

Giving a turn to the wheel, to alter the course of the vessel, he locked it, then took down the gun.

It was loaded, for, since the octopus’s attack, Seymour had insisted on its being kept ready for action; so, opening the door cautiously, Wilson stepped out. The rush of water, knee-deep, almost swept him off his feet, but, bracing himself against the wheelhouse, he raised his weapon and aimed carefully at one of the moonlike eyes of his pursuer.

Bang! The kick of the great gun almost dislocated the lad’s shoulder, but the pain of this was as nothing compared to his chagrin when he found that he had missed.

The terrific speed of the vessel and of her mighty enemy made aiming exceedingly difficult, and, added to this, the elephant gun was a weapon to which Wilson was entirely unaccustomed.

Once more he raised it to his shoulder, and fired the second barrel.

This time the shell struck the reptile’s head, but glanced off the gleaming scales without exploding.

“The brute must be made of steel,” the engineer muttered savagely as he retired, disheartened by his failure. As the net result of his effort he had succeeded in still further enraging his huge opponent, and had badly bruised his own shoulder.

The floor of the turret was awash when he entered, but he cared little for a discomfort of so trivial a character.

The peril of the moment completely dispelled all other thoughts from his mind. As he once more grasped the wheel-spokes, a half-formed resolution came over him—that, if he and the Seal were to be destroyed, the great reptile should perish with them.

He had partly turned the submarine for the purpose of ramming his terrible enemy, when a filmy wisp of vapour drifted across the deck.

He looked up quickly.

A moment later a vast cloud of blinding mist rolled down upon the vessel, blotting out the surface of the water and enveloping pursued and pursuer in a thick white veil.

“Thank God!” the engineer cried fervently, as the Seal raced on into the friendly shelter of the mist.

Gradually the sound of the reptile’s paddles grew fainter. Like a hunted hare the submarine twisted and doubled, ever drawing away from her monstrous foe; yet, even when all sound of the brute had ceased, Wilson still held on, determined not to fall foul again of the peril he had so narrowly escaped.

But now danger arose from another source.

The Seal’s excessive speed made travelling within the enveloping mist highly dangerous. Each moment the engineer expected some obstruction to loom before him—a rocky island, perhaps, upon which the submarine would dash blindly and shiver herself to fragments.

Dared he leave the Seal to her own devices for a few seconds, and slip below to slow the engines? He asked himself the question over and over again, ere he summed up courage to loose the wheel-spokes and make a quick dash for the engine-room.

Quick as thought he pulled back the lever, almost to its resting-place, then raced to the stairs.

As he reached them there came a grating jar which shook the vessel, and, with a crash that jerked him off his feet, the Seal came to a standstill.

Somewhat bruised by his fall, the engineer rose, and, retracing his steps, entirely stopped the engines, after which he betook himself once more to the turret, anxious to know the full extent of the accident.

It was as he thought. He had slowed the engines a few moments too late, and the vessel, racing madly forward by her own momentum, had piled herself high and dry upon a shingly beach.

This much Wilson could discover by leaning over the rail, but the mist was still too dense to allow him to make out the character of his surroundings.

Whether he was anywhere near the spot from which he had started he could not tell; but, realising that he could do nothing until the mist lifted, he prepared himself some food and made a hearty meal.

As the hours went by, and there came no sign of the thinning of the cloudy veil around, the engineer grew anxious.

What if his friends returned while he was still absent? Naturally, after his promise they would instantly believe that the vessel had been destroyed in some manner, and perhaps would leave the beach, never to return.

The thought maddened him, and he had just determined to make an effort to get the Seal afloat again without waiting for the lifting of the mist when, as suddenly as it had come, the cloud rolled upward and vanished.

Then the full extent of his misfortune became apparent to the engineer. The submarine had grounded for almost her entire length, and it needed but a glance to tell him that her re-floating would be a matter of great difficulty, if, indeed, it could be managed at all.

By the character of the ground around Wilson surmised that he must be far from his starting-place, and this afterwards proved to be the case.

Before him lay a stretch of stony beach, perhaps one hundred yards in width, and beyond that rose a towering wall of cliffs, looming grim and gaunt through the twilight.

The engineer’s first movement was to start the engines at full speed astern; but, though the propellers whirled madly, the vessel remained motionless, and it became apparent that, despite his wish to be moving, Wilson would have to wait for the turn of the tide ere making any effort to once more float the Seal.

Part of the time Wilson passed in making an examination of his craft, both inside and out, and glad indeed was he to find that she had sustained but little damage, and that only of a minor character.

All too slowly the water rose, the incoming waves lapping the submarine’s hull playfully as they danced and shivered in the rays of the searchlight.

At intervals the engineer tried the engines, and at last, after a long wait, the water rose high enough to answer his purpose.

A tremor passed through the vessel; her propellers churned and thrashed; she bumped, rolled, then slid gently off the beach.

“Hurrah!” shouted Wilson, and flung up his cap. The Seal was afloat once more. Over the rolling waves she flew at full speed, the engineer’s one thought being to regain the beach from which the attack of the great ichthyosaurus had driven him.

Two hours later, after a long search, Wilson found himself back at the old mooring-place. Securely fastening the vessel, he stepped ashore to stretch his limbs.

As he paced backward and forward across the beach, he wondered whether his friends had returned from their expedition during his absence.

Suddenly, as he turned to go on board again, he noticed something gleaming in the sand, almost at his feet.

Stooping, he picked the shining object up. It was the baronet’s revolver! The truth burst upon him in a flash.

“So they came back,” he muttered, “while I was away, for I know Seymour took this with him when he went off the second time.”

Gloomy and depressed beyond measure by the discovery, he stepped across the gangway. Then an idea struck him. Perhaps his friends were still within hearing!

On the impulse of the moment he snatched down a rifle from the rack and fired it into the air.

But no answering report came back to him. Again and again he fired, but with no better result, and at length he gave up in despair.

Then suddenly the silence was broken by a hideous clamour of wolfish howls. Distant though they were, the cries almost froze the blood in Wilson’s veins, so full were they of deadly menace.

Louder they grew, and it soon became evident to the engineer that the creatures who uttered them were advancing towards the Seal.

He was hesitating whether to cast off the mooring-rope or not when, out of the jungle, some three hundred yards from the vessel, burst a number of figures.

Straight for the vessel they made, one in advance seeming to be pursued by the others.

In a flash comprehension came to Wilson. Snatching up the magazine rifle he had but just laid down, he bounded through the doorway, crossed the deck at a leap, and sprang ashore.

As he did so the runner in advance raised his head, and a cry trembled from his lips.

“For God’s sake, fire, Wilson!”

“Garth!” the engineer cried, then raised his weapon.

HOW HILTON ESCAPED FROM THE WOLF-MEN.

THE report of the rifle was followed by a piercing death-scream, and one of the pursuers dropped in his tracks.

The rest, four in number, raised a hideous howl and came on.

As they approached, Wilson got a full view of the creatures, and the devilish horror of the Things paralysed him.

“Fire!” cried Garth again, and, stumbling forward almost to the engineer’s feet, he fell headlong, utterly exhausted.

His fall roused Wilson from his stupor, and, raising his rifle again, the engineer fired thrice in quick succession.

At the reports two more of the creatures fell, either dead or badly wounded, but the remaining two, with a snarling yelp, leapt close in to the attack.

One Wilson dropped almost at the muzzle of his rifle; then, ere he could fire again, the knife of the last flashed straight and true for his heart.

Quick as thought he leapt aside, but he was too late to escape the blow entirely.

With a shock that staggered him, the great blade buried itself in the fleshy part of his arm.

The sting of the knife seemed to rouse all the murderous hate in the engineer’s nature, and dropping his rifle, he gripped his fearsome opponent by the throat, and bore him, struggling furiously, to the ground.

In vain the creature writhed and twisted; in vain he clawed and tore at the engineer. Try as he would, he could not unloose that vice-like grip.

He gnashed his yellow fangs in a paroxysm of impotent fury, but, for the moment, Wilson seemed possessed of the strength of a giant.

Letting the murder lust within him have full sway, the lad beat his enemy’s head to a shapeless pulp against the stones of the beach.

Only when all motion of the writhing body had ceased for ever did Wilson relax his grip; then, as he staggered to his feet, a red mist swam before his eyes, and he fell, swooning, across the corpse of his hideous opponent.

When consciousness returned he found the inventor kneeling by his side, endeavouring to staunch the gaping wound in his arm, from which he had withdrawn the knife.

“That was a narrow shave,” he said, as Wilson attempted to sit up.

“It was,” the engineer returned; “he almost had me, the brute!” and he shuddered.

Rising with the help of his friend, he moved down the beach and got aboard.

“Now for your wound,” Garth said, and, ripping up the sleeve of Wilson’s jacket, he skilfully dressed and bandaged the gash.

“Where are Haverly and Seymour?” he questioned, when the engineer was feeling somewhat more comfortable.

“They went off to find you and Mervyn,” was the reply. Continuing, Wilson told him how Seymour had returned, and all that had befallen the Seal since.

“Great Scott!” Hilton ejaculated, “you’ve had a marvellous escape. I don’t feel easy about that saurian though. The old gentleman may take it into his head to turn up again, and we can’t expect the mist to be on hand a second time. However, there’s no need to worry about that until he comes.”

“How did you manage to escape?” the engineer asked.

“It’s too long a story to tell you now,” Hilton answered. “I’m just dying for a few hours’ sleep so, if you feel fit enough to keep watch, I’ll slip below for a time. Call me at once should anything turn up,” he added, and, turning, left the turret.

A short rest, followed by a bath, quickly restored the inventor’s vitality.

Re-entering the wheelhouse, he found that Wilson had spread an appetising meal upon the lockers.

“I thought it best to bring the grub up here,” the engineer explained, “so that we can keep a look-out while we eat.”

“Quite right, old man,” Garth returned, and at once fell to.

For a while they ate in silence, then, at a question from his friend, Hilton told his story.

“No doubt Seymour explained how Mervyn was carted off?” he began interrogatively, “and how we scrambled down into the valley after him?”

Wilson nodded.

“Well,” Hilton continued, “we soon decided that the only course open to us was to follow the trail of the Triceratops, on the chance of Mervyn being pitched off the brute’s back. We had just started when, close at hand, came a chorus of howls, as though a whole menagerie of wolves were upon our track. Turning, we made for the valley again. Seymour got safely in, but I tripped over a fungus and fell; something caught me a crack on the head, and for a time I knew no more.

“I came to with a splitting headache, and for a long time I could remember nothing of the preceding events, so great was the pain of my head. As my brain grew clearer, memory came back to me, and the incidents of the last few hours flashed through my mind in a long procession. Then, for the first time, I became aware of the fact that I was being carried. Jolly good of Seymour, I thought, to cart me along like this. I opened my eyes dreamily. Imagine my horror, if you can, when I discovered that it was not Seymour who was carrying me, but one of those Things!” Garth indicated the motionless forms which still lay as they had fallen upon the beach.

“The creature bore me in its arms as easily as though I were a child,” he went on, “and for some moments I felt too dazed by the discovery of my terrible position to do aught but lie still. Then a thought came to me that, if the creature were alone, I might manage to escape from his grip. Vain hope! I gazed about me, only to find that a few paces ahead were a dozen more of the brutes, who appeared to be following a trail of some sort. I could see by the deep depressions in the clayey ground that it was the trail of the Triceratops, but for what reason they should follow the monstrous brute I could not imagine—until I remembered Mervyn. Then I perceived their motive.

“Sure enough, before we had gone much farther, the foremost of the trackers set up a howl. The rest, and among them my bearer, hurried forward. Beside the track, unconscious, with a great wound on his temple, lay the professor. Picking him up, one of the brutes slung him roughly over his shoulder; and the whole band set forward again at a rapid trot. The rest of the journey seemed to me like some terrible nightmare, with only one impression standing out clear in my mind, and that was the hideous forms of the Things that flitted, spectre-like, before me.

“But all things have an end, and this journey was no exception to the rule. Ere long the creatures pulled up on the brink of a ravine, from the depths of which arose a sound of a mighty torrent. Above this chasm hung a frail hide bridge, and I shuddered as I became aware that my captors were preparing to cross.

“Gripping Mervyn more firmly, the creature who carried him stepped upon the swaying ropes. Luckily, the professor was still unconscious, or I do not doubt he would have made some hasty action, the result of which would have been disastrous in the extreme. I marvelled how the creature, burdened as he was, kept his precarious balance, but he managed it somehow, and at length laid down his captive upon the farther side of the gorge, while he awaited the crossing of his fellows.

“Then came my turn. My bearer advanced to the head of the bridge, and had already placed one foot upon it, when, wildly furious at the appalling prospect before me, I writhed out of his arms. For an instant I had some mad hope of making a run for it, but before I could take a step the brute had me again. Recklessly I struggled, determined that I would not be taken across that abyss, to meet a terrible death at the hands of these wolfish creatures. Far rather leap into the depths, and perish in the dark waters below!

“But the creature had a grip like a Polar bear. Struggle as I would, I could not again escape from his arms, and, at length, with my ribs almost cracking beneath the strain, I ceased my efforts and lay passive. With a hideous chuckle, which made me long to shoot him, he raised me again, and began the passage of the bridge. Still as death I lay until he had almost reached the centre. Then, when his grip was somewhat relaxed, and all his efforts were centred upon keeping his balance, I kicked out strongly. The sudden move, as I had intended it should, completely destroyed our equilibrium. The bridge seemed to sway from beneath us, and we hurtled into space.

“I remember my captor relaxing his grip of my body to make a desperate clutch at the swinging ropes; a terrible fall which appeared almost endless in duration; the roaring of many waters; then came a shock, which knocked me senseless for the second time since leaving the boat. But I am wearying you with my yarn?”

“Nothing of the kind,” returned Wilson eagerly; “your tale’s every bit as good as a book!”

“To resume, then,” continued the inventor. “The next thing I recollect is awaking from my swoon on the sandy beach at the mouth of the river. How it came about that I was not drowned amid the rushing waters I cannot make out, even now. It seems incredible that I should have been carried, helpless as I was, through the foaming rapids of the gorge, and washed safely ashore at the river-mouth. Yet the fact remains.

“For some considerable time I lay, drenched and thoroughly exhausted, upon the sand; then, when my strength had returned in some measure, I rose, and, though still very faint, made my way along the beach, knowing that by following the coastline I must, sooner or later, come across the Seal. As my blood began to circulate more briskly my faintness vanished, and soon I felt as well as ever.

“Save for the discomfort of my wet clothes, I really believe I should have enjoyed my tramp. The thought that I had succeeded in escaping from the clutches of the brutes who had captured me gave me great satisfaction. I will hurry on, I thought, and, if Seymour has returned, we will get up a rescue party at once. Then it will not be long before we have Mervyn out of the power of these wolfish savages. You see, I had forgotten that a considerable time must have elapsed since my fall; that I must have lain unconscious for many hours.

“On I tramped, but as the time went by, and still no Seal came in sight, I grew very uneasy. As I rounded each bend in the coastline I looked eagerly out for the glare of the searchlight. But never a glimmer did I see. Hours passed, and I grew faint with hunger, yet still toiled on, hoping that in a little while my quest would be ended. At length my hunger became unbearable. Plucking several fleshy fungi, I tore off the thick outer skin and bolted the pulp eagerly, caring little whether they were of a poisonous character or not, so that the gnawing pain at my stomach was relieved.

“To my surprise, they proved not merely palatable, but stimulating. The stagnant blood began to course with fresh vigour through my veins, and I arose, refreshed and strengthened, to resume my quest. It was pleasing to think that, at any rate, I need not starve, even if I could not find the boat for a time. But should I ever find her at all? The question, flashing through my mind of a sudden, almost caused my heart to stand still.

“What if she had been moved from her old mooring-place, and taken I knew not where? The thought made me desperate, and I raced madly forward, shouting occasionally in hopes of hearing an answering hail. Suddenly I came out upon the beach there. I recognised the spot in an instant, but my worst fears were realised when I saw that the Seal was gone.

“For awhile my rage and despair knew no bounds, and I raced up and down the beach like a madman, feeling that I was hopelessly lost in this subterranean world. Presently I grew calmer, and began to look at my position from the standpoint of common-sense. It was terrible enough in all conscience. Alone, entirely defenceless—for I had lost my revolver when I fell into the hands of the savages—in a land inhabited by monstrous beasts and wolf-like men, it was a situation, you will admit, that would have tried the stoutest heart.

“Remember that then I fully believed the boat had gone for ever.

“Suddenly, as I sat thinking out my future movements, a weird howl broke upon my ears. In a fright I started up, and rushed off at headlong speed down the shore, determined that I would not again be taken. For how long I kept on I cannot tell, but I know that at last, footsore and completely worn out, I flung myself down upon the sand and fell fast asleep. I awoke ravenously hungry, and my first action was to make a hearty attack upon a fungus. That done, I felt better.

“Telling myself that I had been a fool to allow the cry of the savages to startle me, I commenced to retrace my steps. I had covered perhaps a mile, certainly not more, when, rounding a monstrous boulder, I came plump upon those fellows”—and he pointed to the beach again.

“They were squatting in an angle of the rock, eagerly tearing at a carcase of some sort. For the moment they did not notice me, and I was hoping to get past unobserved, when, as luck would have it, I kicked against a stone. In a flash the brutes were up and after me. Thinking to escape them amid the fungi, I plunged into the jungle. I ran as I had never run before, but I could not shake them off. The beasts seemed absolutely tireless.

“I had almost given up hope when I heard the reports of your rifle. The sounds gave me fresh strength, and I dashed furiously on until I emerged yonder. The rest you know.”

Garth rose as he finished his story, and glanced out through the glass.

Then a startling cry burst from him.

“Great Heaven! Look there, Tom!”

Wilson turned quickly.

Through the ghostly twilight, a cable’s length astern, loomed the monstrous form and vast, glaring orbs of the great fish-lizard.

“GEHARI—THE WILY ONE.”

“I OPINE it’s got to be done.”

Once more Silas and the baronet stood upon the brink of the great abyss which had barred further progress upon their first journey.

“You see, it’s this way,” Haverly went on: “there’s just a glimmer of a chance that Garth and Mervyn are still alive. It ain’t the general thing with savages to kill their prisoners off-hand, and I guess these wolf-men are no exception to the rule. That being so, we may still be in time to pull this job off if we adopt my plan. You’ll allow that if we’ve got to foot it twenty or thirty miles along the edge of this yer crevice, we’re safe to arrive considerable too late for business?”

“Tramping along the brink on the chance of finding a place sufficiently narrow for us to jump is utterly out of the question,” replied Seymour. “Your plan is really the only feasible one, although it sounds decidedly risky.”

“Then here goes,” cried the millionaire. He flung himself down upon the very verge of the chasm, and, leaning far over, hauled up the dangling ropes which had formed the bridge.

With Seymour’s aid he cut the fastenings that bound it to the rocky brink; then the twain applied themselves to the task of unlashing the cross-ties, a piece of work that proved very tedious, and which was accomplished with no little difficulty.

It was finished at length, though, and then Haverly skilfully knotted the two long strands, each of which was about thirty feet in length, testing the knots again and again to assure himself of their firmness.

“I guess that’ll hold,” he remarked; “if it gives at all it won’t be at the knots.”

At one end of this hide rope he made a running noose, and, coiling it lasso-fashion about his arm, he rose.

“Now for a suitable rock to sling it over,” he went on, “and then we’ll have a first-class bridge: a bit fragile, perhaps, but ‘needs must when the old man drives,’ you know.”

Along the edge of the gorge the two men strode, searching carefully for an out-jutting spur of rock upon the opposite side.

For a time their efforts were unrewarded, and Seymour began to grow impatient. Every instant was of priceless value; each moment the odds against their being able to carry out their desperate plan of rescue increased.

Then suddenly they came in sight of a crag which appeared as though it had been made for the purpose.

Whirling his roughly made lasso above his head, the Yankee made a cast.

But the noose fell short, and the rope swished downward into the gorge.

“Better luck next time,” Silas muttered, as he recoiled it.

Once more he threw the noose, and this time fortune attended his efforts. The rope settled over the rocky spur, and was at once pulled taut.

“I guess we’ll have to risk the rock cuttin’ the hide,” the Yankee said, as he securely fastened his end of the rope to an adjacent boulder.

Creeping to the verge, he took a firm grip of the hide with both hands, and lowered himself over into the gorge.

The frail rope creaked ominously beneath his weight, as, hand over hand, he commenced to drag himself across that yawning gulf.

Each instant it seemed as though the swaying thread on which his life depended would snap. Beads of sweat stood out upon Seymour’s forehead as he watched his friend’s perilous progress.

The American’s lithe body swayed and danced like a puppet, as his hands clasped and unclasped upon the rope.

Halfway across he paused for a brief rest, then on he toiled once more, until he reached the crag to which the rope was fastened.

With a supreme effort he dragged himself upon the rock, and lay panting awhile as the result of his tremendous exertions.

When he had somewhat recovered, he rose, and made a careful examination of the rope at the point where it encircled the crag.

“Unlash it for a moment, Seymour,” he called, his voice echoing strangely from the depths of the chasm.

As the baronet complied with his request, Silas removed the noose. Taking off his jacket, he wrapped it closely around the rock, replacing the rope over it.

“I guess that’ll keep it from wearing through,” he said. “If you’ll do the same your side, it will lessen the risk of it snapping.”

Sir William followed his example, then launched himself cautiously over the brink. Inch by inch, foot by foot, he advanced, though the rope cut his hands like a knife. His arms seemed to be leaving their sockets through the strain, and his eyes grew dim and bloodshot, yet he still dragged onward.

Longingly he gazed upon the opposite lip of the gorge, where Haverly sat at ease. Would he be able to hold out? It seemed doubtful, for his strength was ebbing fast. His great weight made his crossing ten times more difficult than the lighter-built Yankee’s had been.

His goal appeared to recede as he advanced. What would he not give to rest his aching arms for just one moment?

“Courage!” cried his friend, and the word gave him strength.

Haverly had made the passage; why not he?

Slowly the distance between him and his goal lessened; ten feet, nine—he would soon be in safety now—eight; then——

Crack! A pistol-like report echoed across the gorge.

“Grip for your life!” cried the Yankee; “the rope’s giving!”

Crack! Again it sounded, like the knell of doom in Seymour’s throbbing ears.

The next moment the rope parted behind him, and he dropped like a stone into the depths. Instinctively his clutch tightened upon the hide.

A swift rush through the air, then, with a shock that forced a groan of agony from his bloodless lips, he struck the canyon wall.

For a few seconds he hung, twisting and swaying, at the end of the rope, until his feet found hold on a narrow ledge in the face of the rock. On to this he drew himself.

For the moment he was safe.

As he stood there, gasping and panting, feeling as though he had not a whole bone in his body, the glare of Haverly’s lantern pierced the gloom.

Looking upward, Seymour saw his friend’s face peering anxiously down from the cliff top.

“It’s all right, Silas,” he panted; “I’ll be with you at soon as I’ve got my wind.”

“Jupiter!” exclaimed the American, “I reckoned you’d passed in your checks for sure that time. It was a narrow squeak! Take your time,” he continued, as the baronet commenced to haul himself up. “Don’t overdo it.”

Four minutes later Seymour’s head appeared above the edge of the cliff, and, with the millionaire’s ready help, he dragged himself over into safety.

“I wouldn’t go through that again for a king’s ransom,” he said.

“I guess you’d hardly come out of it so well another time,” returned Silas; “it’s the closest call I’ve struck for a considerable stretch. Say when you’re ready and we’ll hustle.”

“I’m ready at once,” was the answer.

A little over half an hour it took the two friends to pick up the trail of the wolf-men, then they pushed on once more at their utmost speed.

The character of the country changed entirely as they advanced, the level plain giving place to a series of rolling ridges, which made progress extremely difficult.

Added to this, the temperature appeared to be gradually rising, and soon their bodies were bathed in perspiration.

“Warm work,” remarked Haverly, pausing on the crest of a ridge to mop his forehead.

“Too warm to be pleasant,” replied his friend. “I should imagine that we are approaching a subterranean fire of some sort. What’s that?” he broke off sharply.

A shrill scream, thrilling with agony, rose from the ravine at their feet.

“Look to your shootin’ iron,” said the Yankee; “sounds as if you’ll need it.”

He jerked his own revolver from his pocket as he spoke.

“I must have lost my barker,” Seymour muttered, feeling through his pockets.

“I guess your rifle will manage,” was the reply.

Once more the cry arose, and at that they commenced the descent of the ridge.

As they neared the base, two wildly-grappling forms loomed through the twilight. In a moment Haverly switched on the light of his lantern, and focussed its rays upon the combatants.

Struggling desperately in the coils of a monstrous serpent was one of the fearsome wolf-men.

Three of the reptile’s great glistening folds encircled the savage’s body; the mighty jaws gaped expectantly above him, while the beadlike eyes were fixed in a fascinating stare upon the unfortunate creature.

“We can’t stand by and see him crushed to death by that brute,” cried the baronet impulsively, “even though he is a wolf-man.”

“Best not to interfere,” returned the Yankee shortly.

At that instant the wolf-man, attracted by the light, turned his head towards the two friends and raised his hands imploringly, while from his lips came another agonised scream.

That settled the question for Seymour. Quick as thought he raised his rifle and fired. At the report the great, yawning head vanished, shattered to atoms, and the body, relaxing its grip of the savage, thrashed up the ravine as though still endowed with life.

As it vanished into the gloom the wolf-man rose, rushed forward, and cast himself down at Seymour’s feet.

“I’ve no small notion that we’ll strike trouble over this job,” said Haverly ominously, “and that before a great while either. What the Barnum we’re to do with this long-shanked freak I know no more’n Caesar.”

“He may prove useful,” the baronet suggested.

“He may,” was the Yankee’s unpromising answer, “but I guess the odds lie the other way. Hi, Pharaoh!”—addressing the cringing savage—“get up from there right now. You’re black enough without wiping your face in the mud.”

As though conscious that he was addressed, the creature raised his head, and glared fiercely at Haverly.

“Get up,” the latter repeated roughly; then, seizing the wolf-man by his girdle, jerked him to his feet.

A baleful light flashed from the creature’s eyes, and, for an instant, it appeared as though he was about to spring at the millionaire’s throat, but he checked himself, and well it was for him that he did so.

“He’s got neither knife nor spear,” Seymour said, “so he cannot be very dangerous.”

“Umph!” Silas snorted, “I wouldn’t trust the brute out of sight. I guess we’ll have to keep a tight hand over him, or he’ll be settin’ a hull crowd of his pards on our trail in a brace of shakes.”

“Gehari!”

The harsh, guttural cry came from the wolf-man’s throat, and he beat his breast with his clenched hand.

“Gehari!” he repeated, fixing his piercing eyes on Seymour’s face.

“What’s he jawing about?” asked Silas.

“Ayuti again,” replied the baronet. “However came these brutes to speak that language?”

“I reckon it don’t matter a heap,” retorted the Yankee, “so’s we can turn it to our advantage.”

“Gehari!” For the third time the word broke upon the ears of the two friends.

“What the plague does he mean by his eternal ‘gehari’?” asked Haverly.

“It must be his name,” was the reply, “but it isn’t exactly a classy title. The word means ‘the wily one.’”

“Jupiter!” cried Haverly with a grin, “that kind of gives the show away. I guess he can’t grumble the handle don’t fit him, for he’s got ‘wily’ writ large all over him. Say, couldn’t you get no news of our pards off the fellow?”

Turning, Seymour put a few brief questions to the wolf-man.

“What’s he say?” asked Silas as he finished.

“He professes to know nothing of two white prisoners, but he says that all captives are sacrificed to the sacred beast of his people in the temple of Ramouni.”

“Then tell him to lead on to this yer temple, quick as he knows how,” the Yankee snapped, “if he wants to keep his skin entire.”

The baronet interpreted the words in their full significance, and at once the savage started off across the bed of the ravine at a trot.

Up the opposite ridge he clambered, at a pace that severely taxed the powers of the rescuers. Within a few moments they topped the crest.

Before them the plain stretched level as a table for half a league; and beyond rose the fungi-clad heights they had first sighted from the boat.

Onward they pressed until they stood at the foot of the range; and here, deciding to seek a few hours’ rest ere entering upon the final stage of their perilous journey, the two friends passed into a small cave amid the rocks. And with them, closely watched by the alert American, went Gehari—the wily one.

THE FATE OF MERVYN.

BUT what of Professor Mervyn? How was he faring the while his friends were making such strenuous efforts to effect his rescue?

For a time his terror at finding himself in so perilous a position completely overcame him.

With each stride of his monstrous steed he was being borne farther and farther from his friends; deeper and deeper into the unknown wilds of this subterranean world. He knew that ere long, unless he took prompt action, he would be carried beyond all reach of aid, yet, so great was the fear that gripped him, for a time he could do nought, save cling convulsively to the armoured hide of the brute he rode.

As his first panic subsided, and his brain resumed its sway of his trembling body, he began to cast about for some means of escape from his predicament.

Full twenty feet he was from the ground, and the Triceratops was travelling at the rate of at least thirty miles an hour, so that a leap could not be other than dangerous. Yet it must be done if he would ever see his friends again.

The thought that perhaps he might break a limb in descending deterred him for some time, but at length he summoned up courage to make the attempt.

To do so, however, he must first rise to a standing position upon the huge back of the Triceratops, in order to obtain sufficient spring to leap clear of the pounding hoofs.

This feat he accomplished, after considerable difficulty; then, while he stood essaying to leap, the brute beneath him swerved suddenly to the right.

It might have been that the scientist’s movements irritated the creature, and so caused it to change its course, or it may have been but a whim on its part.

However it was, the sudden move destroyed the professor’s balance; he was flung headlong and dropped, in a stunned and bleeding heap, beside the track.

Nought he knew of the coming of the wolf-men who had already captured Garth; nought of the passage of the bridge; even the rough journey thence to the caves of the savages did not rouse him.

When he did at length return to a sense of things around him, two impressions forced themselves upon his brain. One was the sensation that utter, impenetrable darkness shut him in—darkness, thick and tangible; the other, that every bone in his body had been broken and re-set.

Of the twain, the former gave him the more uneasiness.

His aches and pains, he knew, were the result of his fall, but this other he could not explain.

Where was he, that this darkness surrounded him? Surely, if he lay where he had fallen, the twilight of the underworld would be about him?

Then of a sudden the thought that he was blind swept over him. The shock of his fall had perhaps destroyed his sight!

“Oh, God!” he cried despairingly, and raised his hands.

The clank of metal startled him, and he became conscious of something which, in his state of semi-bewilderment, he had not felt before.

His arms were chained at the wrists!

A low gasp escaped him at this discovery, yet with it came a feeling of relief. The darkness, then, was the result of his surroundings, and not of any accident to his eyes. But into whose hands had he fallen? What beings were they who held him captive?

As yet he was unaware of the existence of the wolf-men, and it was well that he knew nothing of the horrors, or surely his brain would have given way beneath the strain of his terrible situation during the long hours he spent in the darkness of his prison.

His first action was to attempt to slip the chain from his wrists, but this he found before long to be an utter impossibility. Evidently the creatures who had fastened him had a shrewd idea as to the method of securing a prisoner.

Luckily, his feet were not in a like plight, so that, after a time, he made shift to rise, and, with manacled hands outstretched before him, feel his way about his prison.

As nearly as he could judge, his cell was about four yards in length by rather less than half this in width. Its rock walls, rough-hewn and rugged for the most part, were, in one particular place, smooth as glass.

Carefully Mervyn passed his fingers over this slab, suspecting that it was the door to his cell yet not a crack could he find.

The rock there seemed not less solid than elsewhere. Again and again he tried, but never with the same result.

As the hours dragged by, and no one came to him, the scientist began to think that his captors had forgotten his existence.

Whoever they were, whatever they were, they surely could not intend him to be entombed alive? They would scarcely have troubled to chain him had they meant him to be shut away here for ever.

So thinking, Mervyn raised his voice in a shout.

The sound rang round the walls of his prison in an appalling uproar, yet apparently it was unheard without.

Allowing some moments to elapse, he repeated his effort.

The cell rang again with his cry, but still there came no answer, and at last he flung himself down upon the floor again.

Scarcely had he done so ere to his ears came the creaking of machinery, and a dazzling light flooded his cell.

Looking up, he saw that the stone slab, which he believed to be the door, had been pulled aside, and in the doorway, his features lit up with a look of fiendish glee, stood a man—but such a man!

Tall he was, and lean as a greyhound. Yet his bare, brown arms looked strong as iron; from his shoulders a fur mantle fell in graceful folds to his feet; his face—distorted now by its malevolent expression into the semblance of a fiend—must have been pleasing once, if not handsome. But passion had left its mark upon the features, and the eyes, cold and merciless in their glitter, betrayed the hideous cruelty of their owner’s nature.

Upon the forehead of the man, bound in place by a tiny metal chain, was a stone, the like of which Mervyn had never seen before.

In fashion it was like a rough-cut diamond, but much larger than any gem ever discovered in the mines of the upper world, and from its glowing heart proceeded the dazzling light which illumined the cell.

All this Mervyn noted in the first few seconds of his surprise.

A little while he sat gazing at the man, then, scrambling to his feet, stood upright before him.

“Wabozi!” The word rang mockingly from the lips of the fellow, and the scientist recognised it in a moment.

“How comes this fellow to speak Ayuti?” he questioned mentally. “Perhaps——”

“Wabozi, zea!”

The mocking voice, this time with a note of menace in it, broke sharply in upon his reflections.

Quick as thought Mervyn answered in the same tongue, using the same words, “Wabozi, zea!” (“Greeting, dog!”)

“So,” continued his captor, “thou knowest the language of the underworld? ’Tis well. Thou wilt have need of it ere long, when I question thee concerning thy presence in my kingdom. Know you that I am Nordhu, High Priest of Ramouni, Ruler of the Under-world! Who are ye? Take heed that ye speak naught but the truth, for I know more than ye think.”

A faint hope flickered up in the scientist’s breast that, by telling his story in its fulness, the priest might be induced to set him free, that he might return to his friends.

So he began narrating the misadventures and accidents which landed him in so unfortunate a position.

But never an atom of interest did the priest show. His features were inscrutable as a mask.

“What is that to me?” he asked, as Mervyn concluded with a plea for his freedom; “what need was there for ye to seek out this secret place in your upper world, which ye call the ‘Pole’?”

“None,” was the scientist’s answer, “save that it was a mystery, and we were minded to solve it.”

“Granted there were need for that,” pursued the priest, “there were none for ye to set foot upon my land—the land of my people.”

The arrogance of the fellow was fast arousing Mervyn’s temper, yet he strove to keep it in check, unwilling to make an open enemy of the man he had—all unwittingly—offended.

“We knew not that the land was inhabited,” he explained, “and even had we, we could not have known that the law forbade the landing of strangers. Our desire now is but to return to our own world.”

“Doubtless,” was the mocking answer; “but ere ye return, ye must recompense me for the loss of those of my people whom thy friends have slain. Hearest thou?”

“Ay!” returned Mervyn angrily, “yet remember, if any of thy savages have been slain, they must first have attacked my friends. But how know ye that any are slain?”

“Cease thy baying, dog!” snapped the priest in answer, “lest I am tempted to deal hardly by ye. Listen! I am minded to know more of these fire-weapons ye use. Show me the secret and ye are free.”

For an instant the professor hesitated. Here was a chance at which his heart leapt, yet he feared to take it. On the one hand was life and liberty; on the other, death, and that as terrible as the priest of Ramouni could make it for his helpless prisoner.

What if he showed Nordhu the secret he wished to know?

He would be arming the people of the underworld with weapons that would make them the equals of any nation on the face of the globe; but would there be harm in so doing?

While he stood wavering the priest clapped his hands, and, into the light of the flashing jewel, slid two of the fearful wolf-men.

It was the scientist’s first view of the creatures, and his brain reeled with the horror of the things.

His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, his limbs trembled beneath him.

Nordhu grinned broadly at the obvious terror of his victim.

A wave of his hand, and the two wolfish figures vanished into the gloom again.

“Well?” the priest demanded, “will ye show me the secret? Five millions have I of these people; what think ye of them? Would’st like to be given into their hands, that they might make sport with ye?”

At the words Mervyn’s terror vanished; in its place came a cool, dauntless courage that surprised even himself.

Better that he should be torn to pieces by these fearsome brutes than that he should be the primary cause of arming them with the weapons of civilised warfare. Should the brutes ever find their way to the upper world, they would overwhelm the whole globe.

“No,” he returned, drawing himself up, “I will not show ye the secret of the fire-weapons. Do with me as thou wilt.”

“So,” snarled the priest, “ye defy me. Bolder wills than thine have I overcome. ’Tis an evil moment for ye when ye cross Nordhu.”

He bent his piercing eyes upon Mervyn, and his look seemed to sear the scientist’s very soul.

With all the force of his brain Mervyn struggled against that fascinating gaze. It was a contest of wills.

Could the priest but succeed in bending his prisoner’s will to his this once, hereafter the unfortunate man would be as clay in the hands of the potter.

Knowing this, Mervyn fought on, although the desire to submit grew almost overpowering. Never before had he taken part in so fierce a struggle. His eyes seemed starting from his head beneath the strain, and still the merciless ones of his enemy glared into his brain.

Then, when he was almost upon the point of yielding, the gaze of the priest changed to a look of baffled fury.

“So ye resist the supremacy of my will,” he hissed. “So be it; I have other methods. But mark this: if thou wilt not yield me this secret, upon which I have set my heart, I will make thee wish that thou had’st never been born.”

“Do your worst,” returned Mervyn doggedly. “Rather would I be torn limb from limb than reveal to you the secret of our weapons.”

A sneering laugh broke from the priest.

“Dragged limb from limb, sayest thou?” he cried. “That were an easy death to the one I will give thee if thou wilt not obey me.”

Once more he clapped his hands, and the two savages reappeared.

“Bring him forth,” he commanded, and the wolf-men, their faces aglow with diabolical cruelty, hustled Mervyn out of the cell.

Following the priest, a guard on either side of him, the scientist moved down the passage on to which the door of the cell gave access.

It was apparently a natural tunnel in the rock, rough-hewn in places where it had been too narrow to admit of the passage of the savages. From it, on either side, opened galleries, which seemed to run deep into the bowels of the earth.

Up these openings, as captive and captors passed them, came strange sounds, boomings and clangings, as of a mighty forge, and at times a lurid glow would flash up for an instant, then die away again.

Past all these openings the priest went, pausing at length before the open doorway of a rock chamber.

“Enter,” he commanded, and, realising the futility of resistance, the scientist obeyed.

The light of the priest’s stone illumined every corner of the chamber. A rough rectangle it was in shape, about twenty feet by twelve. Across the floor, parallel with, and about a couple of feet from, the doorway, ran a strange crack, not more than three inches in width at its widest part.

Over this Mervyn stepped, then turned and faced his captors.

“I will give thee time to decide,” Nordhu said, “whether ye will do my bidding or be delivered to the sacred beast of Ramouni. See, here is food”—flinging a couple of mushroom-like fungi towards his prisoner—“eat, and think well over your answer. Thy fate is in thine own hands.”

“Stand back against the further wall,” he added, a moment later. Without a word Mervyn obeyed. As he did so Nordhu stamped with his foot upon the floor of the passage. Instantly, from the crack in the floor leapt a dazzling sheet of flame, forming an impenetrable barrier between the scientist and the doorway. Almost to the roof the flaming wall towered, darting and flashing in innumerable little tongues.

The heat from the barrier was terrible; its glare seemed to shrivel Mervyn’s eyes, and his ears throbbed with the roaring of the flames.

The fungi lay untasted at his side, and he sat with his head buried in his hands, the personification of despair.

His fate was in his own hands, so the priest had said; his own it was to decide whether he should earn freedom or a terrible death.

A subtle temptation came to him as he sat there in the fiery cell, to yield to circumstances, to drift with the tide.

Almost it overcame him, but to his aid came another thought. What guarantee had he that Nordhu would fulfil his promise and set him free if he obeyed him? Would not the priest rather keep him captive, that he might wring from him knowledge of other things besides firearms?

It was scarcely likely that he would allow such a prize as Mervyn would prove to slip through his fingers, promise or no promise.

“No,” the scientist muttered; “he can shrivel me to a cinder if he likes. I will not obey him!” So was his determination taken.

“RAHEE THE TERRIBLE!”

“WHAT sayest thou? Wilt live or die?”

Many hours had passed since Mervyn made his decision.

The flaming barrier had sunk back into the depths whence it sprang, and Nordhu stood once more before his captive.

The scientist faced the priest boldly.

“This is my answer,” he cried: “I utterly refuse to reveal to you any of the things you wish to know; but hear this ere ye destroy me: I have friends who will exact a terrible vengeance if I be harmed. Not all your hordes of wolfish followers will save you from their fury.”

“Think you to fright me with such talk?” returned the priest scornfully. “What doth hinder me to take your friends captive also, and put them to the torture? Are they such mighty warriors that ye think they can stand against the hosts of the underworld? I know of their movements. I know that they be approaching the haunts of my people in hope to rescue their brother. I have warned them by a fire message, but I fear me they will not heed. Though they force an entrance into our caverns, they shall never return, I swear it by Ramouni, and by Rahee, sacred beast of Ramouni! Soon will I have all of ye safely in my power, and it may be that I can wrest the secret from one, if ye are stubborn. But come, Rahee waits.”

Stepping over the fire-crack, Mervyn passed out of the chamber.

On once more down the tunnel the priest and prisoner made their way, and behind, silent and terrible, came the two wolfish guards. Round numberless bends and curves they went, sometimes crossing a huge vaulted chamber, to plunge into a tunnel on the farther side. And ever around them, from the numerous galleries on either hand, came the sounds of machinery. At length they reached a doorway, before which hung a curtain of skins. This Nordhu pulled aside, and the four passed through into a dazzling glare of fungi light.

So brilliant was the glow that it paled the light of the priest’s stone, and, for a few seconds, Mervyn was compelled to veil his eyes with his manacled hands. Presently, as they became accustomed to the glare, he was able to take note of his surroundings.

He was standing in a vast natural amphitheatre in the heart of the mountain range. Around him, ledge upon ledge, terrace after terrace, rose the cliffs, and every cranny of the towering walls was crowded with fungi. Everywhere the luminous growths flourished, the floor of the amphitheatre alone being free from them.

But not for long was Mervyn allowed to stand gazing upon this scene.

“Come,” snapped the priest, and moved on across the floor.

Soon before them loomed a gigantic idol, rudely carved in stone.

It was a monstrous, misshapen, half-human figure with but one eye, and that in the centre of its forehead. Immediately in front stood a flat stone slab, which evidently served as an altar, and Mervyn shuddered as he noted the dark stains upon the surface of the stone.

Doubtless many a score of victims had been sacrificed beneath the murderous knife of Nordhu upon that slab; many a savage had gone screaming to his death to satisfy the lust of the devilish priest.

The two guards had instantly prostrated themselves before the monstrosity, and now lay upon their faces, muttering some doggerel or other in praise of the image.

Nordhu himself bowed low, then turned furiously upon his prisoner.

“Kneel!” he screamed, “kneel to Ramouni, that ye may hear his will.”

But the scientist stood rigid as the idol itself. He knew well that he was face to face with death, and he was not minded that his last few moments of life should be spent in bowing himself before the repulsive figure which served these people as a god.

“Dost hear?” thundered the priest; “kneel, ye white dog, before the god of my people.”

“I will not kneel,” Mervyn answered calmly, “to this misshapen block of stone that ye call a god. Think you to deceive me with this craven figure! If it be a god, let it speak.”

“So,” returned Nordhu mockingly, “ye would fain hear Ramouni speak? Hearken then.”

Raising his arms above his head, he gabbled out a long formula, punctuated with sundry bowings and scrapings that made Mervyn long to kick the fellow. But the yearning to do violence to the priest’s person vanished, and the scientist stood absolutely dumbfounded, as a thin, cracked voice from the lips of the idol answered Nordhu’s plea.

“Let the white stranger be delivered unto Rahee, the sacred beast.”

“’Tis well, oh Ramouni,” replied the priest, “it shall be done. Well, art satisfied?” he continued, turning to Mervyn.

“No,” cried the latter; “I am persuaded that the idol speaks but by a trick.”

An expression of fiendish rage swept over the face of the priest, and he raised his clenched fist threateningly above his victim. For an instant it seemed as though he would strike Mervyn to the earth, but he restrained his fury.

“Hound!” he hissed frenziedly, “dost dare to say Ramouni hath no voice?”

“I go further,” pursued Mervyn firmly—to him in a flash had come the revelation of Nordhu’s trickery—“I know the means by which ye make the idol speak, and will expose you to your people. Think you that you alone can give Ramouni voice? Listen!”

Once more a voice came from the image, but this time different indeed in tone; no weak, piping voice this, but strong and of full volume.

“Hark ye, Nordhu,” come the words—and at the sound of them the two wolfish worshippers raised themselves, staring in astonishment at the lips of the god—“do no harm to this white stranger, I command ye. It is my will that he should depart in peace. See to it, lest my anger be visited upon my people!”

It was Mervyn’s last card, his final effort in his struggle against death.

Himself a ventriloquist of no mean ability, the scientist had quickly perceived the method by which the crafty priest gave speech to Ramouni. A faint hope flickered up in his mind that, by means of his talent, he might compel Nordhu to release him.

Vain hope! One moment the priest stood as though turned to stone, the next his clenched fist shot out, and Mervyn dropped like a log.

Ere he could rise again the priest, tearing the hide girdle from the loins of the nearest savage, was upon him, and, binding the filthy strip of skin firmly across his mouth, effectually gagged the prostrate scientist.

For an instant it seemed as though the two wolf-men were about to interfere. Doubtless they were afraid that they would suffer for Nordhu’s rash action if Ramouni fulfilled his threat; but the high priest was quite ready for the emergency.

With consummate skill he flung his voice between the lips of the image.

“Thou hast done well, O priest,” came the piping tones. “I did but try thee, whether thou wert faithful to me or no. Let my people make merry over the death of this white stranger, for he is mine enemy.”

Every word of this speech Mervyn heard, as he struggled painfully to his feet; yet he was powerless to resist the devilish schemes of the merciless monster beside him. With a fiendish grin overspreading his features, the priest raised his voice in a piercing cry:

“Ayoki! Ayoki!”

The word pealed twice from his lips, and, ere the echoes had died, into the temple filed a score of dark figures. Right up to the altar they glided, moving with scarce a sound, and formed a semicircle about the high priest and his prisoner.

At their advent the wolf-men rose and vanished, seeming glad to leave the presence of the image, which their ignorant superstitious minds credited with supernatural powers.

The newcomers, each of whom was clad somewhat scantily in a coarse skin mantle, were creatures of the same type as the high priest, save that, if anything, their faces were more brutalised and repulsive. They glared fiercely at the scientist as they stood waiting for Nordhu to speak.

“Priests of Ramouni,” he began at last, “our god hath decided that this white stranger shall be delivered unto Rahee, the sacred beast. Let the people of the underworld be summoned.”

Instantly one of the priests raised a horn to his lips.

As the weird note trembled through the temple, the whole band closed about Mervyn and hustled him forward towards the further end of the amphitheatre, where stretched a line of bars. Straight towards this barrier the scientist was thrust and driven, until he was close enough to see that beside it stood a huge stone windlass.

Here the priests halted, and once again the blast of the horn echoed amid the cliffs.

At that a multitude of sinister forms poured into the vast enclosure. Rank upon rank, they thronged in and took their places silently, until the whole floor of the temple, up to within a few yards of the spot where stood Nordhu and the priests, was covered with a heaving sea of bodies.

As he noted the wolfish forms of the creatures, their terrible aspect, Mervyn, despite his terror, felt thankful that he had not revealed to Nordhu the secret he so longed to know.

Fervently he prayed that his comrades might not fall into the hands of the devilish priest through any mad attempt to rescue him.

The hopelessness of any such effort, the utter impossibility of it, was plain to him. An army would be overwhelmed in a few moments by these countless hordes! What chance, then, had his friends? At most they were but four in number, and, with all their daring, they would not be able to pluck him from out the clutches of the priest.

So thinking, the scientist commended his soul to his Maker, waiting, pale faced but undaunted in spirit, for the terrible death which he knew would soon be his.

What form it would take he knew not; but he was aware that somewhere behind that row of bars lurked the beast to whose murderous appetite he was to be sacrificed. The suspense was terrible. Anything was better than this drawn-out agony, and he was glad when, suddenly, the high priest raised his hand.

Instantly a thunderous shout of “Nordhu! Nordhu!” pealed upward from a myriad throats. It ceased abruptly, and a tense, brooding silence followed, broken a few moments later by the harsh voice of the chief priest.

With many violent gestures he harangued his people, and Mervyn listened with fast-beating heart as Nordhu pronounced his doom.

As his voice trailed off into silence, half a dozen of the priests sprang forward to the windlass, while the rest, opening a gate in the barrier, thrust Mervyn into the enclosure beyond. Then the scientist observed that there was a second row of bars within the den, forming a barrier before the mouth of a large cave in the temple wall. The use of the windlass without became apparent to him in a moment.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the huge wheel turned beneath the united efforts of the priests, and the rails—the only barrier between the captive and the so-called sacred beast of the wolf-men—rose, until the mouth of the cave was uncovered.

As the great windlass ceased to move, another thunderous shout swelled up from the ranks of the savages.

“Hail, Rahee! Rahee the terrible!”

On the instant, as though in answer to the cry, a sound came from the depths of the cave. The beast was coming forth!

Fascinated, Mervyn stood watching for the appearance of the redoubtable Rahee.

“My God”

Like the wail of a soul in torment, the despairing cry trembled from the captive scientist’s lips as the sacred beast emerged from the cavern.

Never in all his wildest dreams had he imagined that so hideous a creature could exist. Long afterwards the terror of the brute haunted him. Its glaring eyes seemed to be ever before him, and the gnashing of its jaws dinned in his ears for days.

With a stealthy, sidelong motion the spider-like brute crept towards its fascinated victim. Every hair on its great, brown body bristled with fury; each of its eight, claw-armed legs seemed to quiver with eagerness as it advanced.

The horror of the awful thing stunned Mervyn—held him powerless, as though he were fixed to the floor. He could do naught but stare.

Then suddenly a wave of fury swept over him, and with might and main he strove to release his hands from the manacles. Like a madman he fought and tore, but the chains held him like a vice, and presently, with bleeding hands and wrists, he ceased his efforts.

Bowing his head that he might not see the grim form of his destroyer, he stood awaiting his doom.

Yet at that moment, although he knew it not, help was at hand.

Even while he thought himself within an ace of Eternity; when the great spider, but a few yards from its victim, was crouching for a spring, and the savage hordes in the temple were watching eagerly for the final scene of the tragedy, a shout came pealing downward from above.

Aroused, Mervyn looked up. The sight that met his eyes sent the hope rushing back into his heart, and set every nerve in his body tingling with a wild desire to live.

FOR A FRIEND’S LIFE.

“SAY, Seymour?”

“Well?” inquired the baronet sleepily.

“I guess it’s time to be moving.”

Yawning, Seymour rose and stretched himself.

“Just rouse Pharaoh there,” Haverly went on, as he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

Moving over to a corner of the cave, the baronet prodded the sleeping savage in the ribs. With a guttural cry the creature rose, shook himself like a dog, and stood awaiting orders.

“I guess you’d better drop it to him as we want to strike for this yer temple right now,” drawled the Yankee.

Seymour interpreted the message, whereupon Gehari affirmed, with many vigorous movements of his hands, that he could lead the great chief and his friend by a secret road, known only to himself and to one other who was dead, which would take them right to the den of the sacred beast.

“Lead on, then,” cried Seymour, “but beware how you deal with us. Serve us well, and you shall be rewarded; betray us, and you shall die by the fire-sticks.”

He tapped his rifle significantly as he spoke, and the savage, having been a witness of the death of the great serpent, seemed to fully comprehend.

He flung himself down upon the cavern floor and pressed his forehead to the baronet’s boots; then, rising, he moved swiftly outside.

The two rescuers followed, Haverly covering with his revolver the hideous form of their savage guide.

Amid the boulders which lined the base of the hills the three threaded their way, darting into hiding occasionally to escape the notice of some passing savage.

For perhaps a mile they moved in this fashion, then Gehari turned into a narrow gully, between two enormous peaks.

So high were the walls on either side that the defile was dark as midnight, and the American was strongly tempted to use his lantern.

“What an ideal spot for an ambush!” Seymour remarked in a whisper.

“That’s so,” returned Haverly in the same low tone; “I’ll be considerable relieved when we’re through.”

Stumbling and tripping over the loose stones which formed the bed of the gully, barking their shins against projecting boulders, the two toiled on after their wolfish leader.

They could but dimly discern the form of the savage in the gloom ahead, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that they managed to keep in touch with him. Had Gehari chosen to have deserted them, nothing would have been easier. But the thought seemed never to enter the savage’s mind, for he flitted on in front, tireless as ever.

Then of a sudden before them loomed a towering wall of rock, apparently blank.

The defile had ended.

Had Gehari played them false? the twain wondered. Had he led them into a cul-de-sac?

Quick as thought Haverly produced his lantern, and an instant later the glare of the electric light shattered the darkness.

“Zu!” The low, buzzing sound came from the lips of the wolf-man, and he pointed to a dark aperture which showed low down in the face of the cliffs.

Into this, with much wriggling of limbs, he proceeded to crawl, beckoning the two friends to follow.

“Looks a bit risky,” Seymour demurred, “but we’ll have to go the whole hog now.”

He dropped to his knees as he spoke, and disappeared after the savage.

“It’s all right, Silas,” his voice came back after a moment, “there’s standing room inside. Just pass me the lantern, and then you can follow.”

Reassured by his comrade’s words, Haverly passed through the opening, to find himself in a cave of considerable dimensions. Across the floor of this the rescuers moved, still preceded by the savage, and plunged into a natural tunnel on the further side.

Half an hour’s steady progress along this, sometimes crawling on hands and knees where the passage was too narrow to admit of their upright advance, and then the Yankee shut off the light of his lantern with a snap.

Before them a brilliant, silvery glow was visible. Half a dozen paces, and they emerged from the passage into a flood of fungi light.

A cry of rage burst from Seymour.

They were standing upon a narrow ledge in the cliffs which formed the temple walls. Twenty feet below them was the den of Rahee, in which their friend was awaiting his doom. The sight of the devilish brute advancing upon the professor roused all the fury in their natures against the savage creatures who had delivered him to such a fate.

In a delirious rage, Seymour raised his rifle. Another instant and Rahee the terrible would have been no more; but, ere the baronet could fire, Silas gripped his arm.

“Don’t plug the brute,” he cried sharply, “it’s the only thing that’ll keep those fiends back when they tumble to our game. I’m goin’ down.”

Ere Seymour could restrain him, Silas had laid down his rifle, swung himself over the edge, and, with a cheery shout to Mervyn, commenced the descent. From ledge to ledge the wiry American descended, as cool and collected as though it were an everyday matter for him to venture into the den of a giant spider. A hoarse roar of rage rolled up from the assembled wolf-men as they became aware of the Yankee’s daring move; but Nordhu looked on calmly, confident that Rahee would destroy rescuer as well as prisoner, which event would have well satisfied the murderous lust of the priest.

But it was not to be!

Rahee had paused in his spring as he saw this new development, seemingly startled by the barefaced audacity of the intruder. Doubtless it was the first time that any had entered his den voluntarily.

His pause gave the American just the interval he needed to carry out his plan. Descending the last few feet with a jump, he rushed between the monstrous spider and his victim. Quickly he forced a link of the chain which bound the scientist’s wrists with his sheath-knife, then pushed his friend sharply aside.

“Flicker,” he cried, “for your very life. I’ll keep this brute in check.”

With his heart beating madly against his ribs, the professor bounded across the rocky floor, and, never even pausing to remove the gag from about his mouth, commenced the ascent of the cliff.

Haverly seemed likely to pay dearly for his heroic action. Enraged by the escape of his victim, Rahee launched himself upon the American. Like a flash the latter skipped aside, and the spider landed with a thud upon the spot which his agile enemy had but just quitted.

With a hoarse gurgle of fury the brute swung round and leapt again, missing his mark by a bare three inches as Haverly darted aside once more.

“Whew!” the Yankee whistled, “that was a close call!”

Just then a glad shout from above told him that his friend was safe, and that he too might venture to make his escape from this foul den. But, even as he turned to put this thought into execution, Rahee the terrible rose once more in a spring.

Bang! The report of Seymour’s rifle echoed through the great amphitheatre, and one of the spider’s glaring orbs went out like an extinguished candle.

Swerving in his leap beneath the shock, Rahee missed his victim by a couple of feet. Ere he could gather himself together for another spring, Silas had reached the wall and was clambering upward into safety.

Halfway up the American paused and looked back. The great spider was lying motionless beside the gate of his den, giving no sign of life save an occasional snap of his mighty jaws.

As Haverly resumed his climb the voice of the high priest rang out in a thunderous order to the wolf-men. What the command was Silas, of course, could not tell, but he noted that the savages instantly thronged towards the exits, and his alert brain quickly perceived the danger.

“Hustle!” he roared to his friends above; “the brutes are going round to outflank us. I’ll be with you presently.”

“Right!” Seymour called in return; then he and Mervyn vanished into the tunnel.

Three minutes later Haverly reached the ledge. He was drawing himself up on to it when something dark shot downward, striking him full in the face. With a groan he toppled back, swayed for an instant, lost his balance, and pitched heavily into the den.

As he lay, almost stunned by the shock of his fall, a fiendish chuckle floated down to him from the ledge above. Looking up he saw the hideous face of Gehari peering down upon him, every feature aglow with malevolent triumph.

With a jerk the American drew his revolver and fired at the grinning mask; but the wolf-man promptly ducked, and the shot passed harmlessly over his head.

The shot had one effect, however; it aroused the great spider. As Haverly struggled to his feet the brute leapt towards him, its remaining eye gleaming wickedly.

Though still somewhat dazed as the result of his fall, Silas had yet the presence of mind to jump aside; but he was just a second too late. A great, hairy leg struck his shoulder; he was sent reeling to the floor, and his weapon, flying from his grasp, skimmed between the bars of the den far out into the temple.

Save for his sheath-knife the Yankee was entirely defenceless!

With this weapon, however, poor though it was, he prepared to meet his terrible foe. He could see that his only chance was to take the creature in the rear, to stab it from behind.

Once let him get within the grip of those terrible claws and no power on earth could save him.

A gurgle from Rahee put him upon his guard, and again he evaded the clutch of the giant spider by a bare hand’s-breadth; but he had no opportunity to take the offensive. The brute was far too agile in his movements to give Silas the chance he needed, and a savage chuckle burst from the wolfish brute, who watched the scene from above, as he saw Rahee preparing for another leap.

But the chuckle died in his throat, and a hoarse scream of terror rang out over the temple as he felt himself seized from behind.

Struggling and clawing, he was swung from his feet, lifted high above the ledge, then hurled with the full force of Seymour’s arms into the den below.

He struck the floor with a crash, two feet in front of the crouching spider, and in an instant the brute was upon him.

With the screams of the dying savage ringing in his ears, Haverly mounted the wall again, and this time the baronet assisted him up the last few feet of the ascent until he stood on the floor of the passage.

Here, turning for an instant, Silas looked back into the den.

Gehari had paid a terrible penalty for his treachery!

“Come,” cried Seymour, and the Yankee, sickened by the sight of the ghastly tragedy, followed him.

“What brought you back here, anyway?” he inquired as they hurried on.

“I missed the savage,” Seymour explained, “and guessed he was up to some mischief or other. He’s paid a fearful price for his little trick.”

“I reckon it was a near thing for me,” Silas admitted. “I was just crawlin’ on to the ledge when the brute lashed out with his fist and tumbled me back into the den again. You fixed him proper.”

Ere long the two reached the end of the tunnel, where Mervyn awaited them.

“We’ll have to hustle considerable,” remarked Haverly, “if we’re to get through. I guess the wolf-men won’t lose any time in strikin’ our trail.”

He started off down the gully as he spoke, and the others followed, pressing on as fast as the difficult nature of the ground would allow.

“Which way?” asked Mervyn as they reached the mouth of the gorge.

“To the left, and run like blazes,” cried Haverly, “or we’ll be seeing the inside of the temple again ’fore long.”

Scarcely had he spoken ere from behind came the long-drawn howl they knew so well.

The wolf-men were in pursuit!

HOW HAVERLY CHECKED THE STAMPEDE.

FOR half an hour the fugitives raced on, every muscle straining in a mad effort to outdistance their pitiless pursuers. Their feet seemed shod with lead as they turned and twisted among the boulders; their breath came and went in great, panting gasps that shook their bodies, yet for all their frenzied endeavours, their relentless enemies drew nearer. Foot by foot, yard by yard, the wolfish creatures gained upon them.

Then, in the grim wall of cliffs upon their left, appeared the dark mouth of a canyon.

“Quick!” gasped the Yankee; “in here with you!”

Like a flash the fugitives turned, and—with what was almost their last effort—plunged into the great cleft that split the range of hills in twain. Six yards from the entrance they swung round and stood at bay, Seymour and the millionaire fingering the triggers of their rifles.

Some time passed, but there came no sign of their pursuers; even their howls had ceased, and the three grew puzzled to account for the strange silence. It was not natural! They knew the character of the wolf-men too well by this time to think for a moment that they had given up the pursuit—had abandoned the chase! What could be the meaning of their sudden silence?

“They’ve got some devil’s card up their sleeve,” Silas muttered. “I guess they ain’t gone dumb all of a sudden for nothing. Say, there’d be no harm in prospecting a bit further along this gully? If there’s no back entrance, we’ll be in a darned awkward position.”

“You’re right,” assented the baronet. “Mervyn, if you’re in want of a feed, you can peck a bit as we go along.”

Cautiously they crept along the canyon, pausing occasionally to listen for any sound of their foes. But the underworld might have been deserted for all they could hear. Never had the silence been more profound.

The cliffs on either side rose steep and inaccessible as the wall of a house. Not a crevice or foothold of any description presented itself in the face of the towering walls. As straight were they as though the hills had been split asunder by the stroke of some giant sword. Here and there, at the base of the cliffs, grew a solitary fungus or a cluster of puff-balls, the weird, bloated forms of these latter betraying nothing of their terrible explosive power.

For an hour, perhaps, the three men moved forward, plunging deeper and deeper into the heart of the hills, and still there came no sound from the wolf-men. They had almost begun to believe—incredible though it seemed—that they had shaken off their pursuers. What else could be the meaning of their inaction?

Had they known of the coup which, even then, the crafty Nordhu was preparing against them, they would have lost little time in making their way out of the gorge. As it was, they took their ease, resting at intervals during their journey. Their future movements they had not decided upon, their time being fully taken up with the exchange of their experiences.

The loss of the Seal seemed to the professor an overwhelming blow.

“We are lost indeed without the vessel,” he remarked gloomily.

“I guess if there’s a road out of these infernal regions, we shouldn’t ha’ struck it with the Seal,” was Haverly’s sharp answer; “but that ain’t the trouble at present. You say you’ve seen nothin’ of Garth?”

“Not a sign,” was the reply.

“Wal, that’s a licker! Say, Seymour, what do you make of it?”

“He’s either been murdered by the savages or else he has escaped,” answered the baronet.

“Put your money on the last of them two; I calculate they’d hardly be likely to knock him on the head, seeing as how all prisoners are reserved for spider-meat. Anyway, we’ll assume he’s got clear, though what he’ll do now the Seal’s gone, Heaven alone knows!”

“What of Wilson?” asked Mervyn suddenly.

“When we know his fate,” returned Seymour, “the mystery of the Seal’s disappearance will be a mystery no longer.”

Hereafter silence fell upon the trio. Each man’s thoughts were busy with the things of the future. Would they ever find a way out of this underworld, or were they doomed to wander in its ghostly wilds until death released them? At the moment their prospect was not an alluring one!

Without any settled plan for the future, save to put as great a distance as possible between themselves and the wolf-men, they seemed helpless. Haverly’s active mind revolved all the expedients which presented themselves, yet, even to him, the case seemed almost hopeless.

“Say, professor,” he cried, breaking the long silence, “ain’t you got——”

His sentence was never finished, for at that instant, from far behind, came a series of hideous yelps. Softened by distance though they were, the sounds were frightful enough to the ears of the fugitives.

“They’ve struck our trail again,” remarked Seymour, stopping for a moment. Then a puzzled expression passed over his features, as a low, rumbling roar, not unlike far-away thunder, rolled up out of the distance, accompanied by a further series of wolfish cries.

“I opine we’re going to strike trouble very shortly,” averred Silas, “though I allow I don’t hardly tumble to the meanin’ of this yer rumbling.”

Quickly the rumbling grew into the pounding of giant hoofs, and the ground shook beneath the fugitives’ feet.

“A stampede!” the baronet cried. “The devils have stampeded a herd of animals! Run for your lives!”

But his friends needed no urging. They ran as men with the fear of death upon them, gazing eagerly to right and left in hope of finding some cave or cleft in the cliffs in which they might hide.

But never a crack or a crevice appeared in the iron walls, and ever the pitiless thunder of the great hoofs drew nearer. It seemed as though nought could save the ill-fated trio from the vengeance which the devilish priest had designed for them. Then, almost at the last moment, an inspiration flashed into Haverly’s mind.

He pulled up short, and, drawing his sheath-knife, sprang to where grew half a dozen or more huge puff-balls. Three of these he detached, handling them with great care. Carrying them out into the very centre of the gorge, he piled them in a heap.

His friends had stopped their flight as they noted his strange actions, and now stood watching him, Seymour admiringly, Mervyn with blank astonishment depicted on every feature.

“You’re a genius, Silas!” exclaimed the baronet, as, under the American’s orders, they placed a safe distance between themselves and the puff-balls. “I should never have thought of that.”

“But surely,” Mervyn began, “you don’t mean to say that those things are explosive? Why——”

“It was one of them same that bust the elk-hunters we told you about, anyway,” retorted the Yankee, his voice almost lost in the thunder of hoofs.

The next instant a dozen huge forms loomed through the twilight, racing three abreast down the gorge. The foremost of them were almost upon the fungi pile, when Silas and the baronet fired, their shots crashing simultaneously into the puff-balls. A dazzling sheet of flame leapt high above the pile, illuminating for a moment the great shaggy bodies and huge curved tusks of the stampeding animals.

“Mammoths!” gasped the scientist.

His exclamation was drowned in the shrill trumpeting of the terrified pachyderms, which was drowned in turn by the thunderous roar of the explosion as the puff-balls did their work.

The fugitives, flung violently to the earth by the shock, were scarcely conscious of what followed. The ground rocked furiously beneath them, creating a violent nausea, which left them sick for hours; immense masses of rock, torn from the face of the cliffs by the frightful force of the explosion, crashed heavily into the gorge, and above all the terrible uproar rang the shrill screaming of the dying animals.

But the din ceased at length, and then the three comrades staggered to their feet. Badly shaken they were, but otherwise they had received no hurt, and they gave thanks as only men can who have escaped from the very jaws of death.

The vengeance of the high priest of the wolf-men had failed!

“I guess we scored that time,” Silas said; “but I’m sorry for the tuskers. It was real cute of the niggers to stampede the brutes.”

“Thanks to you and the puff-balls,” put in Seymour, “the trick didn’t work.”

Mervyn had not yet recovered from his stupefaction at the marvellous explosive agent which was hidden away in the quaint fungi; but when he did at last find voice he could scarcely find words to express his wonder.

“It passes all belief,” he cried, “that such curious growths should have so deadly a power! They are natural bombs!”

The scene of the explosion entirely bore out this statement. The gorge was completely blocked by an enormous mass of débris, still quivering flesh and rock splinters being mingled in sickening confusion. Of all the herd of monster quadrupeds not one had escaped annihilation.

Turning, the three friends strode forward on their way, Mervyn dilating as they went on the subject of the explosive fungi.

“I guess them niggers’ll be considerable riled,” Haverly asserted with a chuckle, breaking in on the scientist’s discourse. “It ’ud be almighty elevating to see the old priest’s face when he knows we’ve pulled through an’ that his trick’s gone bust.”

“The fellow possesses terrible power,” Mervyn returned. “He almost succeeded in hypnotising me, though I struggled against him with all the force of my will. I tremble now to think of what might have happened had he effected his purpose.”

“Great Scott!” Seymour ejaculated. “Though I only saw him from a distance, it struck me that he had remarkably weird eyes, but I never imagined that the fellow was a hypnotist. We must fight shy of him for the future.”

“I guess it’s goin’ to take us all our time,” drawled the Yankee. “You can gamble on it the old man’ll lose no time in gettin’ on our trail again.”

“You think he’ll pursue, then?” queried the baronet.

“Think!” Haverly repeated. “I guess we can put it stronger than that. It’s a dead cert. the galoot’ll be on our trail again within a couple of hours, an’ then there’ll be a circus.”

“The heap of débris may check pursuit for a time,” suggested Mervyn.

“It may,” was the dubious reply, “but I doubt it. I calculate if you could pile the hull range of the Rockies way back there it wouldn’t stop them wolf-men for more than a second or two. Their shanks seemed to be built of watch-springs. Anyway, with that old priest urgin’ ’em on, it’ll be little short of an earthquake as’ll check ’em. What the blazes is that?”

A scream rang out through the silence, menacing and terrible.

“Vampires!” cried Seymour, and examined the breech of his rifle. As he snapped to the lever an immense vampire dropped swiftly downward through the twilight. On the instant the baronet fired, and the brute, lurching, recovered itself with difficulty, and flapped out of sight.

“Whatever was it?” gasped the scientist, amazed at the vast size of the creature, of whose shape he had caught but a fleeting glimpse.

“A vampire,” Seymour replied; “the same kind of brute that attacked Silas and me as we were returning to the boat.”

“I had forgotten for the moment,” returned Mervyn. “What terrible brutes they are! Who would have dreamed that such creatures existed? Truly this——”

“Jupiter! If this don’t lick all! I guess we must ha’ struck a blamed cemetery!”

There was good cause for the Yankee’s interruption, for, rounding a curve of the gorge, the adventurers had come suddenly upon a valley. On either hand towered monster fungi, their unearthly radiance making the valley as light as day; and between the growths the ground was thickly covered with bones.

Everywhere the bleached and ghastly relics lay, a veritable harvest of death.

The bones were, for the most part, those of animals, but here and there among them a human skull grinned up mockingly at the intruders.

“What can it mean?” the Professor asked in a hoarse whisper, stepping cautiously amid the gleaming piles.

“I assume this is the feedin’ ground of the vampires,” the Yankee answered. As he spoke there was a rustle amid a fungi-clump some yards away, and a huge, black form emerged, to flap heavily away into the shadow of the surrounding cliffs. Parting the fungi, Haverly peered down at the spot whence the creature had arisen.

Lying with outstretched limbs, its ghastly outline revealed with hideous distinctness by the glistening growth around, was the carcase of a wolf-man.

But something else caught the Yankee’s eye. In the hand of the savage, tightly clenched in the stiffened fingers, was a white handkerchief!

A whistle of astonishment escaped Silas. What brought the wolf-man with that in his possession? Kneeling, Haverly forced open the hand of the dead savage, and, removing the handkerchief, held it out for the inspection of his friends.

“It’s Wilson’s,” cried Seymour. “See, here are his initials,” pointing to the letters, “T. W.” embroidered in one corner. “How the dickens did it get here?” he continued.

“Perhaps the savage had something to do with Wilson’s disappearance?” suggested the scientist; but Haverly shook his head. He was busy trying to figure out the puzzle, which as yet defied him.

“I allow it beats me,” he admitted at length. “What brings the engineer so far from the coast?”

“He may not have been here at all,” Seymour replied.

“I guess this handkerchief ain’t walked here!”

“What about the savage?” persisted the baronet.

“You can gamble on it as he picked it up. Say, has it struck you as bein’ kinder peculiar that we should find the nose-rag in this yer valley?”

“You mean?” interrogatively.

“Have the vampires had anything to do with it?”

“Heaven forbid!” cried Seymour; “the thought’s too horrible!”

“We shall see,” the Yankee answered as they moved on again.

A DUEL TO THE DEATH.

TO return to Garth and the engineer.

For a few seconds they could do naught but gaze helplessly at the approaching monster; then all the fighting spirit of the inventor rose, and he prepared to resist to the death, if need be.

Darting out on deck, he cast off the mooring-rope, bellowing the while to Wilson to start the engines. Within three minutes of the appearance of the great fish-lizard, the Seal, passing close to the towering side of the brute, flashed seaward at her topmost speed.

And now began a chase in the like of which Garth had never taken part before. With all his skill at the wheel he could but barely keep the Seal away from her monstrous enemy. The reptile seemed bent on the destruction of the craft this time. He spared no effort to overtake her. Perhaps his previous failure had rendered him the more furious?

With every plate on his body gleaming with a brilliant, phosphorescent light, he swept on. His breath hissed through his gaping nostrils like steam from the escape valve of an engine, and his mighty paddles were buried beneath a smother of foam.

Swiftly he overhauled the flying vessel, until he was almost alongside; then, swift and sure, he snapped at the Seal’s rail. Quickly as Garth turned the faithful craft, he was a moment too late. The great fangs closed upon the polished steel bar, and, with a jerk that almost overturned the boat, a six-foot length of rail was torn bodily from its boltings.

The narrowness of the escape brought the sweat pouring from the inventor’s body. Apparently the shock had not injured the saurian, for he swept on again in pursuit, giving utterance to a booming roar as he advanced.

A dangerous gleam came into Garth’s eyes as he noted the grim persistency of the monstrous reptile. Staving off a second attack of the brute by a quick turn of the wheel, the inventor took down the tube.

“Stand by to reverse her when she strikes,” he cried. “I’m going to ram the brute.”

“Be careful!” warned Wilson in return, and then Garth dropped the tube.

Bringing the Seal round in a perilously close circle, he steered her straight and true for her monstrous enemy’s side. This offensive movement seemed to puzzle the saurian, and he attempted to avoid the swooping vessel.

But she was too quick for him. With a shock that almost jerked Garth from his feet, the vessel’s sharp prow struck the reptile’s heaving side, about midway between the two starboard paddles. A crimson torrent spurted from the wound, deluging the Seal’s bright plates, and turning her spotless deck into a veritable shambles.

On the instant Wilson flung over his levers, and, under reversed engines, the submarine leapt back from her stricken foe. Yet, quick as she moved, the great tail of the ichthyosaurus moved quicker. With a stroke like that of a steam hammer, it struck the Seal’s hull just below water, starting a couple of plates, through the interstices of which the water commenced to pour in an ever-increasing stream.

Though sorely stricken the great fish-lizard was not yet defeated. Swinging round, he churned after the retreating vessel, his roar changed to a shrill screaming.

Again the inventor signalled for full speed ahead, and, for the second time, the vessel plunged down upon her relentless pursuer. With marvellous swiftness the huge brute swerved from his course, but Garth, with a turn of the wheel, followed his movement. The inventor was determined that he would finish this reptile once and for all.

The bleeding side of the creature offered an excellent mark, and straight for this Garth drove the vessel. Like a rocket she shot forward, and the saurian’s ribs snapped like matchwood as once more she struck the towering carcase.

There came a terrible death-cry from the huge reptile; then, as the Seal drew slowly away, the brute leapt clear out of the water, and fell with a thunderous crash across the submarine’s deck. A savage exclamation burst from Garth as the Seal commenced to sink beneath the enormous weight of the monster’s body. The brute’s paddles were thrashing madly in its death flurry, and the booming strokes of the giant tail seemed to make the whole underworld ring.

Alarmed by the uproar, the engineer came rushing up into the turret.

“What’s happened?” he cried; then his eye took in the peril of the situation. The water was fast closing over the Seal, and, despite all his efforts, Garth could not shake her clear of the dying saurian. Once let her touch bottom with that great weight across her deck, and no power on earth could raise her again.

“Sink her!” Garth cried at length, turning to his friend, “it’s our only chance. If we can’t get her clear of this brute we’re done.”

Quick as thought Wilson darted below again, and a moment later the throb of the pumps broke upon the ears of the inventor.

Would it be possible for the vessel to sink from under her monstrous burden?

Anxiously Garth looked out into the swirling waters, but the saurian appeared to sink quite as fast as the Seal. The strokes of the brute’s paddles, though now feebler, were yet enough to occasion the inventor no small uneasiness.

Neither forward nor backward could the vessel move, although urged on by the full power of her engines. The enormous weight across her deck held her almost motionless.

So the minutes dragged by, each one fraught with the suspense of a lifetime, and there came no change for the better in the situation of the Seal and her occupants, save that the last spark of life had flickered from the monster, and he lay still in death. Yet even this was something to be thankful for. While he lived there had ever been a danger that, by some random stroke of his paddles, he might have smashed in one or other of the vessel’s deck-plates. Now that danger was past.

But still the vessel sank in the crimsoned waters. Soon, unless this sea was of unusual depth, she must touch bottom; and then—a slow, lingering death for the two men aboard her—death by suffocation, deep down in the gloomy depths of this subterranean sea.

The lonely vigil grew too much for Garth at last, and, placing the tube to his lips, he summoned the engineer.

“It’s no use,” he remarked hopelessly, as the latter entered the wheelhouse; “we might as well let things take their course. The brute’s jammed too firmly across the deck for us to move him.”

“It’s what Silas would call ‘checkmate,’ then?” questioned Wilson.

“That’s it; but it seems jolly hard, just as we’d bested the brute, too. How’s that crack going on where his tail caught us?”

“I’ve fixed the door of the room—it’s Mervyn’s study, you know, where the smash is—so that the water cannot spread to other places. I say, it was a good thing we decided to have water-tight doors to all the compartments!”

But Garth did not answer. He was gazing fixedly outside. The water, stained until now to a crimson hue by the life-blood of the saurian, was clearing rapidly.

“Look!” the inventor cried suddenly. Wilson followed the direction of his gaze. Close alongside a jagged, black rock was thrusting itself upward as the vessel sank.

“If the brute’s body will only catch on that we may escape after all,” Garth cried excitedly. “Get below again, Tom, old man, and start your engines like blazes when you hear me ring.”

The next few moments were full of painful anxiety to the engineer as he waited, gripping his levers, for the signal which should tell him that the vessel was free. It came at length, and a wild huzza almost escaped him as he felt the Seal begin to move. Ere long she was sweeping through the water at her usual pace, and then Wilson felt free to raise her. When she reached the surface the lad rejoined his comrade in the turret.

“Thank heaven we came through all right!” Garth breathed fervently. “That squeak was narrow enough to turn one’s hair grey. But for that rock we’d have been done, sure as fate. The brute’s head caught against it, and the old boat simply dropped from under. How’s your arm?”

“Aches badly,” was the reply. “I knocked it as I went down the last time.”

“That’s bad. I’ll dress it soon as ever we get back.”

Straight for the beach Garth steered the Seal, running her aground in preparation for repairing the damages sustained in the struggle with the saurian. Then, when Wilson’s wound was redressed, Garth rolled up his sleeves and disappeared below, leaving the engineer to keep watch.

For awhile Tom sat listening to the clang of the inventor’s tools as he refixed the damaged plates. He knew well that the job would be a difficult one for Garth to carry out alone, yet his wounded arm precluded him from assisting in the work. So, though he would far rather have been below, plying wrench or hammer, he had perforce to remain inactive.

Time dragged heavily. Outside nothing seemed stirring. Long since he had given up hope that his friends would return. Doubtless by now, if still alive, they were far away in the heart of this mysterious underworld.

Suddenly a screech floated across the water, breaking in upon his meditation.

“What’s that?” he muttered to himself, and striding to the door, opened it cautiously, wondering what fresh attack the strange cry heralded. Again it came, and at that he stepped out on deck, his revolver ready for action.

Then through the gloom flashed some monstrous flying creature, and Wilson fired almost point-blank at the swooping body. But a blow from the creature’s wing knocked his weapon from his hand, and felled him like a log to the deck. As he struggled to rise, the brute’s great teeth fixed themselves in his shoulder; he was borne swiftly aloft, his terrified cries for help falling vainly on the ears of Garth, who, alarmed by the shot, came rushing up from below just in time to catch a glimpse of the disappearing form of his friend.

For a time the unhappy engineer became unconscious, recovering from one swoon only to fall into another. He remembered nothing of his terrible journey; his mind was a complete blank until the shock of a fall roused him, and he opened his eyes.

He was lying upon a carpet of spongy moss. Around, entirely enclosing the spot where he lay, towered a forest of fungi. Of his captor he could at first see nothing, and, thinking to make his escape if the brute had vanished, he sat up and peered cautiously around. Then, as his glance strayed upward, a shudder passed through his frame.

Twenty feet above, his soaring wings almost grazing the topmost branching arms of the fungi, hovered the great vampire. As the brute noted the engineer’s movement, its savage eyes glared threateningly, and Wilson subsided, trembling.

Still as death he lay waiting, wondering why the fearsome brute did not at once attack him, instead of hovering there in mid-air. His curiosity was quickly satisfied.

Like a flash a second vampire swooped into view and hurled itself upon Wilson’s ghoulish guardian. In an instant the twain were fighting tooth and nail, their mighty wings raising a deafening clamour.

Not a move dared the lad make, fearing that the great bats might unite forces against him did they see him stirring. Round and round the brutes circled, rocking, reeling in their frenzied efforts to destroy each other. Now they sank until they were whirling but a few feet above Wilson’s head; anon, they would soar into the gloom far beyond his sight.

For an hour the duel raged, the creatures’ efforts growing feebler as the time went on, while the crimson rain which sprinkled down over the engineer bore grim testimony to the sanguinary nature of the struggle.

Suddenly, with a shrill scream, one of the vampires pitched heavily earthward. Its adversary swayed unsteadily for a moment, then fluttered to the ground beside it.

In a second Tom was upon his feet. Knife in hand, he moved towards his foes. One was already dead, and the other, too exhausted to move and bleeding from a score of wounds, fell an easy prey to the engineer’s weapon.

Feeling deeply thankful for his escape from a terrible death, the lad stood looking down on the carcases for a few moments; then, striding forward over the moss, he plunged through the encircling fungi. As he emerged from the glistening growths a startled cry escaped him.

The ground before him was thickly covered with bones!

At the sight of the ghastly relics his already overstrained nerves almost gave way, but, exerting all his self-control, he pulled himself together and strode down the valley, hoping ere long to regain the coast.

THE SINKING POOL.

FOR some time Wilson plodded on, his one idea being to escape from the ghostly valley. The weirdness of the place, enclosed as it was on every side by towering cliffs, its unnatural stillness, and, above all, the grim remains with which the ground was littered, sent an uncanny thrill through the engineer; and, despite his resolution, he found himself continually glancing backward, to make certain that no spectral form was dogging his steps.

All unconsciously he was moving in exactly the opposite direction to that he wished to take, straying farther at each step into the interior of the underworld. The valley seemed to be endless, and the lonely traveller grew tired after awhile of the eternal monotony of the scene around. More, he grew afraid; afraid that he would never find his way out of these ghostly wilds, where reigned an everlasting silence—afraid that he would never again see the Seal or the comrade from whom he had been snatched so suddenly.

The fear grew. Try as he might he could not shake it off. It seemed to be gripping his heart with icy fingers, paralysing his every energy, and turning him into a craven coward. He started at his own footsteps. The shadow of a boulder, cast in a grotesque, distorted form by the fungi light upon the ground at his feet, brought him up with a jump, and only with great difficulty did he restrain a cry.

The valley seemed to grow full of strange sounds. Ghostly voices whispered in his ears, hideous faces peered out from the shelter of the fungi.

He was in the grip of a terror such as he had never known before!

Then, upon the heels of this wholly imaginary fear, came a real one. Footsteps—stealthy, all but noiseless footsteps—sounded behind him, He glanced backward. A score of yards behind him a black shadow was moving, a shapeless smudge against the green of the moss.

For one terrible instant his heart seemed to stop beating. What was the Thing?

Nearer it crept, sliding from shadow to shadow with a sinister movement horrible to witness. And still the lad stood motionless, his very soul withered by the fear that gripped him.

Nearer still—but a few feet separated the thing from the engineer; then the latter recovered the use of his limbs, and, with a wild yell of terror, dashed madly down the valley. As he did so, the creature behind rose from its crouching position, disclosing to view the hideous form of a wolf-man.

A moment the savage stood gazing after the rapidly-vanishing Wilson, then, picking up something the latter had dropped, he turned without troubling to give chase, and, plunging in among the fungi, disappeared.

Like a hunted stag Wilson bounded over the ground, all other thoughts lost in the one mad desire to get away from the creature behind. He never turned to look if the brute was following. He rushed on blindly, madly, the fear that gripped him lending him fictitious strength. He knew nothing, saw nothing, until, utterly exhausted, his trembling limbs refused to carry him farther, and he dropped full length upon the ground.

A long while he lay where he had fallen, too wearied to move, thoroughly disgusted with himself for so allowing fear to overcome him. When at last he arose he was astonished at his surroundings. Although he had no recollection of so doing, he must, in his flight, have emerged from the valley of bones, for he was in a gloomy defile, between towering cliffs.

From which direction he had come he could not tell, but, trusting to luck, he strode forward into the darkness of the defile.

His terror had gone, but it had left him weak and trembling as with an ague. Not a single fungus grew in the gloomy gorge; not even the twilight peculiar to this strange subterranean world relieved its dark obscurity. Yet, despite this absence of light, Wilson felt safer than amid the fungi. If the darkness concealed dangers, it also hid him from the sight of Lurking enemies.

For a little over a mile he strode on between the cliffs, then a bright light ahead warned him that he was approaching the end of the defile.

Redoubling his caution as he advanced, he soon emerged from the gorge into another valley, much smaller than the one he had left, but lit by the same weird growths. At first he hesitated to advance into the light, the memory of his recent fright being still very vivid; but, putting a bold face on the matter, he moved forward at length from the shadow of the cliffs.

As he stepped into the light of the luminous growths, clear and distinct to his ears came the clang of a bell.

He pulled up short in sheer astonishment, and stood listening for a repetition of the sound.

Clang! Once more it rang across the valley. Drawing his sheath-knife, Wilson moved forward, determined to investigate the mystery. What could be the meaning of the sound, he pondered? Had he reached the haunts of the wolf-men, and was the ringing of the bell some signal? Whatever it was he was resolved to get to the bottom of it.

Clang! For the third time the musical note echoed amid the cliffs. The sound seemed to rise from a dense thicket of fungi, which covered the further end of the valley, and towards this the engineer hurried. Amid the towering growths he threaded his way, moving cautiously, having no wish to fall foul of any savages; then, with a low exclamation, he checked himself upon the edge of a clearing.

Before him, tottering in the last stage of decay, rose a ruined building. Gaunt and ghostly, its roofless walls stood, the relics of some past civilisation. Fascinated, Wilson moved nearer. What was the history of this crumbling pile, the one sign of civilised life that he had seen in this underworld? For what purpose had it been erected, and by whom?

The pillars, which once had graced its front, lay half buried in the spongy ground. Climbing fungi ran riot in the gaping cracks in its walls, and its stone pavement was covered with a carpet of moss. Its air of desolate grandeur strongly impressed Wilson, and for a while he forgot what had brought him thither.

His engineer’s eye took in the monstrous size of the blocks which had formed the walls, and he marvelled how they could have been raised to their places. Surely they who erected such a building must have been men of gigantic stature and strength, unless indeed they were equipped with the appliances of modern engineering?

Dare he enter? The place seemed as deserted as the grave. If there were savages about, they would, without a doubt, have shown themselves ere now. He longed to examine the ruins more closely. There appeared to be no danger, and, if it came to that, he was not safe where he stood. Thus reasoning, curiosity got the better of his prudence, and he strode across the clearing.

Just outside the great arch that had once been the doorway he paused, and stood for a moment with ears strained for any sound from within; but the place was wrapped in silence as in a shroud, and, reassured, he crossed the threshold.

There was danger in his enterprise other than that from savages. At any moment a block of stone might come crashing from the walls, and, were he beneath such, his career would be ended on the spot. Knowing this, he made his examination as brief as possible, keeping well back from the walls.

The building appeared to have been used as a temple at one time, for in the centre stood a stone altar. Time, the destroyer, had not quite obliterated the rude hieroglyphics with which the side of the sacrificial slab had been covered, but Wilson could not gain from them the information he so much desired. To him they were mere meaningless scratches. Mervyn, perhaps, could have read in them the life-history of the builders of the place; but the engineer’s education did not include the sign languages of defunct races.

Suddenly, clear as ever through the silence, came the bell-note.

The sound recalled to Wilson the object of his search, the mysterious bell-ringer. Not a little curious as to the identity of the being, whoever it was, he thoroughly examined the interior of the temple—but in vain. The place was entirely deserted. Not a hole was there large enough to conceal a dog, yet the engineer was certain the sound came from the building.

Was there a vault beneath the temple? It seemed probable, but how came it that the sound was so distinct if the ringer were underground? The thing puzzled him.

Determined to solve the mystery, he examined the moss-grown flags of the floor, but with no better result. Outside the building, when he essayed to search there, failure still attended his efforts. The time flew by, and, though at intervals the musical peal still fell upon his ears, he was no nearer the discovery of the mysterious being; bell and ringer seemed invisible.

Probably he would never have hit upon the true solution of the mystery but for an accident. As he moved amidst the fallen blocks which strewed the ground at the base of the walls, he stumbled and fell, whereupon, from the shelter of a stone close by, scuttled an enormous beetle. The creature was almost a foot in length, and its branched antennae, held over its back as it ran, beat furiously upon its metallic body-covering, thus producing the clanging sound which had puzzled Wilson for so long.

“Well, I’m hanged!” was the engineer’s graceful exclamation as he rose; “to think that it’s only a beetle, after all! But now ‘to get a move on,’ as Silas would say,” and with that he turned his back upon the mysterious temple and resumed his way.

Around the valley he tramped, but no opening could he find in the encircling wall of cliffs, and soon he found himself back at the defile by which he had entered. Loth though he was to return to the valley of bones, there was nothing else to be done.

So through the gorge he hurried, and stood once more, ere long, in the feeding ground of the vampires. He paused a while to consider his course, deciding at length to move along the base of the cliffs until he came to some gorge or pass which would lead him out of this weird valley. To this end he started off at a swinging stride, keeping a sharp look-out for vampires as he went. Before he had covered many yards a distant report broke upon his ears, followed by an explosion, which awoke every echo in the valley.

At the sound, hope leapt into his heart. That first was surely the report of a rifle, which meant that his friends—whom he had deemed lost—were within a few miles of him. Instantly he started off at a run in the direction whence the sound had come. No further reports reached him, yet he did not doubt that he should be able to find his comrades. Occasionally he shouted as he ran on, hoping to attract their attention should they be anywhere within hearing.

He took little heed to his steps as he went, tripping and stumbling among the scattered bones, but ever pressing forward. Had he been more cautious the accident that befel him might have been avoided.

He was moving through a thick clump of fungi, when once more the report of a rifle echoed across the valley. At that he quickened his pace, raising his voice in a lusty shout as he did so. But there came no answering hail. His friends were as yet too far distant to hear his call. Then straining every muscle in his headlong race, he suddenly burst out of the fungi. Before him, almost at his feet, its placid surface unbroken by a single ripple, lay an eerie-looking pool. Its banks rose steeply from the water’s edge, making it impossible to note its presence until close upon it. Wilson, striving in vain to check himself, blundered over the brink and pitched with a splash into the water, eight feet below.

He was a good swimmer, and, though unfortunate, the situation did not cause him the least uneasiness. His wounded arm was now healing rapidly, thanks to Garth’s attentions, so he anticipated little difficulty in escaping from the pool. With a couple of strokes he reached the bank, but failed to touch bottom. Evidently the pool was of considerable depth.

Digging his fingers into the side, he commenced to claw his way up. He was almost clear of the water when the rotten earth crumbled beneath his clutch, and he fell backward, sousing clear under.

“Hang it!” he gasped as he rose spluttering. “I must try another place.”

Treading water for a moment he looked round for a place where the bank would be easy to scale. A spot quickly caught his eye, and towards this he was about to strike out, when a strange phenomenon startled him. The bank appeared to be rising slowly out of the water!

He could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes. The sides of the pond had not been more than eight feet in height when first he struck the water; of that he was perfectly sure; yet now, at the very lowest point, they were twelve feet, and seemed to be getting higher each moment.

Was he the victim of some delusion? He rubbed his eyes, he pinched his arm to assure himself that he was not dreaming.

Then, with startling suddenness the truth came to him.

The water of the pool was slowly sinking!

THE FIRE GULF.

THE shock of this discovery aroused him to action. Swimming to the spot he had picked out, he commenced once more to scale the bank. Eight feet he climbed; his goal was almost within reach, when, without warning, the whole face of the bank to which he was clinging gave way, and he plunged down again into the water, the earth rattling over him as he fell.

He was somewhat alarmed when he rose again. The water was still steadily sinking, and he was no nearer escape than at his first attempt. Indeed, he was further from his object, for the lower the water sank the higher he would have to climb. Escape from the pool did not appear so easy as it had done some time before.

Once more he made an attempt to scale the side, but with no better luck than before. After this he contented himself with treading water for a time, reserving his energies for a final effort.

How much lower was the water going to sink? he wondered. It was twenty feet below the level of the valley now, and its motion had not yet ceased.

He thought nothing of the strangeness of the phenomenon. His mind was centred upon escaping from his alarming predicament.

Suddenly the water began to swirl and eddy. He was expecting each instant to be sucked down into some dark hole, when, with a dull roar, that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth, the water foamed upward.

Five minutes later it was as Wilson had found it, a silent, somewhat ghostly-looking pool, scarce a ripple remaining to tell of its recent movement.

Now or never! thought the engineer.

Exerting all his remaining strength, he made a desperate effort to ascend the slippery bank. Again and again he tried, but ever with the same result. Failure, heartbreaking failure! And upon it all, while he rested from his last attempt, the water began to sink again.

At that his courage failed. He had almost decided to let himself sink beneath the surface, and so end the apparently hopeless struggle, when the sound of voices fell upon his ears—the voices of his friends.

The blood rushed madly through his veins at the sound, and a cry for help rang from his lips. An instant later—it seemed an hour to the unfortunate lad—the form of the baronet appeared on the brink of the pool.

“Great Scott!” he cried as he saw Wilson’s white, despairing face looking up at him; then he plunged in to his friend’s assistance.

With Seymour’s strong arm about him the pool lost its terrors for Wilson. Together the two sank with the water, not attempting to do aught but keep afloat until it rose again. When it once more reached its highest level, Seymour assisted his friend to scale the bank, while Haverly, leaning far over from above, quickly dragged him into safety.

But the baronet’s escape had yet to be accomplished, and seemed likely to prove a lengthier job than Wilson’s. He made no attempt to climb unassisted, recognising the futility of such a course after the engineer’s experience. Instead, he set his wits to work to evolve a method of escape.

Rope they had none, and at first thought it appeared as though there was nought at hand they could use in place of one. Presently Haverly’s inventive genius found an expedient.

“Your belts!” he cried. “I guess we can manage it.”

He tore off his own as he spoke and buckled it to those which Mervyn and Wilson tendered. Within a few seconds Seymour had been hauled up out of the pool, and the four friends—so strangely reunited—were resting upon the brink of the funnel that had so nearly become Wilson’s tomb.

Mervyn had eyes for nothing but the curious phenomenon of the sinking water, until the engineer recovered sufficiently from the effects of his immersion to tell his story. Then even the motion of the pool ceased to interest him, when Wilson told of the great ichthyosaurus, and how Garth slew it, of the vampires, the bell-beetle, and the ruined temple in the valley.

The professor drank in every word.

“We must see this temple,” he cried as the engineer concluded; “it’s the chance of a lifetime. Where is this valley you speak of? Can you find it again?”

“Yes, I can find it,” was the dubious reply; “but will it be safe to hang about here?”

“It’s worth the risk,” Mervyn returned eagerly; “let us move on without delay.”

Seymour and the Yankee, although they knew that the course suggested by the scientist was not the most prudent one, had not the heart to refuse him; so they rose, and, under the guidance of the engineer, moved on up the valley.

“I guess we’ve got to be slick over this deal,” the millionaire remarked, “an’ then we’ll strike for the Seal right away. If the old boat can’t carry us out of this darned underworld, we’ll be considerable safer aboard her than knockin’ around here.”

“How about the abyss?” Seymour questioned, “you forget the bridge is gone.”

“Not for a second,” retorted Silas. “I calculate we’ve got to pull for the mouth of that there river and take to the water. How much further to this yer location of yours, Wilson?”

“We’re close upon the defile now,” answered the engineer; “but it’s a good mile through to the valley, and——”

He broke off abruptly, as the weird howl of the wolf-men trembled out of the distance.

“I guess this picnic’s off,” snapped the American. “Mervyn, we’ll postpone this visit to Wilson’s temple, if you don’t object. The niggers must ha’ struck our trail again, and I take it none of us are real anxious to be trapped in a blind gully?”

The force of Haverly’s remark was plain to each of his friends. Even Mervyn, whose scientific zeal would have carried him onward, dared not drag his comrades into danger. Had he been alone he would have turned aside into the valley of the ruins at all costs, and doubtless would have lost his life in consequence.

“We’ve got to find a road out of this,” Silas went on, “an’ real smart, too. Them brutes’ll be on our heels in half an hour. I should advise as we hustle some.”

With that he broke into a trot, and his comrades followed his example. The cliffs on either side closed in steadily as they advanced, and it soon became evident that they were approaching a pass, or that the valley would end in a blank wall. What the latter meant they knew only too well.

Their supply of cartridges would not last for long. Surrounded by a shrieking mob of savages, it would not be long ere sheer numbers would carry the day.

The air grew strangely oppressive as they raced on, and a strong smell of sulphur came to their nostrils. What these signs portended they did not stop to consider. “Faster!” was all the cry, and, spurred onward by the yelping cries of their pursuers—each moment getting nearer—they put forth every effort.

Suddenly a gasping cry broke from Seymour.

“A pass!”

Just ahead of them was the mouth of a gorge, and into this they plunged. Impenetrable darkness surrounded them, hedged them about as with a wall, until, of a sudden, the triangular beam from Haverly’s lantern dispelled the gloom, and made progress practicable. Every nerve, every muscle was strained to the uttermost, yet the savage cries of their murderous pursuers drew nearer moment by moment. It was a hopeless race; indeed, it could not be otherwise, pitted as they were against such runners as the wolf-men; but if it came to the worst, they could stand at bay until their ammunition gave out, and afterwards—death by their own hands, rather than fall into the power of the devilish priest.

Their throats were choked with sulphur, their tongues dry and cracked, and the heat became intense as they advanced.

Yet they still held on, until, dashing furiously round an angle in the wall of the gorge, they stopped dead, petrified by the terrific grandeur of the scene before them.

To right and left the cliffs still towered, beetling and immense; but ahead the gorge broke sheer away in a mighty chasm. And, two hundred feet below, its molten bosom heaving, and falling in giant waves, rolled a sea of liquid fire. All else the fugitives forgot; they could do nought but stare, until their eyes could look no longer upon the glaring flood.

“Stupendous!” Mervyn gasped, veiling his eyes. “Saw you ever the like before?”

The chasm appeared to be about sixty feet in width, but the cliffs prevented them judging of its length. As their eyes became more accustomed to the glare they discovered that from the rocky ground at their feet the span of a stone bridge ran out, its unfinished end hanging about one third the way across the great gulf. The dazzling glow had prevented their perceiving it before.

This occasioned them less surprise than might have been the case had they not heard Wilson’s story of the ruined building in the valley; yet, for all that, they stood amazed before this mighty work. Unfinished though it appeared to be, it excited their wonder no less than their admiration. What beings were they who could span this fearful gulf with a structure that would have reflected credit upon the finest engineer in the civilised world? Not the wolf-men, of a certainty! Creatures of their brutish intellect could never have planned and carried out so stupendous an enterprise; and if not they, then what other beings dwelt in this wild and ghostly land?

“Look!” cried Seymour suddenly, “it is a drawbridge! The centre span is drawn up.”

It was true! The bridge was not imperfect, as they had supposed.

From the further side of the gorge a second span ran out, and above the end of this the centre span towered, secured by chains.

“It’s what you might call real picturesque,” drawled Silas, “but I guess it’s fixed us proper. We’re trapped like rats. Say, Mervyn, you’d better take this knife,” and he handed his sheath-knife to the unarmed scientist.

As he did so, from close at hand arose the hunting cry of the wolf-men.

“Keep well within the shelter of the rocks there,” said Seymour to Mervyn and the engineer, then moved a few paces into the gorge. Haverly took his place beside him, and together they awaited the coming of the foe.

Four minutes passed—minutes so full of suspense that each seemed like an hour—and then the foremost of the pursuers dashed round the curve. He paused as he noted the grim figures, standing motionless as statues in the shadow of the cliffs. Before ever he could retreat, a shot from Seymour’s weapon stretched him dead upon his back, his piercing death-cry ringing shrilly in the ears of his fellows as they rushed into view.

With a fiendish clamour of yells they swept down upon the fugitives, their spears raised threateningly.

“Fire!” the baronet cried, and at that the rattle of the magazine rifles broke out, the cliffs flinging back the echoes in a deafening uproar.

Crack! Crack! Even the brutish courage of the wolf-men quailed before that leaden hail. They retired precipitately, leaving eight of their number dead upon the ground.

“That’s the style,” the Yankee said cheerily, refilling the magazine of his weapon from his rapidly-vanishing store of cartridges; “we’ll teach ’em a lesson ’fore we go under.”

“We must keep them back at all costs,” rejoined Seymour. “Once they get close in they’ll sweep us over into the chasm by sheer force. How are you two feeling?” turning to the non-combatants.

“Out of it,” the twain replied together. “I wish we had weapons,” Mervyn went on, “that we might take a hand in the game.”

“On your guard!” Silas burst out; “here they come again, full rip.”

Around the bend a horde of wolf-men came charging, uttering their weird, long-drawn howl. Evidently the brutes thought to intimidate the fugitives by their fearsome cry. But the baronet’s nerve was never more steady than at that moment, and Haverly’s splendid courage did not fail him. Shot after shot they poured into that yelling horde, with a coolness and precision that excited their two friends’ keenest admiration.

Savage after savage fell to rise no more; and still the levers of the repeaters worked for dear life—still the fiendish forms rushed through the glare, almost up to the smoking muzzles of the rifles, ere once more they fell back in a disorganised mob.

The pile of dead they left behind bore witness to the deadly accuracy of the two friends’ aim.

“Hot work,” the baronet panted, mopping his sweat-covered brow. He thrust his hand into his pocket, then withdrew it with a startled exclamation. An instant he fumbled with his cartridge belt, his face paling the while.

“I say,” he asked hoarsely, “how many cartridges have you left?”

The Yankee put his hand to his belt.

“Jupiter!” he gasped, “not a blame one.”

“Then God help us!” Seymour returned. “I’ve fired my last!”

A groan broke from the scientist as he heard the words. “We’re done, then?” he said bitterly.

“Not by a hull piece,” Silas replied. “It’s clubbed guns for the next scrap, an’ hit hard as you know how. I guess this is where your tooth-picks’ll come in, professor,” and, reversing his rifle, the American gripped it firmly by the muzzle.

Seymour followed his example. Despite the millionaire’s bold words, each man felt that the end was near; that the next rush of the savages would sweep them into the fire gulf. Taken alive they were determined not to be, even though they had to leap over the brink into the glowing depths below to escape capture.

Suddenly, while they stood awaiting the end, a sound floated across to them from the further side of the gulf.

It was the baying of a hound!

THE LAST OF THE AYUTIS.

FOR a moment the familiar sound, heard in the trackless wilds of the underworld, set each man’s heart throbbing with a mad yearning for home.

Home! Would they ever again look upon the glorious blue of the vault of heaven? Ever more behold the glowing splendour of the sun? Would they again set eyes upon the white cliffs of the Homeland, whose shores they had left so full of hope and enthusiasm?

Like the death-knell of their hopes rang the thrilling cry of their enemies as they moved once more to the attack.

But their two previous receptions had taught the wolf-men a lesson. No mad charge did they make this time. Evidently they had conceived a wholesome dread of firearms. Stealthily the creatures crept forward, seeming to wonder why the fire-weapons of these mighty white strangers were silent.

When they discovered that the rifles were not only silent, but useless, the end would not be long in coming.

The glare from the fire gulf lit up the hideous features of the savages with startling effect, giving them an even more diabolical expression, if that were possible. Nearer they came, gaining courage with every yard they advanced, their bloodshot eyes rolling horribly. Then suddenly, in a veritable living avalanche, they hurled themselves upon the gallant quartette.

The rifle butts rose and fell with sickening monotony, and at each stroke a wolf-man crashed to earth. The knives flashed like lightning through the crimson glare as Wilson and the scientist flung themselves pell-mell into the combat.

The engineer, plunging his weapon into the breast of a savage, tore the spear from his grasp, and fell to with this new tool with tremendous energy. Back and forth the struggling group swayed, one moment perilously close to the brink of the fire gulf, the next many yards away.

But the fight was too hot to last.

Slowly the four were beaten backward; then Wilson went down with a jagged wound in his thigh, and Mervyn, stumbling over his prostrate body, was struck senseless by a blow from the flat of a spear.

Another instant and Seymour and the Yankee would have fallen before the weapons of their foes, but, in the nick of time, a shout came pealing across the gulf.

“Aswani!” (“Courage!”)

At the word the wolf-men wavered in their attack, and a cry arose from their midst, “Yos toreal Ayuti!” (“The last of the Ayutis!”)

While they hesitated the drawbridge fell with a clang across the abyss, and over it an elk came galloping, his antlers gleaming like gold in the ruddy glow from the gulf. But it was not upon this magnificent creature that the gaze of the savages was fixed.

No: for astride the elk rode a man taller than any of the sons of earth, and his form was as that of a god. A battle-axe flashed in his right hand, and at his back swung a great embossed shield. This latter he unslung as he came on.

Checking his giant steed at the end of the bridge by the pressure of his knee, he sprang to earth and hurled himself upon the wolf-men. Like a thing of life his great axe whirred and hissed, and before it the savages fell as grain before the sickle.

For a while the two comrades stood astounded by this unexpected reinforcement. Their case had appeared so hopeless, so utterly desperate, that they had resigned themselves to destruction. They had not expected to accomplish aught, even by their most strenuous exertions. To sell their lives as dearly as possible had been their only object. But now, by the timely arrival of this gigantic stranger, whom the wolf-men called “The last of the Ayutis,” the tables had been completely turned upon their enemies.

Against the Ayuti’s great flashing blade the savages hurled themselves in vain. Vainly they cut and hewed, vainly they hacked and slashed. Cut and thrust alike fell harmless; their spears shivered themselves to fragments against the Ayuti’s shield. At every sweeping stroke of the great axe a savage crashed to earth.

Amid the hideous, misshapen forms of the wolf-men the Ayuti towered as a god among demons, and ever and anon a thrilling war-cry pealed from his lips, ringing clear as a bell above the din. Not all their ferocious courage could serve Nordhu’s savages now, nor could their cunning aid them. Their gigantic enemy seemed to be wholly without fear.

The pile of dead grew, and soon, of all the wolfish horde which had first attacked the fugitives, but a dozen were left. These, seeing that all was lost, that further fighting was in vain, turned to flee.

“Not one must escape!” roared the Ayuti, leaping forward in pursuit, and Seymour, translating the words to the American, followed him. Within five minutes not a savage remained on his feet. What the axe of the Ayuti had missed the rifle butts had accounted for.

For a few moments hereafter the three men stood leaning on their weapons, and now the two fugitives had a closer view of their splendid rescuer. Over seven feet he was in stature; his splendid limbs were left partly bare by the skin cloak which he wore suspended from one shoulder. His curling hair fell in rich masses to his shoulders, and his skin was little darker than the baronet’s own. The beauty of his features, his exquisitely-proportioned form, and the grace of his every movement made up a picture of god-like majesty, before which the two friends felt inclined to bow the knee.

Instead of doing this, however, Seymour held out his hand.

“Friend,” he said in Ayuti, and there was a strange break in his voice, “we cannot thank you for the service you have rendered us.”

“’Tis naught,” replied the Ayuti, grasping the proffered hand warmly; “I would that I might aid ye again. But, see, thy brothers still sleep. They must be awakened.”

An application of the spirit flask carried by Haverly quickly aroused the two senseless men. Then, while the American dressed the engineer’s wounded leg, Seymour told the Ayuti of the means of their coming to this weird land, and of all that had befallen them since.

A long recital it was, but deeply interesting, and the eyes of the giant glowed with admiration as the baronet proceeded.

“Ye are men indeed,” he cried, when the story was finished, and once more gripped Seymour’s hand. “Fairhair, thou and I must be brethren, for thou art a man after my own heart. What say ye?”

“Gladly,” answered the baronet, smiling at the Ayuti’s quaint reference to his golden hair and beard. “By what name are ye called?”

“I am Chenobi, which should have been king of the city of Ayuti,” was the reply; “but I am the last of my race, a king without subjects. See, Fairhair, let us cast this carrion into the gulf of fire, that Nordhu discover not the manner of your escape.”

With that the Ayuti commenced to pitch the bodies of the slain wolf-men over the brink of the abyss. Overcoming his repugnance with an effort, Seymour aided him in his horrible task, the Yankee also lending a hand when he had made Wilson comfortable.

Then suddenly, at a moment when all seemed to be well, when all danger appeared to be past, a catastrophe happened that appalled them. Silas had stooped to grasp a corpse which lay almost on the verge of the gulf, when, without a scrap of warning, the savage—who had evidently been playing ’possum in hope of effecting his escape—grabbed for his ankles. Taken entirely by surprise, the Yankee tripped, lost his balance, and fell headlong over the brink.

The Ayuti was the first to recover from the shock of this terrible thing. With a roar of fury, he strode forward, gripped the shivering savage by his girdle, and swung him, screaming madly, far out into the abyss.

Fascinated, the adventurers watched his fall. Twice he turned over in mid-air, then his body seemed to shrivel up in that terrible heat, and it was naught but a cinder that struck the glowing sea below.

“The dog!” Chenobi cried, a fearful passion blazing in his eyes, “the cursed dog, may——”

A startled cry from Seymour checked his further utterance.

“Great heaven! Look!”

Shading their eyes from the glare, his friends looked over the brink, the Ayuti, though not understanding the words, following their example. On a ledge in the wall of the abyss, twenty feet below, lay the senseless form of Haverly. His limbs dangled perilously over the edge of the narrow shelf, and it was apparent to all that the slightest movement would precipitate him into the molten billows which rolled far beneath. At any moment he might come to and attempt to sit up; then—his comrades shivered at the thought.

Yet how was his deliverance to be accomplished? Even had they a rope, who would dare to descend into that fiery gulf, to dangle over that flaming sea?

Chenobi answered the question in a fashion that sent a thrill through the three spectators of his daring action.

Launching himself over the brink of the precipice, the Ayuti began to make his way down to the ledge. Breathlessly his new friends watched his perilous progress. From crag to crag he swung, at times having the greatest difficulty in finding foothold. Once he slipped, and the watchers gasped and averted their eyes, seeing him in imagination hurtling into the raging sea below. But he recovered himself, and, with splendid perseverance, continued the descent.

To the watchers it seemed an age ere he reached his goal and stood beside the unconscious American. Then a new difficulty arose, another predicament had to be faced.

How was he to get Haverly up the face of the cliff?

That he would need both hands free for his return journey was absolutely certain. For a few moments Chenobi stood, thinking out the best method by which to effect his purpose; then to his mind came a daring idea. Unloosing the girdle which confined his skin cloak at the waist, he bent down, passed it beneath Haverly’s belt, and rebuckled it. First testing both straps to satisfy himself that they were perfectly secure, he commenced to lift the American from the ledge.

To any but one of his gigantic strength the attempt would have ended in failure, and probably a swift and terrible death. The ledge was very little over a foot in width, and it seemed utterly impossible for the Ayuti to raise the dead weight of the unconscious man. But now his magnificent strength revealed itself.

His mighty muscles stood up like knotted ropes beneath the skin; his shoulders cracked again with the strain of his effort. Yet he accomplished his purpose; slowly he raised his senseless burden until he could stand once more upright on the ledge, with his back to the cliff, and with Haverly dangling before him at the end of the girdle.

“What a man!” Seymour cried admiringly, as he watched eagerly for the Ayuti’s next move. “He’s a veritable Hercules!”

“Never have I seen so fine a man!” Mervyn exclaimed. “What a noble race these people must have been! But, see, he is moving again.”

Although their eyes ached with the glare, the watchers could not tear their gaze from the scene below. There was a fearful attraction about Chenobi’s heroic efforts. All natural law seemed to proclaim that what he was about to attempt was an impossibility.

“He’ll never do it,” Wilson groaned, forgetting the pain of his wounded limb in his anxiety. “Haverly’s weight will drag him over as soon as he begins to climb.”

“We shall see presently,” the baronet answered; “if anyone can do it he can.”

Gripping the American by the waist with his left arm, Chenobi slipped the looped girdle about his own neck. Another pause of a few seconds, and then, relaxing his grip of the limp body, he took all the weight upon his neck. The strain must have been tremendous, yet he kept his balance; more, he commenced to turn round upon the ledge—thrusting Haverly behind him as he did so—until he stood facing the cliff, ready for his climb.

The first part of his task had been accomplished in safety; but what of the next? Would not the weight of his swinging burden drag him backward, as Wilson had said? It would soon be seen, for now Chenobi was commencing his perilous journey. Hand over hand he clawed his way up, moving deliberately, and as one who was sure of his ground.

How he finished that fearful climb the spectators never knew, for, appalled by the peril of his position, they retired from the edge of the cliff, not daring to look lest they should see the daring climber fall headlong into the fiery sea below. Each moment they expected to hear a cry of alarm from the abyss—evidence that Chenobi had lost his balance—but it never came. Soon the Ayuti’s head appeared above the cliff top, and Seymour leapt forward to relieve him of his burden. Haverly was saved!

Staggering a few paces from the edge, Chenobi flung himself down upon the rocky ground, exhausted but triumphant. And here he lay for a time, while Mervyn and the baronet used their utmost endeavours to restore their senseless friend. Half an hour passed ere the American came round, and for long afterwards he was weak and ill as a result of his terrible experience. His gratitude, when he knew of Chenobi’s heroism, was touching to behold; yet he said little. Only his eyes showed how deeply grateful he felt.

Seeing him moving, the Ayuti rose and came towards him, whereupon Silas tottered to his feet and held out his hand.

“Shake!” he said, and Seymour translated his words. “You’re a white man all through!”

Chenobi showed all his magnificent teeth in a smile of pleasure, as he gripped the Yankee’s hand; then turned to where the great elk still stood, motionless as though carved in stone.

“Muswani!” he cried, “kneel!”

At the words the giant brute dropped to its knees. Lifting the engineer, whose wounded limb made walking a matter of great difficulty, Chenobi placed him across the elk’s back, himself mounting behind. A further word of command, and the Ayuti’s strange steed rose and stepped out upon the bridge.

“Come!” Chenobi cried, and the three friends followed across the fire gulf.

“SUNSHINE!”

THE great flags of the bridge felt almost red-hot to the feet of the adventurers, but they trudged bravely forward through the glare, Seymour supporting Haverly as they went. There was no parapet to the bridge, and the sight of the molten flood below, visible to right and left as far as the eye could see, sent a thrill through each of the trio.

The massive span, which had seemed so solid a structure viewed from the gorge, now appeared a very flimsy affair, dwarfed to nothingness by the stupendous dimensions of the great fire gulf. With their eyes fixed upon the giant form of their guide, the three comrades moved on as steadfastly as possible. Over the vast, vibrating sheet of metal that formed the drawbridge they tramped, and glad indeed were they when they had crossed the last span, and their feet touched solid ground.

Here the Ayuti dismounted and strode to where a great lever projected from the masonry of the bridge. This he pulled over, and instantly, with a clanging rattle, the drawbridge swung upward into place.

“Now that your foes are all destroyed,” he remarked, turning to the baronet, “Nordhu, the priest, will not know whether ye have escaped or no.”

But he was wrong; for, as the party once more moved on, a wolf-man crept from his hiding place amid the rocks on the opposite side of the gorge. A moment he stood there in the glare, shaking his spear menacingly towards the retreating figures of the fugitives, then turned and vanished into the gloom of the defile.

Forward went the adventurers, the glow from the fire gulf growing fainter as they advanced, until the towers and walls of a city loomed before them through the twilight. The sight aroused the interest of the scientist. Hitherto he had moved in an apathetic manner, very different from his usual brisk style. His nerves had received so rude a shock that he was as yet scarcely himself. Even the sight of Chenobi’s monstrous steed—rare though the creature was—had failed to arouse him. But now, with the walls of the mysterious subterranean city within sight, his scientific zeal revived.

Instinctively he felt for his note-book, forgetting for the moment that he had lost it in his adventure with the Triceratops.

“Don’t worry,” Seymour said, noting his look of disappointment; “I happen to have one on me that will suit you down to the ground.” Forthwith he produced a bulky pocket-book, at sight of which Mervyn’s eyes glistened.

“Many thanks!” he cried, taking it, and at once commenced to scribble down a graphic description of the giant elk.

Ere long the party passed through a great gateway, the stone gate of which had fallen from its hinges, and now lay crumbling in the dust. On either hand towered the palaces of the Ayutis, now, alas, tottering to decay. Built of some dazzling white stone, they gleamed through the twilight as though bathed in a flood of moonlight; the effect—accentuated by the silence of the whole place—being indescribably weird. The footsteps of the adventurers raised a volley of echoes from the deserted streets as they moved over the pavement, and from ahead at intervals came the muffled baying of hounds.

The Ayuti was strangely silent as he strode beside Muswani, the elk—he had not mounted since raising the drawbridge. Perhaps he was thinking of the time when the streets had rung with the voices of his people, when the palaces had throbbed with life.

Although he was burning to question their guide concerning the past history of the city, Mervyn forbore, fearing by some indiscreet query to offend him. But he need not have feared. The Ayuti’s grief for the desolation of his city had long since lost its acuteness, and he had resigned himself to a life of solitude, living for but one object, which, later on, he revealed to the baronet. What fearful fate had overtaken the inhabitants of the place, the explorers could not imagine. It could have been no ordinary catastrophe that wiped out the Ayutis. That they had become extinct, save for Chenobi, by natural means, none would believe.

So, while each puzzled his brain for a solution to the problem, they passed into a vast square, in the centre of which stood a great temple. Around this the Ayuti led them to the further side. The familiar style of the architecture struck Wilson at once. The building was almost a duplicate of the one he had discovered in the valley, save that it was many times larger, and that here a huge flight of steps led upward to a broad terrace which ran the whole length of the temple front. And upon this latter, looming gaunt and spectral through the twilight, towered a monstrous idol.

“Wait!” Chenobi commanded. He lifted the engineer from his mount, and led Muswani through a door in the temple wall at the base of the steps, his entry being greeted by a clamorous baying. In a few moments he reappeared and, picking up the engineer as one might a child, commenced to ascend the steps. Climbing close upon his heels, his new-found friends soon reached the terrace. Here they passed behind the colossal figure of the god and entered the temple.

A murmur of astonishment went up as they crossed the threshold. The whole vast hall was ablaze with a dazzling radiance, unearthly as it was brilliant. The origin of the light became apparent at once. In the centre of the temple floor was a huge basin, wherein bubbled a strange, phosphorescent liquid, like nothing the explorers had ever seen before. On one side it overflowed, and ran in a glistening stream across the floor, to disappear in a dark recess in the wall.

The scientist, his first surprise over, would have moved forward to examine this uncanny liquid more closely, but Chenobi restrained him.

“Nay,” he said gravely, “there is death in the stream of light! None can touch it and live. Sit ye here awhile, till I prepare food.”

With that the Ayuti passed out of the building, leaving his friend wondering wherein lay the deadly power of the extraordinary liquid.

“There seems no end to the marvels of this weird land,” Mervyn remarked. “If ever we return to the upper world, what a tale we shall have to tell.”

Haverly closed one eye.

“You’ve got considerable standing amongst science men, professor,” he said, “but I guess you’ll have a real stiff job to make ’em believe you. A yarn of this sort ain’t goin’ to be sucked down as gospel all at once.”

“You wouldn’t have me keep silent?” retorted the scientist, somewhat indignantly. “Knowing what we do it would be little short of a crime to suppress our knowledge.”

“That’s so,” returned the Yankee imperturbably, “but I’d sooner you face the music than me. If we ever manage to burrow our way back to daylight, I guess your yarn’ll kinder upset some of the accepted theories as to the way the inside of this yer planet’s built.”

“No doubt,” Mervyn answered, “yet that will not deter me. My first work will be to write a book on the underworld.”

“Bravo!” Seymour cried; “I like your pluck, Mervyn. When we have found Garth and the boat, we can consult Chenobi about getting back to the upper world. If there should be any way out of this gloomy hole the Ayuti is sure to know of it.”

“What if there is no exit?” the engineer asked anxiously.

“In that case I guess we’ll have to make ourselves at home down here,” the Yankee replied, “though I allow the prospect ain’t over cheerful. However, I calculate your humble has kept his end up in tighter situations than the present—darned tighter situations, sonny. Say, I hope our new pard won’t expect us to dress for dinner. I guess my portmanteau ain’t come along yet.”

“Oh, he’ll excuse your not turning up in evening dress,” Seymour replied laughing. “But seriously, Silas, what chance do you think we have of getting back to the upper world?”

“Wal, I guess that’s a question as ain’t to be answered all of a sudden,” the Yankee returned; “it kinder needs figurin’ out some. Hullo! here comes our pard with a hull heap of grub. I calculate we’ll postpone this yer confab till we’ve refreshed the inner man.”

As he spoke the king re-entered the temple, bearing on a metal tray some strips of dried venison. These, together with a number of small edible fungi, he placed before his guests, bidding them eat.

Strange though the food was to their taste, it was none the less welcome, and they felt greatly refreshed at the conclusion of the meal.

Hereafter for some hours they slept, Chenobi keeping guard the while upon the terrace.

When next they looked upon the Ayuti he wore a metal band about his forehead, and in the centre glowed a great stone, similar in form—as Mervyn took pains to inform them—to that which Nordhu, the priest, wore, but much larger. It was the symbol of Chenobi’s kingly rank.

“Would ye look upon the city?” he asked as they rose yawning. Mervyn answered at once in the affirmative.

“How about Wilson?” Seymour questioned.

“Oh, I can manage to hobble a bit,” replied the lad cheerfully; “my leg’s going on finely.”

“Don’t overdo it, lad,” the baronet warned. “If the wound breaks out afresh it will be the very deuce of a job to get it to heal. I’ll stay here with you if you’re not feeling fit.”

“I’m feeling fit enough,” replied Tom; “if one of you will help me down the steps, I can manage the rest.”

Seymour whispered a few words to the Ayuti, whereupon the giant advanced, smiling broadly, and took the engineer in his great arms.

“Here, I say, I can walk now, you know,” the latter remonstrated; but his friends laughingly told him to hold his tongue.

With the light from the king’s jewel flashing before them, they passed out on to the terrace and so down the steps. At the bottom Chenobi put the engineer down, and, detaching a massive key from his girdle, thrust it into the door through which he had taken the elk. It turned easily in the lock, and, flinging open the door, the king passed through.

An odour as of a stable greeted the nostrils of the explorers as they followed him, and once more the baying of hounds came to their ears. Down a steep incline they went, until they stood within a large chamber. At the further end of this four great hounds lay, chained to the wall. They were something like bloodhounds in build, but of tremendous size, being much larger than mastiffs. Seymour, who was somewhat of an authority on dogs, could not restrain his admiration.

“What splendid brutes!” he cried, and moved fearlessly forward to make their acquaintance. Within a few moments he was on excellent terms with the great creatures, they receiving his advances with pleasing friendliness.

The others could not at first bring themselves to approach the monstrous dogs. They were so fearsome in their strength; but at length, on Chenobi assuring them that they need not fear, they moved closer.

“I guess these ’ud take the shine out of some I’ve observed,” remarked the Yankee, patting one of the great heads, “and I’ve seen some fairish-sized ones, too.”

“They’re immense,” Seymour replied.

Stepping to a recess in the wall, the king dragged forth the carcase of some small animal—probably a fawn—and this he flung to the hounds; then, leaving them feeding, the party passed through the chamber into a second, much larger. This, they could see, had evidently once been used as a stable, for by the light from the Ayuti’s stone they observed that a row of stalls ran along each side. These, built throughout of stone—even the feeding troughs being of the same material—were empty save for one, wherein the great elk was chained. He greeted his master with a thunderous bellow, and Mervyn at once approached to get another view of the magnificent creature. Whilst the scientist stood lost in admiration Seymour questioned Chenobi concerning the purpose for which the stables had been built.

“My people kept elk,” the Ayuti replied. “Threescore there were, whereon rode the body-guard of the king. Muswani is the last, as I am the last of the Ayutis. But come, let us move forward again.”

Into a third chamber they went, and in this were great stone tanks, filled to the brim with clear, sparkling water.

“Marvellous!” Mervyn cried, as he examined the massive masonry of the tanks and the conduits which fed them. “What an intelligent race these people must have been! Whence comes the water?” he asked of Chenobi.

“I know not,” was the reply, “save that it comes underground.”

Out of the tank chamber the Ayuti led them, by a small doorway, into a narrow passage. This they followed for some distance, ever descending as they moved on, with the temperature steadily rising each moment. At length they emerged into another vault-like chamber, and a cry of astonishment burst from the four explorers.

Along one side of this hall a number of metal doors were set in the rough-hewn rock which formed the wall. The sight of these, together with the intense heat of the place, quickly revealed to the comrades the purpose for which the chamber had once been used. It was the ancient cooking-place of the city.

“The heat comes from the gulf of fire,” explained the Ayuti, as he flung open one of the oven doors that his friends might examine the interior.

“It’s a cute dodge,” the Yankee drawled admiringly. “I assume this rock forms the wall of the fire gulf, an’ they get their heat natural-like, without havin’ to stoke up.”

“I wondered where Chenobi managed to dry his meat,” the scientist mused; “the thing’s clear now. Truly these Ayutis had no lack of inventive genius!”

Retracing their steps to the outer door, the little band crossed the square and entered one of the surrounding buildings, which—so Chenobi informed them—had been the palace of the kings. Here, as elsewhere—save for the temple, which appeared well preserved—time had laid its destroying hand, but there still remained much of the former beauty of the place. The pillars of its bold front were covered with carving that would not have disgraced the exterior of a cathedral, and the broad flight of steps leading up to it, though cracked and broken in places, still added somewhat to the dignity of its appearance.

These steps Wilson managed to climb, refusing the Ayuti’s offer of assistance. Across an inlaid pavement they went, and through a great entrance hall, in which stood numerous cunningly-carved statues. Some of these stone effigies had fallen from their pedestals, and now lay crumbling amid the dirt which ages of neglect had deposited over the floor. Assuredly, if Professor Mervyn ever wrote his proposed work on the wonders of the underworld, he would have no lack of matter. A description of the palace alone would almost have filled a volume. The throne-room they saw, with its curiously canopied throne, whereon a long line of kings had sat in royal state; the musicians’ gallery, from which sweet music had beguiled kingly ears grown weary with the pleading of innumerable malcontents; the banquet hall also, with its great stone tables, around which many a merry company had gathered. But now all were silent as the grave! The gay crowds which once had thronged these halls had vanished, and, ere many years had passed, the Ayutis would have ceased to exist; with Chenobi, the king, their dynasty and race alike ended.

Such thoughts as these poured into the minds of the adventurers as they moved through the silent halls. There seemed something uncanny, unnatural, about the place. It was as though the spirits of the long since dead still hovered round, and it was with a feeling of relief that the party left the palace.

Mervyn, his scientific zeal unquenched, was for visiting other of the buildings, but the united voices of his comrades were against this.

“No,” Seymour said, “if you go at all you must go alone. I’ve had quite enough of these ghostly halls. What say you, Silas?”

“The same,” replied the American. “The place kinder gets on your nerves. I shouldn’t advise you to poke around by yourself, Mervyn. There don’t seem any danger, but I wouldn’t put my money on it. If that old priest ain’t on our trail again before long my name ain’t Si. K. Haverly!”

Seymour slipped his arm through that of Chenobi, and, with the others close behind, they recrossed the square and ascended to the terrace. Here for some time the party occupied themselves in examining the colossal figure of the great idol. High above the flat roof of the temple the monstrous image towered. Through the twilight they could make out little of its features, but this much they observed, that it had but one eye, of enormous size, and placed in the centre of its forehead.

The singularity of this coincidence struck Mervyn at once. How it came about that a people so obviously intelligent as the Ayutis should worship the same deity as the wolfish barbarians of Nordhu he could not imagine. But, further, not alone was it the same in form, the inscription on the base of the altar proclaimed that the name was the same. Translated, it ran thus: “To Ramouni, God of Light. Worship and honour.”

Turning, the scientist questioned the Ayuti concerning the ancient worship of the dead race. Ere the king could answer a startling cry broke from Seymour:

“Great Scott! Sunshine!”

A ray of light stabbed the darkness like a golden sword, striking full upon the monstrous eye of Ramouni, which flashed and scintillated with a dazzling lustre.

“Sunshine!” echoed the others in a breath, and then, somewhere in the interior of the image, a bell began to toll. Astounded, the explorers stood gazing at the wonderful beam of light.

“It comes through a passage in the dead fire-mountain,” Chenobi volunteered, “and lasts for but a few moments. See, it fades already.”

Even as he spoke the tolling of the bell ceased, and the sunlight vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving the twilight of the underworld the more gloomy for its brief visit.

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!”

MUSWANI—MONSTER-FIGHTER.

AY, Megalosaurus! One of the most terrible of the monstrous reptiles which roamed the prehistoric forests of our globe. Often had Mervyn described this fearful brute in his lectures on the subject; often had his students listened open-mouthed to his vivid word-pictures of this and other monsters of the same period; but never did he think to come face to face with the creature, to stand in peril of his life from its fury.

For a moment the brute remained glaring upon its victims, then, giving voice once more to its fear-inspiring cry, it lurched forward from the shelter of the fungi and stood revealed in all its diabolical horror. Terror-stricken as they were, the adventurers gazed with a kind of fascination upon the reptile. There was something so devilish about him as he stood there in the full glare of the fungi, the scaly plates of his hide shimmering like a silver sea with every move he made, and his sabre-like teeth gnashing with fury, that they could do naught but stare. Not one could lift a weapon, save the Ayuti. He alone had not succumbed to the paralysing fascination of the creature.

Moving upon his huge hind legs, his short fore-limbs held kangaroo-wise before him, the saurian shambled through the quarry entrance, the Ayuti, watching keenly for a chance to attack, retreating before him.

“We’re done,” Seymour groaned; “of what use are spears against such a brute? Great Heaven! be careful!”

Forgetting for an instant that he did not understand English, the baronet addressed the warning to Chenobi, who had leapt forward to slash with his great axe at the saurian’s side. He sprang back only just in time to escape the great teeth, which snapped within a hair’s-breadth of his uplifted arm, having gained nothing by his effort.

“This is horrible!” Mervyn cried, “waiting here for death. Can we do nothing against the brute?”

His question was answered in an unexpected manner. With a furious bellow the great elk leapt forward, pawed the ground for an instant, then launched himself like a thunderbolt upon the monstrous reptile. Utterly unprepared for this attack, the latter swerved in his advance, attempting to avoid the advancing elk. But Muswani was too quick for him. With a shock that flung him back upon his haunches, his antlers struck the saurian’s scaly hide, and the huge brute staggered beneath the blow. Ere he could recover, the elk had leapt out of reach and stood pawing the ground, preparatory to another charge.

“Be ready,” Chenobi cried eagerly, gripping the handle of his great weapon; “if Muswani should overthrow the beast, then we will speedily make an end of him.”

The fury of the megalosaurus was now directed against the elk, who, with all the cunning of an old warrior, was prancing about his enemy, seeking to draw him on to attack. And he succeeded, for suddenly, with a movement so swift that eye could scarce follow it, the reptile’s claw-armed fore-limb lashed out.

With a nimble leap Muswani evaded the stroke, charging in an instant later upon his adversary. The shock of the meeting rang like a thunderclap through the quarry, and the great saurian, reeling from the impact, lurched over upon his side, exposing his only vulnerable part, the belly.

“Now!” cried Chenobi, and leapt forward. Gripping their weapons firmly, his comrades advanced to complete the work which the elk had begun. But Muswani was before them. While yet the reptile strove to rise, the king’s gallant steed hurled itself again upon him, the terrible antlers tearing deep into the monster’s vitals. A scream of agony burst from the huge brute’s throat, and he grabbed savagely at his agile enemy with his sickle-like claws. At that moment Chenobi’s axe swept downward, almost severing the monster’s left fore-limb, while the adventurers, rushing in, plunged their spears deep into his gleaming white belly.

“Back!” hissed the Ayuti, and retreated swiftly.

’Twas well the others followed his advice so promptly, or assuredly one or other of them would have been crushed; for, rearing upward to its full height in the agony of its death struggle, the megalosaurus pitched over with a crash, driving the spears to their full length into its vitals.

Madly he thrashed the ground with his great tail, as he rolled from side to side in the bloody pool already forming round him, keeping up the while a hoarse scream which told how sorely he was stricken.

The great hounds were mad with excitement; indeed, Chenobi had the greatest difficulty in keeping them away from the dying monster. All through the combat they had been restless, snarling, and baring their great fangs, as they raced to and fro behind their master. His word alone had prevented them from hurling themselves to certain destruction against the saurian’s claws; but now, with the smell of blood in their nostrils, their lust to kill proved too much for their obedience. With their lean flanks palpitating with eagerness, the whole four bounded, swift as light, across the quarry, and leapt for the monster’s throat. A hoarse command from the king they did not heed, although twice repeated, and for this disobedience one of the four paid dearly.

As he sprang the reptile’s jaws opened, and, with a sickening crunch, the great teeth closed upon the hapless hound’s skull. A moment later the lifeless carcase of Chenobi’s pet was flung almost at his master’s feet.

But it was the saurian’s last effort. One great choking gasp he gave, a torrent of blood poured from his nostrils, then he plunged heavily forward, almost crushing the three hounds, hanging like grim death to his throat.

“Thank God!” Mervyn cried, “we have been marvellously delivered. Chenobi”—turning to the Ayuti—“your steed has saved us.”

“Muswani is an old fighter,” the king replied, striding over to the elk, who had retired into the background again after overthrowing the reptile. He patted the brute’s glossy hide and murmured words of endearment into its ears, which Muswani seemed perfectly to understand.

“I guess the old elk’s a stayer,” remarked Silas; “we’d ha’ been in a real tight corner but for him. Say, Mervyn, what do you think of the beastie yonder?”

“Horrible!” returned the scientist with a shudder. “The brute’s far worse than Triceratops, for it’s a wholly carnivorous feeder.”

“I assume we were down on its bill of fare, then?” asked the Yankee, moving forward to examine the carcase, at which the hounds were still tearing.

“Nothing would come amiss to the brute,” Mervyn assented, producing his note-book and pencil.

“H’m,” Haverly remarked, as he surveyed the dead monster, “a fairish-sized sort of tadpole. Fifty foot from nose to tail, and perhaps a bit over. Say, William, come and have a look at your uncle. You an’ Wilson are mighty quiet over there.”

“I’ve seen as much of the brute as I want,” Seymour replied as he joined the American. “If there’s many more of his sort in the jungle, some of us will lose the numbers of our mess before long.”

“He’s done us out of our weapons, anyway,” growled Silas; “there’s no heaving him over to pull ’em out. After all, a spear’s kinder handy if you prick ’em in the right place. Sort of touches the spot, you know.”

“What’s to be the next move?” asked the engineer.

“Wal, I guess this outfit’s earned a rest. The present ’ud be a suitable occasion for a feed. Mervyn’s got enough to keep him on the trot for a while, an’ we might as well improve the passing hour. William, perhaps you’ll oblige by informing Chenobi as it’s dinner-time.”

Smiling at Haverly’s quaint speech, the baronet complied with his request; and there, but a few yards from the carcase of the megalosaurus, the explorers made a hearty meal. The Ayuti, despite the loss of his hound, was in high spirits. He had never dreamt that they should be able to slay the monster, his only motive in entering the quarry being to escape the notice of the brute if possible; but, having scented them, the saurian invaded their refuge, with the result already recorded.

But for Muswani, the affair would have had a vastly different ending!

For the greater part of two hours they rested, the professor obtaining from Chenobi a whole budget of information respecting the quarry. He learnt, among other things, that at one time a great stone causeway had connected the quarry with the subterranean city, along which the blocks had been conveyed on stone trucks. By the gradual sinking of the swampy ground, over which it was laid, the causeway had been engulfed, and now not a vestige remained. Gladly would Mervyn have remained longer in the quarry, amid the relics of a dead race, but his comrades were anxious to move on, and so, giving way to their desires, he prepared to leave the spot which had so nearly proved the scene of their destruction.

“It’s a bit risky without weapons,” Haverly said, as they plunged once more into the jungle, “but I guess we’ll have to manage. ‘Tread lightly’s’ the word, and keep your weather eyes lifting for beetles.”

However Chenobi could find his way amid the tangled growths of the jungle the adventurers could not imagine. He had no compass to consult, and he had not the light of the heavenly bodies by which to steer. Yet he never hesitated for one moment, guiding his antlered steed as though perfectly familiar with the route.

Mervyn, perched behind him, pored over his notes, and several times came within an ace of being swept from his seat by the branching arms of the fungi giants on either side, the Ayuti avoiding these by bending low over his mount. The journey seemed terribly long to the three on foot. The glistening monotony of the eternal fungi wearied their eyes. Talk, save in whispers, they dared not, lest they should rouse another of the jungle beasts, perhaps even more terrible than the megalosaurus. Their entirely unarmed condition made them apprehensive almost to fearfulness. But, for all the sound that reached them, the whole underworld might have been without inhabitant.

Suddenly Chenobi checked his steed, raising his hand as a warning to his friends. Wondering what new peril threatened, the three moved cautiously alongside the elk. Parting the fungi, they peered through. Before them lay a clearing—an open space of some sixty square yards in area. At first sight it appeared to be empty, but in a few seconds they became aware of the presence of a monstrous black shape, sharply outlined against the glistening wall of the encircling jungle. Ere they could observe more, the hounds, who had been trailing at heel, burst into a savage bay, and broke through the fungi. Only a glimpse the explorers had of a huge, hairy body which lumbered awkwardly into the shelter of the jungle, with the hounds snarling at its heels, but it sufficed for the professor.

“Megatherium!” he yelled in amazement, “the giant sloth!”

With a bound he leapt from his seat and darted across the clearing; but sloth and hounds had already vanished, the latter in full cry.

“Call your brutes off,” Mervyn cried to the king, as he forced his steed into the clearing; “the creature’s perfectly harmless, and it seems a shame for the dogs to worry it.”

A piercing call rang from the Ayuti’s lips, the baying ceased as though by magic, and ere long the hounds slid out of the undergrowth, panting from their fruitless chase.

“It is unfortunate that the creature disappeared so quickly,” muttered the scientist. “I had not time to make a proper observation, but its presence here appears to me to imply that the monsters of prehistoric days are far from extinct. Were we to make a thorough search, I do not doubt that we should find representatives of all the tribes of vast creatures which once inhabited the upper world.”

“Except the birds,” retorted Seymour; “as yet we have seen no trace of them, which seems rather remarkable since, according to Maori tradition, the moa birds were existent in New Zealand up to the end of the seventeenth century.”

“It don’t seem extra remarkable,” put in Haverly, “when you reckon megalosaurus as an item on the programme. Seems to me as a bird, however large, ’ud stand a poor chance against him. What’s your idea, professor?”

“The same,” returned the scientist; “but we have not yet learned that they are non-existent. However, I will question Chenobi on the subject. It may be that he can enlighten us.”

But the king could supply no information as to the existence of giant birds, although Mervyn helped out his explanation with the aid of a rough sketch. If there were any such, they were unknown to him.

“We must keep our eyes open,” Mervyn remarked, after communicating the Ayuti’s answer to his friends. “I have great hope that we shall yet come across one,” and, with that, the interrupted journey was resumed.

For a full hour they moved forward, then the jungle ended. Bursting through the last few scattered growths, they emerged upon the shore of a vast lake.

Strangely weird it looked, slumbering there in the twilight, with the fungi-gleam lighting up its waters for a few yards from shore.

“Do we go round?” Seymour asked, turning to the Ayuti.

“Nay,” was the reply, “there is a boat,” and, dismounting, he began to search amid the fungi close by. Soon his efforts were rewarded. From the shelter of a clump, some ten feet from the water’s edge, he dragged a boat—the most curious the explorers had ever seen. In shape like an Indian bark canoe, it was made of the skin of some animal, stretched tightly over a framework of bones. Despite the long years it must have lain in disuse, it was still serviceable, riding the water like a cork when launched.

“Enter!” Chenobi said; “I will ride round upon Muswani, and will meet ye upon the further side. ’Tis a straight course, and there is no danger.”

Leaping to his seat, he called up the hounds; then, with a wave of the hand, he galloped swiftly along the shore. Soon he vanished from view, the sound of Muswani’s hoofs died away, and at that the adventurers entered their strange craft.

Each grasping one of the bone paddles which lay in the bottom of the boat, Silas and the baronet struck off with quick, powerful strokes. Within a few moments their tiny craft was swallowed up in the gloom that veiled the lake.

A GLIMPSE OF THE UPPER WORLD.

“CHENOBI!” the baronet roared, “Chenobi!”

“Where the deuce can the fellow have got to?” he went on. “He said he’d meet us, and here we’ve been waiting over an hour, and not a sign of him yet.”

“Perhaps he’s met with some accident?” Mervyn suggested.

“I guess not,” replied the Yankee, “the Ayuti’s cute enough to keep out of danger. He’ll be along here presently, you’ll see. There you are”—as the sound of hoofs became audible—“I reckon he’s arrived.”

The next moment Chenobi’s hounds burst out of the gloom, followed a few seconds later by Muswani.

“I was delayed,” the king explained as he drew up; “I found three of the wolf-people hunting along the shore.”

“Did they attack you?” Seymour questioned.

“They will not follow the hunting trail again,” returned Chenobi significantly. “See, I have brought their weapons,” and he flung three spears to his friends.

“Give the other to Wilson,” Mervyn said, when Seymour and the Yankee had each taken one, “he will make better use of it than I should. And now for the next stage of our journey.”

First renewing their supply of water—which they carried in two skin bottles—from the lake, the adventurers turned and trudged forward again in the track of the elk. Now their way led over a bare, stony plain, with never a fungi-clump to relieve the gloom, and here the king’s jewel became once more of service. This part of the journey was by far the most trying to the foot-weary travellers, and they were glad to take advantage of the Ayuti’s offer, that each should ride in turn for a space upon Muswani’s broad back. Mile after mile they covered in this way, until a line of cliffs loomed before them, sheer and impregnable.

The adventurers gazed at Chenobi in amazement. Had he mistaken his route? So far as they could see, there was no opening in that towering wall, yet he dismounted at its base as though he had reached his goal.

A smile passed over his features as he noted the astonishment of his friends.

“All is well,” he said, “we will rest here a while, ere we ascend the cliff.”

“Ascend the cliff?” Seymour gasped, staring amazedly at the rocky barrier.

“Ay,” returned the Ayuti; “see you not that there be steps carven in the rock?”

Then the baronet saw what he had before overlooked. Up the very face of the cliff ran a rude stairway, hewn out of the solid rock.

“It was carven by my people,” Chenobi went on, “when they first came to this underworld, so that they might at times look upon the eye of Ramouni, the sun god, whom they worshipped.”

“Another instance of the remarkable engineering ability of this people,” remarked Mervyn to the baronet; “it must have taken years to carve out that stairway, rude though it looks.”

“Guess it’s a bigger job than I should care to tender for,” put in the Yankee. “Say, the old planet lost some real hustlers when the Ayutis pegged out.”

“Nothing seems to have been too great for the beggars to tackle,” murmured Wilson admiringly. “If they’d been above ground, they would have built a staircase to the moon, or something of the sort.”

Mervyn smiled.

“They were a wonderful race,” he said reflectively; “it is a thousand pities they have become extinct. Thoroughly civilised, they would have become one of the first nations in the world. Think of it—with their great bodily strength, splendid courage—as evidenced by our friend the king here—their engineering skill, what would they not have accomplished? Of course we may take it for granted there were wastrels among them; there is no community without its ne’er-do-wells. But the majority, from what I can gather from Chenobi, appear to have been an intelligent and utterly fearless people. Of the fate which overtook them, wiping them out of existence, I can learn nothing. The king always avoids the subject when I approach it.”

“I expect it’s too painful a matter to talk about,” returned Seymour; “but, whatever the cause of their dying out, I can well imagine the wolf-men had a hand in it. If their former priests were as diabolically ingenious as Nordhu is, I fear no race could have withstood them long. Just imagine, if you can: five millions of the brutes—I think that’s the number you mentioned, Meryvn?—they would overwhelm a world, let alone a city!”

“The presence of the priests is a puzzle to me,” the scientist went on. “Obviously they are a different race from the savages they govern, yet they are certainly not Ayutis! It may be that they are half-breeds, the result of a union between the two races? The offspring, perhaps, of some criminal, who, banished from the city for his misdeeds, joined himself to the wolf-men and became their leader.”

“But how do you account for their speaking the same language as the islanders of Ayuti?” questioned Seymour.

“I have formed a theory to account for the coincidence,” was the scientist’s reply, “whether it is the correct one or not remains to be proved. When we reach the end of our present journey I shall be better able to decide. But, see, the king is preparing to move on again.”

“Come,” Chenobi cried, approaching the base of the cliff stairway.

Rising, his friends followed. With a sharp word of command to his steed and hounds, the Ayuti commenced the ascent. Allowing a few moments to elapse, Mervyn followed, then in turn came Wilson and the American, Seymour bringing up the rear. Upward they toiled, their eyes strained to catch the gleam from Chenobi’s jewel, their only guide amid the gloom.

Slowly Muswani and the hounds—left to their own devices at the foot of the steps—faded from view. Then the plain itself vanished, seeming to give place to an illimitable black void. And afar off, miles and miles away, a silver haze hovered. It was the uncanny radiance from the fungi jungle. But even this faded at length, and still the rough-hewn ledges rose before the climbers, and their limbs grew weary of the treadmill-like motion. Occasionally an encouraging shout would peal downward from Chenobi, cheering the flagging spirits of his followers.

“Courage!” the king cried at length, “the end is at hand.”

Within a few moments they all stood in the mouth of a narrow tunnel, which stretched before them far into the heart of the cliff.

“Thank heaven that’s over!” muttered Wilson. “My leg’s still too stiff to stand much of that kind of thing.”

“Your wound hasn’t broken out afresh?” Seymour inquired anxiously.

“No,” the engineer returned, “there’s no chance of that now.”

“That’s good,” cried Haverly; “a wounded leg’s kinder awkward to rub along with. Jupiter!”

His sentence ended in a gasp, as a brilliant light flooded the tunnel.

“The sun!” Mervyn cried excitedly; “let us move forward again,” and, suiting the action to the word, he strode on over the slanting floor of the tunnel. But he pulled up again in a moment with a startled “Oh!” as the light, dying out as suddenly as it had come, left him in pitchy darkness.

Seymour burst into a laugh.

“You were a bit too previous, Mervyn,” he said. “Did you forget that the light only lasted for a few seconds?”

“I had almost persuaded myself that we should emerge into the open air within a few yards,” returned the scientist; “but I think I’ll let Chenobi take the lead. Come along; are you going to stand there all day?”

“Don’t get impatient, old chap,” retorted the Yankee; “we’re comin’ along right now.”

And now began a journey which taxed their strength to the utmost. The floor of the passage sloped almost as steeply as a house-roof, and the adventurers had the greatest difficulty in keeping their feet.

Chenobi, going barefoot, got over the ground rapidly, but with the others, in their heavy boots, slips were frequent. Hour after hour they pressed upward, pausing occasionally for rest and refreshment; then on once again with unflagging energy, knowing that each step brought them nearer to the daylight. Thrice in the course of that climb did the light of the sun penetrate the recesses of the tunnel, so that the journey must have taken them at least three days.

Then the water began to run short, and many were the anxious queries addressed to Chenobi as to the means of renewing the supply.

“There is water above,” he replied to all these questions. “Ere the light shall again strike upon the eye of the carven Ramouni our journey will be at an end.”

Thus encouraged, they increased their pace, and before long a cool breeze fanned their heated cheeks. Used as they had become to the stagnant, motionless atmosphere of the underworld, the gentle current came to the adventurers as a veritable life-giving elixir. It intoxicated them, indeed, for a little while, caused a species of madness, wherein the only thing of which they were conscious was the yearning to get out into the open. It spurred them on to such efforts that the Ayuti, for all his strength, had considerable difficulty in keeping pace with them. Never before had the prospect of gazing upon the face of Nature inspired them with such wildly delirious joy. Even the cool-blooded American succumbed to the rapture of the moment. Hope surged high within them all.

The Ayuti alone was grave and preoccupied. The hours he had spent with these new comrades had been pleasant enough, but he knew that they longed to return to their own world. They could not be happy in the gloom of the underworld. They were children of the light, and Ramouni, the sun god, was calling them back to bask once more in his bright rays; and he, Chenobi, must return to his life of solitude, to range the jungles till death came to him.

So thought the king. Little wonder that he was silent and grave. It had been better, he mused, if these white strangers had never come to his land; he would then have been content with his animals, and with the lonely life to which a cruel fate had doomed him. But now he longed for a comrade to share his solitude, and to divide the spoils of the chase. With an effort he shook off these imaginings, and applied himself more vigorously to the ascent. An hour passed by, and then an excited cry broke from Seymour:

“The moon!”

An instant later the party emerged into the full glory of the orb of night. For a while they stood drinking in the beauty of the scene around. They were standing in the crater of an extinct volcano. Imagine a vast well, many hundreds of feet in depth and over a mile in diameter at its base, its rugged walls—sloping slightly outward as they rose—covered with a mass of tropical vegetation whose every leaf gleamed like silver beneath the beams of the full moon that hung high above. This was the scene that met the gaze of the adventurers.

Leaving them gazing, Chenobi vanished into the shadow of the cliffs, returning presently with the skin bottle he carried full of clear water.

“Drink,” he said shortly, and to such good purpose did his friends obey that the bottle had to be replenished ere their thirst was satisfied. Then, thoroughly tired out, they flung themselves down where they stood, and, with the rich scents of a tropical forest in their nostrils, dropped off to sleep, leaving the Ayuti pacing to and fro across the crater floor.

The moon swung slowly across the dark blue dome above, and still Chenobi kept his vigil, moving back and forth with the regularity of an automaton. Yet it could not be that he feared danger. What danger could threaten in this peaceful spot?

No, it was not the fear of possible peril that kept the king from his slumbers. His mind was busy with other things. A daring thought had come to him, and, as he pondered it, the more feasible it appeared. It was nothing less than this: that he should forsake his old haunts and cast in his lot with his new friends. For hours he revolved this idea in his brain, until the moon disappeared below the crater rim; then he aroused the sleepers, and beneath the quickly paling sky the explorers had their first breakfast above ground since passing the great ice barrier. Anxiously they awaited the coming of dawn, eager to commence the last stage of their journey—the ascent of the crater wall.

With a suddenness peculiar to the tropics the sun rose. A fiery arrow flickered across the sky, followed by a blaze of golden glory, before which the stars rapidly paled and died. The day had come!

Rising, the king led the way across the crater, passing the tiny spring whence he had obtained the water the previous night. This, the explorers noted, overflowed its basin and trickled through a little crevice in the crater wall out into the open, to become, perhaps, a rushing river on the other side of the cliffs. Moving to a spot where the ascent promised to be easier than at any other point, Chenobi began to climb. The creepers and low-growing shrubs made progress very easy. Within an hour the summit was reached, and the party stood in the full glare of the sun on the rim of the great crater. This same rim proved to be a rugged ledge some twenty feet in width, from which the outer cliffs descended for the first hundred feet or so as sheer as a wall and about as devoid of foothold.

Below, the morning mists still veiled the base of the cone and the country which lay beyond it; but, as the sun gained power, the banks of vapour slowly dispersed, exposing to view the waving forests of a large island.

Eagerly Mervyn peered downward; then a glad shout pealed from his lips:

“I thought so! Look, Seymour! The island of Ayuti!”

“Great Scott! so it is!” gasped the baronet in amazement.

SEYMOUR’S FALL.

FOR some time the adventurers stood gazing downward from their lofty perch in silence. Beyond the belt of forest they could see a strip of sandy beach, and beyond this again, the sea, its shimmering surface reflecting the rays of the sun like a gigantic mirror. No dwelling was visible save in one place, where, in a forest clearing, a white house stood, plainly discernible in the clear morning air against the dark green of the foliage.

“See,” the scientist cried, “that is the English mission house. Can we but get down, we shall receive a warm welcome from the missionary, Mr. Travers; he is an old friend of mine.”

“You remember the legends which we heard from the natives, Seymour,” he went on, “when we visited this island some years ago, respecting the strange race of white giants which once inhabited this place?”

“Perfectly,” responded the baronet.

“Well, I think our discoveries in the underworld bear out the truth of the stories. Ever since I knew that the subterranean city was called by the same name as this island my brain has been exercised to account for the coincidence. Chenobi’s statement, that there was a passage through a dead fire-mountain, by means of which his people entered this land, gave me a clue to the mystery, and I formed a theory as to the origin of the Ayutis. But I needed proof ere my idea could become fact, and for that I had to wait until the present moment.”

“And your theory is?” questioned Wilson.

“That the Ayutis once dwelt upon this island which is still named after them; but, for some reason or other—probably through the incursion of enemies—they were forced to take refuge in this crater. They would discover the tunnel through which we came, and, in the hope of finding a securer refuge, would explore it. The rest is obvious.”

“But it must have been long ago,” said Seymour, “for the buildings of the subterranean city are certainly many hundreds of years old.”

“Probably at the time the inhabitants of the British Isles were still savages,” returned Mervyn with a smile, “hunting the buffalo in the swamps and living in caves or mud-huts. But enough of this; let us see if there is any way down. I should like to see my friend, if possible, before we return to look for Garth.”

“I guess that won’t be easy,” remarked the Yankee. “From what I can see, we shall need a considerable length of rope ’fore we can get down, and that’s a commodity we don’t happen to have on hand at present. Still, we might as well prospect a bit.”

The Ayuti was strangely silent as the party moved round the crater rim in an effort to find a spot where the cliff was scalable, and Seymour—who walked beside him—rallied him at length upon his abstraction.

“What ails you, Chenobi,” he asked, “that you are so silent?”

“I am perplexed, Fairhair,” replied the other. “Ere ye came to my land I was content to lead the life of a hunter, to dwell alone, save for my steed and hounds. But now I long for a friend. The time we have spent together hath been very pleasant, but soon ye will return to your own land, and I shall be alone once more.”

“Why not come with us?” burst out the baronet impulsively “there is nothing to keep you down there.”

“First I must perform my vow,” returned Chenobi. “Listen, friend! I had a brother once who was very dear to me. Though we twain were the last of our race, yet were we happy, following the chase together, and waging a grim vendetta against the wolf-people. But by craft Nordhu the priest took my brother while I was absent from the city, and he died beneath the jaws of Rahee. When I knew what had befallen, I vowed before Ramouni that I would destroy the priest and Rahee, the sacred beast. Therefore, until my vow be fulfilled, I cannot go with you.”

“Then let me help you!” the baronet cried. “I, too, have a debt against this same priest. Together we will accomplish his destruction and that of Rahee, then ye shall return with us to our own land.”

“It is well,” returned the king, gripping Seymour’s hand; “we will dwell together as brethren hereafter.”

Quickly the baronet communicated the gist of this conversation to his friends, who all expressed their pleasure at the idea.

“We’ll have him stalking down Bond Street in patent leathers and a topper in three months,” jested Wilson. “If only he’s got a few pounds’ worth of treasure knocking around in that old city of his, he’ll be able to do the foreign ‘dook’ in style.”

“I guess he’d take the shine outer some of your gilded West-Enders, anyway,” retorted the American; “he’s the finest figure of a man your humble ever struck. Say, Mervyn, looks to me as if you’ll have to postpone your visit to your pard, the parson, till we get a rope out of the old Seal’s store-room. There don’t seem no way down these yer plaguey cliffs.”

“We’ll complete the circuit of the crater, nevertheless,” answered the scientist; “there may be a place where descent is possible.”

From the woods below a confused murmur arose. It was the voices of the creatures of the forest, blended by distance into one harmonious whole. The chattering of monkeys, the shrill screaming of parrots, and the melodious notes of other birds as they called to their mates, all had a part in that chorus. And ever and anon a joyous shout would ring upward from the beach, where a number of tiny figures raced to and fro amid the surf. Mere black dots they looked to the group on the crater rim, only to be discerned by careful observation and much straining of the eyes. They were the native children enjoying their early morning dip.

“Makes you wish you could take part in thet little picnic,” drawled Silas. “I reckon a dip in the briny would be considerable refreshing at this yer period. The sun’s gettin’ a darn sight too warm to be pleasant.”

“I was just thinking the same,” Mervyn said, “and since there appears to be no chance of descending to the lower ground without a rope, we may as well get back into the crater.”

This advice was followed, and, ere long, the party were reclining around the spring, recruiting their strength for the return journey. There they waited in happy indolence until the sun had passed the meridian; then they prepared to retrace their steps.

“Now to find Garth,” said the scientist.

“And wipe out Nordhu and the spider,” added Seymour.

“Do you think it wise?” Mervyn asked, “to penetrate again into the dens of the wolf-men? You may not get off so easily another time.”

“Wise or not,” returned the baronet doggedly, “I have given my word to the Ayuti and I shall keep it. Of course, if you do not care to come——”

“You know me better than that,” the scientist replied warmly; “we have passed through too many perils together for you to deem me a coward. Old though I am, I can still do my share when it comes to fighting.”

“Forgive me, old man,” murmured Seymour penitently; “I did not mean to suggest for a moment that I doubted your courage. You know that!”

“Ay, I know, my friend,” was Mervyn’s reply; “don’t think I’m offended by your words. But now let us push forward. The sooner we find Garth the better.”

One last sight they had of the azure dome above them, of the verdure-clothed walls of the ancient crater, then they plunged once more into the darkness of the tunnel, eager to begin the search for their missing comrade.

It was well that no presentiment of all that was to come crossed their minds, no subtle warnings of the perils that awaited them, through which they must pass ere they saw the daylight again, or even their bold spirits might have quailed before the prospect. As it was, knowing nothing, fearing nothing, they moved cheerily onward, making the tunnel ring with their jests and laughter.

*          *          *          *          *          *

The underworld once more. At the foot of the cliff stairway stood the four explorers, awaiting their guide, who was seeking his elk and the hounds. At intervals they heard his piercing call, ringing out clear through the death-like silence of the place. And not for long did the Ayuti call in vain. Of a sudden a clamorous baying broke out, punctuated by the bellowing of Muswani, and through the twilight, from the direction of the distant lake, came the Ayuti’s pets.

Mounting, he quickly rejoined his friends, and the whole party strode out across the plain.

At the lake, however, a check awaited them. Moving down to the water’s edge, they looked round for the boat in which they had previously crossed, and which they had left drawn up high and dry upon the beach.

It was gone!

Thinking that they had perhaps mistaken the spot, they searched up and down the shore for a considerable distance; but all their seeking was vain. The skin boat had vanished.

“It’s the doing of the wolf-people,” asserted the Ayuti; “see, the hounds have scented them,” and he pointed to the three great dogs, who were sniffing along the shore, as though following a trail.

“Then there is nothing for it but to go round,” said Seymour, and forthwith they started, keeping a sharp look-out for the creatures who had robbed them of their boat. For two hours they strode forward along the shore; then, rounding the head of the lake and splashing across a shallow stream which here entered it, they struck off at a tangent into the jungle, the growths of which were at this point somewhat scattered, there being many open spaces between. Swiftly they moved, yet cautiously, their ears alert to catch the slightest suspicious sound. Once a herd of giant bison thundered across the track before them at a gallop; then a number of elk were sighted, to whom Muswani bellowed a challenge. Unheeding it, however, the brutes dashed swiftly away and disappeared.

The jungle seemed alive with game, but the adventurers had no time for the chase. Their only desire now was to get back to the city with all speed, and to this end they pressed on at their best pace.

Suddenly in the ground before them, its yawning mouth revealed by a clump of fungi growing close to the verge, appeared a black chasm. Some thirty feet by twelve in size, its walls descending sheer as those of a well as far as eye could penetrate into its gloom, it was as weird a place as one could wish to see; and from its dismal depths arose the boom of a waterfall.

“It’s a ghostly hole,” remarked Seymour, pausing for an instant on the brink, and peering downward. His friends, not noting that he had stopped, still held on, until a cry from behind caused them to pull up. Turning, they saw Seymour struggling on the very verge of the abyss with a wolf-man of gigantic stature. The perilous position of the struggling figures unnerved all but Chenobi. He, with a cry of rage, leapt to earth and sprang to the baronet’s assistance. But, ere he could reach the scene of the struggle Seymour and the savage pitched over the brink of the abyss, and, still grappling madly, hurtled into the gloomy depths below.

“Great Heaven!” Mervyn burst out despairingly; “he is lost! My poor friend!”

Haverly’s eyes blazed with a terrible hate.

“Say, Mervyn,” he snapped, “we don’t stir a peg out of this devil’s hole of a country till we’ve avenged poor Seymour. We’ll teach these brutes a lesson they’ll never forget.”

Wilson’s impotent rage was pitiable to witness.

“The best and truest comrade ever man had,” he cried, “sent to his death by a loathsome brute like that. Curse them all, I say!”

The Ayuti said no word, but his face was set stern and pitiless as a mask, boding ill for any luckless savage that should cross his track. With a mad, unreasoning passion raging in their hearts, the four men turned from the abyss, whose black depths had swallowed their friend, and resumed their journey.

Recklessly they moved now, caring little whether they aroused any of the jungle beasts or no, their fury making them absolutely fearless. Let them but find the Seal, and renew their supply of ammunition then they would invade the fastnesses of the wolfish brutes at whose door lay Seymour’s death, and teach them a terrible lesson.

Their journey was finished without further adventure, and at length, reaching the city gate, they passed through and made their way towards the temple.

Their hearts ached for their lost friend. They missed him sorely. His cheery voice, his inspiring courage, had assisted them through many a trying situation, and they could not bear to think that they should never see him again.

Their minds were busy with gloomy thoughts of the future, when they reached the temple steps. These—leaving the Ayuti to stable the elk and chain up the hounds—they were ascending, when, thrilling and terrible, through the silent streets came echoing the cry of the wolf-men.

As it ceased, up the steps bounded Chenobi.

“The wolf-people!” he cried passionately. “Nordhu, the priest, hath lost no time.”

Unslinging the great shield from his back, he took his stand upon the topmost step, his battle-axe flashing like silver beneath the light which shone from the jewel upon his brow. The next moment, into the square below poured a vast throng of savages, and at sight of the motionless figures upon the terrace they once more raised their hideous cry.

THE FASCINATION OF THE PRIEST.

FORWARD they came to the base of the steps, then paused a while, as though awaiting some signal ere commencing the attack. It came at length. From somewhere at the rear arose the voice of the high priest of the wolf-men.

“Go forward, my children, and ye shall prevail. Ramouni has spoken it.”

At the words a score or so of savages leapt up the steps towards the Ayuti.

“Guard my back,” the latter cried to his three friends, and bent forward to meet his oncoming foes. A grim smile played over his features for an instant as the wolf-men hesitated a few feet from the top of the steps.

“Are ye fearful,” he cried mockingly, “oh, children of the wolf? Hath not Nordhu, your father, promised that ye shall prevail? Come, then! Chenobi awaits you.”

His words lashed the savages to fury, and, with a roar of rage, they hurled themselves upon him. Quick as thought his weapon flashed upward, then came down in a terrific swoop, and the foremost wolf-man, his head almost cloven from his shoulders, pitched backward down the steps. To right and left the great axe whirled and smote, dancing and gleaming above the heaving mass of brown bodies which surged furiously upward. And from every fresh stroke it rose dyed crimson with the life-blood of a new victim.

As yet the three behind were idle. At the stairhead they would have been in the king’s way, preventing him from the free use of his weapon, and so far not a savage had managed to break past and gain the terrace. But there was work for them before the fight was over. At present they had perforce to be content to look on, and the sight aroused their keenest admiration, while satisfying the lust for vengeance which burned within them.

Like ripened grain the wolf-men fell away before that terrible axe, and still Chenobi was untouched. Every spear-thrust or stab of knife fell harmless upon his great shield. His arm seemed tireless, as he wielded the mighty weapon which a man of average strength could barely lift. Still the carnage went on, still the pile of dead grew, until but five of the attackers remained. Then these lost heart, and, turning, bounded down the steps.

The first attack had failed.

“Cannot we help?” asked Mervyn, as Chenobi turned round, smiling triumphantly.

“Nay,” returned the king; “spears are but puny weapons against a host. Besides, ye have no shields.”

“But it becomes us ill to stand idle,” persisted the scientist.

“If I should fall your turn will come,” replied Chenobi, and, with that, he faced about to meet a fresh attack.

“God forbid!” cried Mervyn fervently, but his words were drowned in the clamour of the savage horde that came charging up towards the terrace. It was but a repetition of the previous scene, and the scientist, knowing the devilish cunning of the priest, marvelled that he should allow his followers to throw away their lives in such mad fashion. Yet in his heart was a dread that these attacks were but the prelude to some diabolical scheme, which, when complete, would land them all in the power of the wolf-men. And his forebodings were only too fully justified.

While Chenobi hacked and hewed, with his whole mind centred upon the foe before him, a fur-clad figure advanced from the shadow of the king’s palace and crossed the square to the foot of the steps.

It was Nordhu, and Mervyn shuddered as he saw the weird glitter of the fellow’s eyes as he fixed them full upon those of the king. Like twin stars they glowed through the twilight.

“Great Heaven!” the scientist ejaculated, grasping Haverly’s arm, “he’s trying to hypnotise Chenobi!”

“The devil!” snarled Silas with a shiver of rage, and, lifting his spear, he hurled it full at the priest. He missed his mark by a few inches as Nordhu leapt aside.

“Ye shall pay for that, dog!” roared the latter, once more riveting his gaze upon the form of the king.

“He’s overcoming our friend,” Mervyn gasped an instant later, as Chenobi, ceasing his efforts, dropped his weapon, and stood as one dazed. With a roar of delight the wolf-men gained the terrace, and within two minutes their gigantic enemy was fast bound by a stout hide rope, and the attackers were turning their attention to the three comrades, who had retired a few paces. There, with their backs to the altar, in the shadow of the great idol, they prepared for the final struggle against their relentless foes.

But the fascinating stare of the priest followed them, and, ere long, Wilson succumbed to its baleful power. Despite his comrades’ efforts to detain him, the lad strode calmly across the terrace, passed through the horde of savages clustered at the head of the stairs, and descended to the square, where he was immediately bound securely by the wolf-men below. The power of the priest was truly appalling.

Flushed by his double triumph, he again exerted himself to complete the fell work he had begun, by subduing the minds of the remaining two. But they were of sterner stuff. With all the strength of their natures they fought against the uncanny force which bade them surrender to their enemies. The eyes of the priest seemed to be glaring right into their brains, yet they struggled on, knowing that to submit meant their ultimate ruin. Their case they well knew was hopeless, but far better to die fighting beneath the spears of the savages than to be led captive into the caverns of the hills, there to be sacrificed to the terrible Rahee.

Oh, for a rifle and a couple of cartridges! Haverly thought, that he might at least send Nordhu to his last account ere he himself fell. As well might he have wished for the moon.

Suddenly the influence of the priest was withdrawn; his eyes ceased to glare, and from his lips came a low call. Instantly the waiting savages dashed forward, overwhelming the two comrades by sheer numbers, before either could strike more than a blow in self-defence.

So it ended, the fight that had opened so well, that had promised to finish so differently, its issue decided by the devilish arts of the priest. But for the hypnotic power of Nordhu, they might have kept the wolf-men at bay for an almost indefinite period. Haverly ground his teeth with helpless rage as he and Mervyn were led down into the square. Here the same humiliating fate befel them as had already fallen to Wilson and the Ayuti.

They were bound securely, hand and foot, the raw hide ropes being drawn so tightly that they almost cut into the flesh. Then, seized by some of their hideous captors, the four men were carried swiftly through the silent streets and out across the plain towards the haunts of the wolf-men.

*          *          *          *          *          *

When Seymour felt himself gripped from behind, as he stood gazing down into the abyss, his first sensation was one of deadly fear. Overcoming this, however, he swung round quickly and grappled his hideous opponent. To and fro they swayed upon the brink, each gripping the other’s throat, each struggling to hurl his enemy over the edge of the chasm.

With all his enormous strength Seymour could barely hold his own. The wolf-man’s muscles seemed of iron, his fingers gripped like a vice, and beneath their pressure the baronet’s life was slowly choked out.

It was at this moment that he managed to gasp out the cry which attracted the attention of his friends; but, as we know, they were too late to aid him, and both he and the loathsome savage pitched over into the abyss.

His mind was a complete blank during the few moments of his fall. He did not swoon, yet his mental and physical powers were alike suspended—paralysed, as it were. Then suddenly his faculties were fully restored by a plunge into rushing water. He sank like a stone, the water roaring madly in his ears, seeming to beat him downward to a terrible depth. With all his strength he struck out for the surface, fighting his way up through the surging waters that he might empty his bursting lungs.

It was the agony of years concentrated into a few seconds of time through which he passed in that upward struggle; but he gained the surface at length, and, with the thunderous boom of a cataract in his ears, was swept forward by the current. For a time he was content to be carried along without attempting to swim, only paddling sufficiently to keep himself afloat. The roar of the fall died away behind him as he was swept on, and the speed of the current gradually slackened.

Slower and slower his progress grew, and at last he was obliged to strike out for himself. As to his whereabouts, he had no idea, but, deeming one direction as good as another in the midnight darkness by which he was surrounded, he swam boldly ahead.

Ere long he found that, strong as he was, to swim fully clothed for any length of time would be an impossibility; so, floating there, in the midst of a profound and awful silence, hedged about on either side by a solid pall of darkness, the intrepid baronet removed his boots and clothes. Then, naked as he was born, he struck out once more with long, steady strokes that ate up the distance.

Where was his enemy, the wolf-man? he wondered. Had he, too, escaped, and at the present moment was swimming somewhere in the darkness? The thought sent a shiver through Seymour’s frame, and he half expected to see a pair of fierce eyes glaring through the gloom and to feel once more those bony fingers gripping his throat. But there came no sign to show that the savage had escaped, and gradually the baronet’s anxiety on that score died.

For hours, so it seemed to him, he was swimming before his outstretched hand touched solid stone. Treading water, he reached upward, striving to discover how high this barrier was; but the top was beyond his reach.

Sheer and solid the masonry rose, without crack or crevice by means of which one might climb. Somewhat disappointed, Seymour turned and swam slowly along the base of the wall.

What this barrier meant he could not at first determine. The touch of it told him that it was no work of Nature. No natural wall had ever its smoothness and regularity. Yet for what purpose had it been built? Like a flash into his brain swept the answer. This was the ancient reservoir of the Ayutis, which fed the great tanks beneath the temple. The thought gave him hope, for, if his idea were correct, there must be some exit through which the water flowed into the conduits.

Steadily he swam forward, feeling the wall as he went, till suddenly, thrusting out his hand, he felt nothing. The wall had ended!

Eagerly he felt about him. Yes, there was no doubt about it, the masonry had ceased. Three cautious strokes, at right angles to his first course, and his feet touched the lowest of a flight of steps which here broke the regularity of the wall, running down some feet into the water. Thankfully he drew himself up, and sat a while to rest, ere ascending to the top of the flight.

His position was a most unenviable one. Naked, wet, and shivering from his immersion, buried in some subterranean cavern far away from even the ghostly light of the underworld, and, above all, entirely defenceless, it was not remarkable that he felt somewhat depressed. But summoning all his courage he rose after a few moments and mounted the steps, moving carefully, lest he should lose his footing and fall backward into the water again. Twelve of the steps he counted, then found himself upon an apparently broad pavement, across which he crept, hands outstretched before him.

The silence was intense. No sound but the gentle lapping of the water against the stonework came to his ears, and even this ceased as he increased his distance from the reservoir. Step by step he advanced, gaining courage with every yard, until, with a suddenness that sent his heart leaping into his mouth, a sound came out of the darkness ahead—the snarling yelp of some animal!

The baronet pulled up on the instant and stood listening. Again the yelp came to his ears, trembling away weirdly into the furthermost recesses of the vast cavern. What creature could it be that dwelt here in the darkness? he asked himself. Was it the wolf-man who had fallen with him into these depths? Even as his mind framed the question he knew that it was so. The savage had escaped from the reservoir, and was now prowling somewhere in the gloom ahead of him.

The idea was by no means a pleasant one, yet better the wolf-man for an enemy than some strange beast. Prepared for an attack at any moment, Seymour moved forward again, his momentary fear giving place to a revengeful passion against the brute who had caused his present predicament. For perhaps a score of yards he advanced, at length coming in touch with a wall, along which he felt his way to a low archway. This, after some little hesitation, he entered, having to bend somewhat to escape catching his head against the roof.

The floor was slimy with ooze, and there was a constant drip of water from above, but, disdaining these minor difficulties, Seymour held on. With his arms outstretched to their full extent, he could just touch the walls of the passage, and in this fashion he managed to steer himself. As nearly as he could judge, the tunnel was about two hundred yards in length, giving at last upon a chamber, which appeared to be one of considerable size. Across this he was proceeding when a bright light flickered into view right ahead.

It was too distant to illuminate much of the chamber in which he was, but, taking it as his guide, he increased his pace and moved swiftly towards it. As he went on he observed that it proceeded from a low-roofed tunnel similar to the one from which he had just emerged.

Stooping, he was about to enter the passage, when, with a snarl of rage, the form of the wolf-man rose before him. The next instant he and the loathsome savage were locked in a death-grip.

IN THE VAULTS.

A MOMENT they swayed and wrestled; then Seymour broke away from the grip of his enemy, and leapt backward. Snarling savagely, the wolf-man crouched, and leapt for the baronet’s throat. But the latter was prepared. Quick as thought his fist shot out, and before the sledgehammer stroke the savage crashed backward with a scream.

Ere he could rise Seymour was upon him, all the pent-up hatred in his nature finding vent as he choked out the life of the hideous creature. In vain the savage struggled beneath that iron grip. The Englishman, for the moment, was absolutely merciless, every better feeling sunk in one of murderous revenge. A grim satisfaction took possession of him as he watched the fear of death grow in the savage’s bulging eyes, a satisfaction complete only when the creature’s movements ceased, when, with a last convulsive shudder, he lay still and silent for ever.

Leaving the body where it lay, Seymour rose and entered the tunnel, whence the light still streamed. Along this he advanced for perhaps fifty yards, the light growing brighter with every step he took; then he emerged into another large chamber, to stand for a moment startled at the scene which met his eye.

In the centre of the great vault stood a throne, in shape like a large chair, and ornamented with many strange hieroglyphics; and upon it, grim and silent, with mouth agape and eyes that stared unblinkingly before him, sat a man. A jewel, like to that which Chenobi, the king, wore, was bound upon his forehead, and its radiance filled the whole chamber.

There was something so sinister about the silent figure that the baronet almost feared to advance; but at length, putting on a bold front, he strode forward. Halting within a few paces of the throne, he spoke the Ayuti salutation:

“Wabozi”

But the figure answered never a word, showed no sign that he was conscious of Seymour’s presence. Stretching forth his hand, the latter gently touched the man’s fingers. They were cold as ice, and, with a shock, the baronet realised that he was in the presence of the dead.

It was a ghastly discovery. The figure looked so lifelike, seated there in state; yet it was only a corpse, the grisly relic of some past ruler of the Ayutis, preserved from decay by some wonderful mode of embalming known to that ancient people.

The first shock over, Seymour quickly decided that he must have the jewel from the dead man’s forehead. No doubt it seemed like desecration; yet, as light was absolutely necessary if he ever hoped to find his way out of these caverns, he felt that the act would be excusable. Mounting the three steps which led to the seat, he reached upward to release the clasp that secured the gleaming stone.

This, being fastened at the back of the head, was rather difficult to reach, and, to steady himself, Seymour—though not without a shudder of repugnance—placed his hand upon the shoulder of the corpse. As he did so, the figure seemed to leap upon him; its shrivelled fingers pressed his quivering flesh. With a startled cry the baronet stepped backward from the thing, but, forgetting the steps, fell, and living and dead rolled together to the floor.

Trembling from head to foot, Seymour picked himself up, and, quickly snatching the jewel from the forehead of the corpse, he left the grim mockery of life at the foot of its throne, and dashed over the floor of the vault at a run. As he ran he noted that the walls of the chamber were honeycombed with niches, each of which contained a grisly occupant—a swathed and shrivelled mummy.

So this was the burial vault of the Ayutis, he thought, their cemetery. Here slept those whose tireless energy had built up the city of Ayuti; whose engineering skill had spanned the fire gulf with a vast bridge; whose descendant, Chenobi, was his friend.

Thinking thus, the silent forms lost their uncanny aspect. His temporary panic gave place to reverence, and he checked his random pace, treading lightly, as though fearing to disturb the slumbers of the dead. Ere long a third archway loomed before him, and, leaving the hall of the mummies, he passed into a small chamber which lay beyond.

“Great Scott!” he cried the next moment, and pulled up in sheer amazement. Before him, scattered over the floor in lavish confusion, lay thousands of weapons of every conceivable form. Great cross-hilted swords there were; richly chased daggers, their hilts set with many a precious stone, which scintillated beneath the light from Seymour’s jewel; massive battle-axes and shields, spears, and knives, all covered with strange designs, and all bright as though they had but just left the hands of the maker.

“What can this strange metal be,” Seymour asked himself audibly, “that it does not rust in this damp atmosphere?”

He examined the gleaming pile carefully, but could not discover of what metal the weapons were made. They were not of steel, nor of brass, neither of any of the numerous metals known in the upper world. Looking up at length, his eyes fell upon a row of figures ranged along the wall of the armoury chamber. They were suits of chain mail.

At sight of them an idea flashed into Seymour’s mind. Why should not one of them serve him in the place of clothes?

“Why not?” he muttered to himself, and, striding over to the armour, ran his eye over the row, hoping to find one somewhere about his size. But all seemed hopelessly too large. Evidently they had been made for much bigger men than he.

At last he managed to find one which appeared about his height, noting, as he dragged it forward, that it was the smallest of the row, a pigmy among giants. Donning it, he found that it fitted perfectly, and, though the hide suit over which the mail was fastened was painfully harsh to his skin, yet he gladly bore the discomfort for the benefit of being once more clothed.

A great metal helmet completed the outfit, in which, owing to the stiffness of the untanned hide, Seymour could scarcely move for a time. Presently, however, the warmth from his body caused his strange garments to relax somewhat, and made action possible.

First, fixing his light-giving jewel in the front of his helmet, he selected an axe and shield, then strode forward to find an exit.

In a few moments he reached the end of the armoury chamber, and here a locked door confronted him. He pressed against it, but the solid stone slab refused to budge, and, thinking to find some other way out, he made a complete circuit of the place. There was no other exit, save that which led into the hall of mummies.

This latter he was not minded to try again, having no desire to renew his acquaintance with the embalmed sleepers.

“I must break it down,” he muttered, and strode back to the door. Raising his axe, he smote hard upon the lock. Again and again he struck, the sound of the blows filling the silent chambers with a deafening clamour of echoes. Then, of a sudden, the lock gave; the door crashed open, almost smothering Seymour beneath the cloud of dust it raised as it swung back, creaking, on its hinges. Striding through the opening, the baronet moved on up the passage which opened beyond.

Two hundred paces, and a flight of steps rose before him, up which he made his way with difficulty, owing to the armour which encased his limbs.

But he accomplished it at length. Mounting the last step, he found that an apparently blank wall of rock barred further progress.

“That’s queer,” he mused, “there must be a door somewhere, or what would be the use of these steps?”

Carefully he searched for a spring or other mechanical contrivance, feeling certain that there was a secret doorway somewhere in the wall. Almost every inch of the rock he examined, pressing his fingers into each crevice, touching every tiny irregularity in its surface, yet with no result. The rocky barrier refused to yield up its secret.

At last, weary and discouraged, he turned and retraced his steps to the armoury, deciding to return to the chamber of the dead, and there seek some other outlet. As he picked his way amid the scattered weapons, he accidentally kicked a small jewelled casket which lay among them.

The lid of this leapt open, disclosing a discoloured parchment scroll which lay within. With no other thought but curiosity, Seymour extracted the scroll and attempted to decipher the faded hieroglyphics with which its surface was covered. But the task was beyond him. Not so thoroughly familiar with the Ayuti language and writings as Mervyn, Seymour was baffled by what would have proved an easy task to the scientist.

He was about to return the parchment to its case, when, turning it over, he discovered that upon the reverse side was a roughly-drawn map. This he studied for some time, puzzled by the strange lines and stranger figures, until enlightenment came to him. It was a plan of the subterranean chambers in which he had been wandering for so long.

At once the thing became of importance, and he applied himself to a closer scrutiny of it, hoping to find traced thereon the way out of his present prison. Ere long his search was rewarded. The flight of steps leading up to the blank wall was clearly drawn, and upon the third step from the top was a peculiar mark—a tiny eye.

“The secret!” he cried triumphantly; and, returning the parchment to its casket, he thrust both into the breast of his suit, then once more mounted the steps. Here, however, a disappointment awaited him. There was no mark upon the step resembling that upon the plan.

Again he drew forth the scroll, studying it with an even greater care. The result was the same. It was undoubtedly the third step upon which the eye was drawn; yet that same step in the flight, he knew, had no mark of any description. Then an idea struck him. Perhaps if he counted from the bottom he might find the mark? He did so, and soon discovered the cause of his mistake. Upon the map only twenty-five steps were drawn, while in the flight itself there were thirty.

Quickly he found the mark he sought, and, pressing upon it with all his strength, had the satisfaction of seeing the barrier above swing outward. Through the aperture thus formed he passed, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Three steps he took, then a gasp of amazement escaped him. He was standing within the temple!

His surprise over, he hurried to the doorway and out on to the terrace.

“They must have returned long before this,” he muttered, wondering that he heard nothing of his comrades. An instant later he pulled up short, a terrible dread gripping at his heart, as he noted a number of silent forms huddled in a ghastly heap at the head of the steps.

IN THE WOLF-MEN’S HAUNTS.

SEYMOUR’S dread was not lessened by the discovery that the bodies were those of wolf-men. Where were his friends? Evidently they had returned, the corpses bore witness to that, for upon each and all the mark of Chenobi’s axe was plainly visible.

He shouted, but no answering hail broke the stillness of the underworld city. Hurriedly he descended the steps and tried the door of the kennel chamber. It was locked, and from within came the howling of the hounds. With half a dozen lusty blows Seymour shattered the lock, then strode through the doorway. Unloosing the hounds he ordered them outside, himself following a moment later, leading Muswani.

“The wolf-men must have carried them off,” he muttered, “but I’ll track the brutes down.”

He was about to mount, when a thought came to him. If his friends were alive, and he was able to effect their rescue, they would be entirely defenceless unless he took them weapons.

With him to think was to act, and he rapidly made his way back to the armoury. Here, selecting half a dozen great double-edged swords, he strapped them together with a girdle taken from a mail suit; then, slipping a serviceable dagger into his own belt, he returned to the square.

Within three minutes he was galloping through the gloomy streets, the mighty elk obeying every touch as it did Chenobi’s; seeming to know by some subtle instinct that its master’s fate hung upon its speed. And in front, hot upon the trail of the wolfish kidnappers, bounded the great hounds.

At full speed they swept forward, having to round the end of the great fire gulf as they went; then on around the base of the hills within whose wild valleys Seymour and his friends had so nearly met their deaths. As he rode on the baronet wondered how far ahead of him the savages were. He knew that he had wandered for many hours in the vaults beneath the city, but for how long he had no means of telling. One fact was borne in upon him as he settled down to his ride—that he was ravenously hungry, and he was glad to note a number of edible fungi growing beside the track.

On these he quickly satisfied his hunger, pausing only for a few moments, then pressed forward at the utmost speed of the elk upon the trail of the savages.

Never once were the hounds at fault in the course of the chase. The magnificent brutes were as certain of the trail as though the wolf-men had been within sight all the time. Past cavern after cavern in the hills they swept, Seymour exhilarating in the mad gallop. His mail was not the easiest of riding suits, yet he was gradually becoming used to it, and the prospect of a scrimmage with the savages in the near future filled him with a wild delight. He even went so far as to break into the first few bars of an old hunting song, but checked himself as he realised the folly of thus advertising his presence.

Suddenly the hounds stopped before a great double gateway of stone, set in the face of the cliff, and began to scratch furiously at its base.

“Quiet, you brutes!” Seymour cried, dismounting; repeating his command in Ayuti as he saw that the hounds did not understand his English words, whereat they immediately ceased their efforts.

“No chance here,” he said to himself, examining the gates. “I must go round the back way, I suppose.”

With some difficulty he got the hounds to leave the neighbourhood of the gateway, and pushed on towards the gully, through which he and Haverly had passed to the rescue of Mervyn. Here he left his animals, and plunged into the tunnel, the light from his jewel enabling him to make rapid progress. Soon he stood once more upon the ledge above the den of Rahee, gazing down into the temple which he had hoped never to look upon again.

Removing his mail hose that he might descend the more easily, he slung them around his neck, and scrambled over the brink down to the enclosure. Thankful he was to see that the bars had been lowered over the mouth of the spider’s cave, that Rahee was again a prisoner.

As he crossed the den the hideous brute leapt forward, his remaining eye glaring ferociously. Furiously he gnashed his great jaws, and shook the metal rods which imprisoned him; but they defied even his great strength.

“Steady, you devil!” cried the baronet, as he drew on his hose; then shook his axe menacingly towards the spider.

The action only increased the diabolical creature’s rage, and he reared to his full height against the barrier in his mad but futile efforts to reach his foe. But Seymour’s mission was of too great importance for him to waste time over the sacred beast. Leaving him to rattle the bars at his leisure, he threw open the gate of the enclosure, and passed into the amphitheatre. Across this he strode boldly, axe and shield in hand, the bundle of weapons intended for the use of his friends being slung at his back.

As he went he strove to recall Mervyn’s description of the position of the fire cell, in which he had no doubt his friends would be confined; but the scientist had not been able to explain very clearly. All that Seymour could remember was that a long passage, crossed by many more passages, led from the fire cell to the temple, and with this meagre knowledge of the geography of the wolf-men’s caverns he had to be content. He was determined, come what might, that he would not return without his friends if they still lived; and if Nordhu, in his devilish hate, had destroyed them, he would act as their avenger.

He had no fear, although he was alone—one against a myriad. He had a strong belief in the ultimate triumph of right, and he knew that his mission was a righteous one; therefore he did not shrink from penetrating into the very midst of the savage’s haunts to fulfil his purpose. He dared all to rescue his comrades from the hands of the wolfish fiends who, for no reason save their own savage lust for slaughter, had taken them captives—to give them back life and liberty, sweeter than ever now that they knew there was a way of escape from this ghostly underworld to the daylight.

He lifted his heart in a prayer for Higher help as he went on—for Divine guidance upon his all but impossible task. Past the great idol he strode, ears alert for the least sound that should tell of the presence of an enemy. But the vast natural amphitheatre was deserted, silent as the grave. Neither priest nor savage showed himself.

At length he reached the skin curtain which veiled the mouth of the passage, and, lifting this, passed through. And now the real difficulties of his task became apparent. The heart of the hills seemed literally honeycombed with passages and tunnels. Every few yards he would pass the mouth of some gallery leading off from the one he was following, and from each of these came sounds of life and movement—the clanging of metal, the rattling of chains, and, sounding high above all, the booming strokes as of some huge hammer.

What work was being carried on down there in the bowels of the hills? Seymour wondered. Was it the making of weapons for the use of the savages? His musings broke off short, as a dark form flitted across the passage ahead of him. For an instant he thought his presence was discovered, and that he particularly wished to avoid until he had found his friends; but the savage disappeared as silently as he had come, and once more Seymour breathed freely. The encounter taught him the necessity of haste, however, and he pressed on with increased speed.

His jewel—without which he would have been in total darkness, save for the occasional flashes of flame which leapt up from the side galleries—he could not dispense with, yet he knew that its brilliant light would betray his presence in these dismal caverns should any passing savage sight it. And the alarm once given, farewell to all hope of accomplishing his mission. In a moment he would be surrounded by a shrieking horde of savages thirsting for his blood.

He did not think that—strange, unearthly figure as he looked in his gleaming mail—the wolf-men, in their barbarous ignorance, would probably take him for a supernatural being, some demi-god who had fallen from his place, and had entered their haunts with intent to destroy them.

Yet such was the case; for, of a sudden, rounding a curve in the passage, he came full upon a savage, who at sight of him dropped flat upon his face, moaning with terror. What to do with the creature Seymour did not know. Natural prudence suggested that he should silence him for ever; but all the chivalry in his nature revolted against the idea of killing him in cold blood.

The decision was mercifully taken out of his hands, however. As he stood considering what course to pursue, the moaning of the wolf-man ceased. Stooping, Seymour discovered that he was dead. The superstitious terror inspired by the baronet’s appearance had proved too much for the savage.

“It’s saved me a nasty job,” Seymour muttered as he resumed his progress; “I should have been obliged to kill him, or he’d have raised the very deuce in a few seconds.”

Some hundred yards further a brilliant flare came into view, and the baronet at once conjectured that he was nearing his goal.

And so it proved. Within a few moments he stood before a cell, across the doorway of which stretched a barrier of fire. His armour saved him somewhat from the heat, so that he was able to approach fairly close to the flaming wall.

For a while he could see nothing within the cell beyond; but, as his eyes became more accustomed to the glare, he made out three figures standing motionless against the wall.

“Mervyn!” he called softly, and at the word one of the figures moved.

“Mervyn!” he repeated louder.

“Who calls?” came the weary reply.

“I, Seymour!” the baronet answered.

“Seymour!” in an incredulous whisper, “how can that be?”

“Never mind that now. Tell me how this fire dodge is worked, and soon have you out of that.”

“It’s William right enough,” Haverly’s voice returned, “and I guess he was never more welcome than at the present moment. Just enlighten him how the fire trick works, professor.”

“There is a knob in the floor somewhere there,” Mervyn explained. “Nordhu stamped upon it to raise the flames. If you were to pull it——”

Almost before the words had left his lips Seymour had found the knob he mentioned, a small, round projection in the rocky floor. Grasping it, he gave a mighty tug, and immediately the fire disappeared into its trench, leaving the cell open.

“Jupiter!” gasped Silas as the baronet crossed the threshold, “wherever did you get that rig-out?”

“Explanations must wait,” Seymour returned, rapidly forcing the chains which secured the captives to the wall.

“Where’s Wilson?” he asked an instant later, as he observed that the engineer was absent.

“Heaven alone knows!” replied the scientist. “The priest’s still got him hypnotised, and he’s taken him off somewhere.”

“Hypnotised!” exclaimed Seymour. “Ah, yes. I remember you told me before that Nordhu was a hypnotist. But, wherever Wilson is, we must find him. See here, I have brought some weapons”—unslinging them from his back as he spoke—“do you and Haverly take a sword apiece and make your way out through the temple. Chenobi and I will seek for the engineer.”

At first the two comrades demurred a little at this order, but, on Seymour pointing out that four would be far more likely to attract notice than two, they consented to this arrangement; and, with their weapons ready for action, strode off down the passage. Then the baronet, handing his axe and shield to his Ayuti friend, armed himself with another of the swords, and the twain left the cell. An instant they paused to raise the barrier of fire again by stamping upon the knob that the escape of the prisoners might not be so readily discovered. This done, they moved off on their errand.

As they went, Chenobi, in low tones, gave his friend an account of the method of his capture, telling how Nordhu had cast a spell upon him while he fought at the head of the steps.

“Which road shall we take?” Seymour asked, as they came to the mouth of a gallery.

“Let us try this,” Chenobi answered, and, with that, they passed into the tunnel. In silence they strode onward now, fully realising the dangerous nature of their enterprise. What Seymour had hitherto accomplished was mere child’s play to the task upon which he and the Ayuti were now set. They were about to penetrate into the heart of the wolf-men’s caverns, to enter the busy thoroughfares through which flowed the life of the savage community, and on a quest apparently as hopeless as ever one could be.

The clanging noises grew louder and louder as they advanced, but Seymour noticed with some astonishment that Chenobi seemed not at all surprised at the queer sounds. Did he know the nature of the work which was being carried on? The baronet was about to put the question, when the king pulled up, pointing ahead with his axe.

Far away down the passage rose a red glare, and amid it flitted numerous dark, grotesque figures.

“Have a care!” Chenobi warned in a whisper, as they resumed their way. Warily they crept forward, step by step, towards the light, unseen by the ghoulish creatures who passed to and fro bearing huge burdens.

Reaching the end of the tunnel, the two men crouched there a while, Seymour marvelling at the scene before him. It was stupendous, amazing! A vast cavern, immense beyond description, seeming to stretch away into infinite distance, all ablaze with a crimson glow which burst from the mouth of a yawning pit; and in the midst of it—a medley of flying rods and clanging levers—loomed a machine, indistinct by reason of the rapidity of its motion, and vaster than aught Seymour had ever seen before.

To and from this miracle of mechanism toiled a multitude of wolf-men, each staggering beneath a mighty load. In the glare from the pit they looked like demons, the illusion being heightened by the weird cries to which they gave utterance, and which rang high above the clash and rattle of the machinery.

“See!” roared Chenobi suddenly, his voice almost lost in the din of the clanging levers, “our friend!”

Across the floor, walking as one dazed, came Wilson. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand he held a hammer of curious make.

“Wilson!” Seymour almost screamed the word in his eagerness to attract the notice of his friend; but the lad strode on, utterly oblivious of the close proximity of the two who had come to save him.

“Wilson! Tom”

Still no sign from the engineer. Like one walking in his sleep, he moved on over the floor of the cavern. Then Seymour did a bold thing. Rising from his concealment, he stepped into the glare after his friend, and placed his hand upon his shoulder.

At the touch the lad swung round sharply, and the light of intellect came back into his dull eyes.

“Seymour.” His lips framed the word, but no sound passed them, and he staggered as though about to fall.

“Steady, old man,” cried the baronet, supporting him to the mouth of the passage. Each instant he expected to hear a yell from the savages, telling that his presence was discovered. But they appeared too intent upon their work to note his movements, and hope rose high within him that he would be able to get his friend away unobserved.

“We have succeeded,” he burst out rapturously to Chenobi, as he rejoined him.

“Not so,” thundered a voice behind him; “by Ramouni, ye have failed!”

Quick as thought Seymour turned. Almost at his shoulder, a grin of malignant triumph making his features fiend-like in their expression, stood Nordhu, priest of the wolf-men.

HOW RAHEE ASSISTED THE FUGITIVES.

FOR a few seconds the baronet stood as though turned to stone, success had seemed so near. By some lucky chance Wilson had almost walked into their arms. Another few moments and they would have got him safely away, but, in the very instant of their triumph, Nordhu had again checkmated them.

“Did ye think Nordhu slept?” the priest went on mockingly. “Truly ye are babes in intellect, and should be nursed yet a while.”

The taunt stung Seymour to madness. Like a flash his mailed fist shot out, catching Nordhu full upon the mouth, and he crashed heavily backward, giving voice to a piercing cry that rang clear above the din of the machinery.

At the sound the wolfish brutes working in the great cavern dropped their loads and dashed pell-mell towards the comrades. Hundreds there were of the creatures. In a living flood they surged down upon the hapless trio, with whom it would have gone hardly but for the prompt action of Chenobi.

Dropping axe and shield, he snatched the dagger from Seymour’s girdle; then, lifting the senseless form of the priest, he calmly faced the savages.

“Back, you dogs!” he roared. “A step further and your priest dies!”

He placed his gleaming weapon menacingly against Nordhu’s throat as he spoke, and, at the action, the raging mob of wolf-men pulled up.

Whether they heard the words or not, the significance of the king’s threat was clear to them. Their murderous hate was drowned in their fear for the life of their priest.

Then began a retreat in the like of which neither of the friends had ever participated before. Passing his sword to Wilson—now rapidly recovering from the effects of the priest’s fascination—Seymour picked up the Ayuti’s weapons; whereupon, Chenobi still carrying Nordhu, the three commenced to move backward up the passage, their eyes fixed upon the hideous throng at the tunnel end, who stood cowed into momentary inaction by the peril of their ruler.

Their bloodshot eyes rolled savagely, their claw-like fingers twitched with the desire to rend in pieces the intrepid trio; but the bold front of the latter daunted them. A moment’s wavering on the part of the Ayuti—a stumble—and the whole horde would have swept forward, irresistible as an avalanche. But Chenobi’s hand was steady as a rock as he held the jewelled dagger to his captive’s throat. He took each backward step calmly and deliberately, avoiding all projections in the rough-hewn floor of the gallery with a care that bore witness to his splendid nerve.

So for a space the retreat went on. Further and further the three friends drew from the wolf-men. Then suddenly they rounded a bend in the tunnel, which bore them out of sight of the savages, and on the instant a swelling roar like the sound of many waters, came to their ears. The spell which had held the wolf-men was broken. They were sweeping forward in pursuit.

“Run!” roared Chenobi, and, flinging Nordhu over his shoulder, he turned and leapt forward like a deer. After him went the others at their topmost speed, Seymour, for all the weight of his armour, getting over the ground at an astonishing pace. Into the main gallery they swept, and turned for the temple, with the fearsome cries of their pursuers growing louder each moment.

In a surging brown torrent the wolf-men came on, their numbers constantly augmented by fresh arrivals, who, aroused by the clamour, poured in hundreds from every gallery. The whole troglodytish community was now thoroughly aroused; the place seemed to hum with life, like a gigantic hive; and ever the pursuers gained upon the daring trio.

Foot by foot, yard by yard, they drew up, although the friends strained every muscle to outdistance them; and the swelling roar of their voices sounded like a death-knell to the ears of Seymour and the engineer.

Gasping for breath, they plunged onward after the racing form of the king, fearing each moment that their strength would fail and that they would drop in their tracks, to be trampled out of all semblance to humanity beneath the feet of the savage horde behind.

Suddenly the skin curtain loomed before them. With a vicious tug Chenobi tore it down and bounded into the temple.

“Only a few hundred yards further,” Seymour was panting to his friend, when, out of the shadow of the great idol, a score of figures advanced and stood menacingly across the track, their weapons flashing in the light which poured from Chenobi’s jewel. They were the priests, Nordhu’s assistants in his horrible work of sacrifice.

Not an inch did the Ayuti swerve from his course, not for a moment did he hesitate. With a ringing war-cry he hurled himself upon the waiting band. Thrice his dagger flashed, then he was through them, racing for the den of the great spider.

Like a thunderbolt Seymour followed, clearing a passage by sheer weight, and, close at his heels, came the engineer, his great sword swinging like a flail. Closing up behind them, the priests joined in the chase, making the vast amphitheatre ring with their cries of rage.

Three minutes later the fugitives dashed into the enclosure, and slammed to the gate, glad of a few seconds’ respite.

Not long were they allowed to rest, however. Suddenly the gate was flung open, and Seymour hurled himself into the gap just in time to check the advance of the foremost savages who were about to pour through the gateway. At sight of his determined attitude the valour of the wolf-men cooled somewhat, and they drew up, each and all afraid to venture within the sweep of the axe which gleamed in Seymour’s hand.

But the priests, with many fiery words, urged them on to deliver Nordhu from the hands of the white dogs who had captured him.

Roused to action at length, a score of the brutes leapt forward and stabbed savagely at the baronet with their spears. The latter’s mail served him nobly. Not a spear got home; and his axe quickly taught the savages a terrible lesson.

“Quick!” he cried, turning to Chenobi as the wolf-men fell back; “to the ledge! I will hold the gate a while.”

Repeating his command in English for Wilson’s benefit, the baronet faced round once more, to receive another charge of the savages. It was as vain as the first. Seymour seemed perfectly invulnerable to the weapons of the wolf-men, and this fact created a fear in their superstitious minds. Yet, despite this, under the influence of the priests they again essayed to attack.

Scarce waiting for them to come to close quarters, the baronet hurled himself upon them with a ringing British cheer, that sounded strange indeed in that ghostly, subterranean temple. Wilson joined in it from the ledge above, and, at that Seymour knew that his task was ended, that he too might seek the comparative safety of the tunnel, could he but get an opportunity to climb. With this end in view, he fell upon his foes with redoubled fury, driving them back by his terrific onslaught; then, leaping backward, he closed the gate of the enclosure with a crash, and made for the wall.

As he did so the clank of the windlass broke upon his ears. He turned quickly. Determined to accomplish his destruction, the priests were releasing the great spider.

Just for a second Seymour was at a loss how to act. The brute would be out and upon him ere he could struggle up to the ledge, impeded as he was by his mail. Suddenly into his mind swept a brilliant idea. Why not turn the ferocity of Rahee to his own advantage?

Stepping backward to the gateway, he stood motionless while the spider emerged from his den. Chenobi, watching events keenly from the ledge, seemed about to descend to his assistance, but Seymour checked him by a gesture. Then, as Rahee leapt towards him, the baronet stepped swiftly aside, flinging open the gate as he did so. Carried on by the force of its spring, the spider hurtled through the gateway and crashed into the temple.

At once a terrified outcry arose from the savages, and they turned to flee from the dread presence of their sacred beast. But grim Nemesis was upon their track. They who had watched Chenobi’s brother—ay, and many a score more of the same race—go to their deaths beneath the jaws of the terrible Rahee, were about to meet the same fate themselves. Had they stood their ground, a few spear-thrusts would quickly have settled the matter; but their superstitious terror at the close proximity of the horrible brute sapped all their savage courage.

They broke and fled before Rahee’s advance in an utterly disorganised mob, seeking to escape from the fearful gnashing jaws of the giant spider, priests and wolf-men alike sharing the panic.

Ere long the floor of the temple was littered with the bodies of the slain. Up and down the great amphitheatre Rahee raged in a paroxysm of devilish fury. With a shudder at the ghastly success of his own idea, Seymour once more closed the gate and mounted to the ledge.

“Rahee is working out our vengeance,” cried Chenobi. “It is well. Perchance the wolf-people will destroy him after this lesson. Ye did well to turn him loose among them, Fairhair. ’Twas a counter-stroke they expected not. Come; we will move forward.”

“What of Rahee?” Seymour asked. “Are you minded to destroy him ere you go?”

“Nay,” was the reply; “I will forego my vengeance on the sacred beast because he hath aided you;” and, with that, Chenobi picked up the still senseless priest and strode into the tunnel.

“Heaven grant we have seen the last of these savages!” murmured Wilson, as he and Seymour followed.

“Amen!” the baronet responded fervently; “yet somehow I doubt it, lad. Nordhu seems to have a great hold upon them, and you may take it for granted they will not give him up without some attempt at a rescue. When the brutes recover from the panic into which Rahee has thrown them, they will take our trail like a pack of wolves. What’s that?”

A dark figure had appeared in the passage just ahead of them.

On the alert in an instant for a possible enemy, the baronet stepped before Chenobi, weapon raised, and bawled out a challenge in Ayuti.

“I guess I’d take it as a personal favour if you’d speak English, William,” drawled a voice. Seymour burst out into a roar of laughter.

“Sorry I took you for an enemy, Silas,” he replied. “We’ve got Wilson all safe and sound.”

“That’s good,” the Yankee chirped; “but who’s the party Chenobi’s totin’ along?”

“The priest,” answered the baronet.

“Whew!” whistled the Yankee; “I guess you’ve been making things hum considerable below there.”

“We have roused ’em slightly,” was the modest reply; “but we’ll have to hustle, as you call it, Silas. I shan’t feel safe till I set foot inside the city again. The beasts won’t give up their old priest without an effort to release him, I’ll warrant.”

“You bet,” agreed the American, then lapsed into silence until the end of the tunnel was reached.

Here Mervyn awaited them, eager for news as to the manner in which they had effected Wilson’s rescue. But Seymour cut short his questions.

“Ask what you like, old man, when we get back to the city,” he said, “but for the present we must devote our attention to getting clear away. The elk and hounds should be somewhere about. Seen anything of them?”

“Not a sign,” replied Mervyn; “they must have strayed.”

Seymour acquainted the Ayuti with this fact, and instantly Chenobi gave voice to his peculiar call.

A few moments later the clatter of hoofs sounded through the gully, and into sight came Muswani, with the great hounds at his heels. Quickly Chenobi flung his prisoner across the elk’s back, himself mounting behind; then the whole party started off down the gully towards the plain.

In safety they accomplished their journey, reaching the ruined city without seeing or hearing aught of their foes. Evidently the savage followers of Nordhu had not yet recovered from the blow Seymour had dealt them by releasing the terrible spider. When they did their hate would be the more implacable against the men who had kidnapped their priest.

Up to the terrace the explorers mounted, Chenobi bearing his prisoner.

Striding across to the altar, the king pressed a small knob in the masonry of the front. Instantly the whole slab swung outward, disclosing a low, square chamber, and into this he cast Nordhu.

“Caged!” he cried to Seymour, as he swung to the door, and, turning, entered the temple.

The four friends, thoroughly worn out by the terrible experience through which they had passed, flung themselves down upon the temple floor, glad to rest their weary limbs for a space. Within a few minutes they were sleeping soundly, the Ayuti alone remaining wakeful and vigilant, seeming in no wise tired by his late exertions.

It may be that thoughts of his prisoner kept him from sleep, or of the brother whom he had sworn to avenge. His vow seemed near its fulfilment. Nordhu was a helpless captive, and it only remained to decide the manner of his death.

But though Chenobi knew it not, the priest was not yet at the end of his resources. He had another card to play ere he surrendered to the inevitable. Prisoner though he was, Nordhu was yet more than a match for his enemies, as they discovered before long.

THE SCROLL OF NEOMRI.

“I RECKON,” remarked Haverly, munching a piece of fungus with manifest relish, “you might as well explain how the blazes you got out of that darned hole, Seymour, an’, incidentally, where you got your tin suit. It’s a rig-out as kinder takes my eye.”

While the explorers slept Chenobi had procured a number of edible fungi, to which they were now doing full justice.

“Well,” Seymour returned, in answer to the Yankee’s suggestion, “it’s a longish yarn, but if you’d care to hear it, here goes.”

With that he launched into an account of his adventures, telling of his fall, of his swim in the reservoir, the second meeting with his wolfish enemy, and all that transpired afterwards. Open-mouthed, his friends listened to his description of the hall of mummies and of the armour chamber.

“But did not Chenobi know of these weapons?” Mervyn asked amazedly. “He told us he had none but the spears taken from the wolf-men, yet below there, you say, are weapons sufficient for an army.”

Rapidly the scientist interpreted Seymour’s story to the king, concluding by questioning him as to his knowledge of the existence of the armoury.

“I knew that there was a secret passage,” observed the king, “but it was the secret of the priests of Ramouni. None but they knew where the dead were laid. When Nordhu destroyed the last of the priests, the secret died with him.”

“We must examine these caverns presently,” remarked Mervyn, attacking a fresh fungus.

“Say, Tom,” Haverly drawled, after some moments of silence, “what game was the old priest playing when he took you out of the cell?”

The young engineer shuddered at the question.

“I remember nothing at all save having an overwhelming desire to start a gun factory,” he replied.

“The hypnotic influence of the priest,” Mervyn explained. “He attempted to force me to reveal to him ‘the secret of the fire-weapons,’ as he called it. The fellow seems to have a longing for firearms. It is unfortunate you remember nothing of your experience down there, Wilson. There is evidently some work being carried on, and upon a gigantic scale, too. Who’s for a visit to the vaults?” he went on, rising. “Come, Seymour; you, as discoverer, must do the honours of the place.”

“Very well,” returned the baronet, replacing his helmet, which he had removed while he rested; “but I can assure you it’s a ghostly hole. Are you coming, Chenobi?”

“Ay,” returned the Ayuti; “I am minded to look upon the last resting-place of my forefathers.”

With that they all moved across the temple to where the great stone door still stood ajar as Seymour had left it, and, descending the steps, passed into the armoury. Their various exclamations showed how differently they were affected by the sight of the gleaming pile of weapons. What struck Haverly most was the enormous amount of wealth represented by the jewels which studded the hilts of every sword and dagger. Wilson was attracted by the exquisite workmanship of the weapons; while Mervyn viewed them as curios, rare specimens to be consigned to some museum as the relics of an extinct race.

“Marvellous!” he exclaimed again and again. “The civilisation of ancient Greece was but little ahead of these Ayutis. A marvellous race!”

Chenobi, with the eye of a warrior, was examining the armour, and it was not long ere he was armed cap-à-pie in the long-disused mail of his ancestors. A noble figure he looked, too, as he stood beside Seymour, smiling at the strangeness of the suit to his limbs.

“Tin suits seem to be the fashion,” Haverly remarked with a grin to Wilson.

“They save washing, you know,” returned the latter. “But, seriously, Silas, what the dickens is this metal? Armour, weapons, locks, and everything else seems to be made of the same non-rusting stuff, and it’s a lot harder than steel. If you remember, the wolf-men’s spears are the same; but what it is I know no more than Adam.”

“I allow I ain’t in a position to enlighten you,” the millionaire returned; “get it above ground, though, and there’s a fortune in it. I guess we’ll call it ‘Mervynite,’ in honour of the professor.”

“What’s that?” the scientist asked at the mention of his name.

“Silas suggests calling this new metal ‘Mervynite,’” Wilson replied.

The professor shook his head with a laugh.

“You do me too much honour,” he said; “but now let us investigate further,” and he passed into the hall of the dead.

Here, however, none cared to remain long, and, after a brief examination of this and the next vault, which was devoted to the same purpose, they passed through the tunnel on to the pavement of the reservoir. The vastness of this work astonished them, and they would fain have explored the whole of the great cavern wherein the water was stored, but that prudence compelled them to return. They dared not leave the terrace long unguarded, lest their enemies should surprise them.

“See, you mentioned a plan, Seymour?” Mervyn remarked, as they returned to the temple; “where did you put it?”

“It’s here,” answered the baronet, producing the casket from the breast of his suit. “There are some hieroglyphics on the front; perhaps you can manage to read ’em. I must confess they’re beyond me.”

The scientist’s hand trembled as he took the parchment from its case.

Spreading it out on the temple floor, he knelt down and perused it eagerly for a few seconds. Then a glad cry broke from his lips:

“It’s the key, Seymour! The explanation to all the mystery! Listen, and I will read.”

Forthwith the scientist commenced to read from the faded manuscript, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm as he translated the strange Ayuti signs.

“The scroll of Neomri,” he began, “son of Nazra, of the House of Lauma, chief priests of Ramouni since the beginning of all things.”

At the mention of the strange names Chenobi’s eyes flashed, and, drawing nearer, he glanced over Mervyn’s shoulder as he went on:

“To him that readeth, greeting. Let it be known to you that the priestly scroll wherein was set down all that befel since the first days was destroyed by an evil chance in the hour when the judgment of Ramouni was visited upon his people. Yet such of that which was therein writ as hath come to my knowledge, I here set down.

“In the beginning Ayuti was a mighty kingdom, wherein ruled many mighty princes. Fair was the land to look upon, and Ramouni warmed it with the beams from his all-seeing eye. Day by day arose the prayers and incense of the priests, that the smile of Ramouni should not be removed from his people. And it was well with the land, for the people were content.

“Yet it fell that, as the years went by, they grew careless, attending not to the voice of the priests, nor hearkening to their counsel. Empty was the temple of Ramouni; neither was the sound of worship heard any more before the altar. In sloth were the days passed, and in revelry the nights. Then Ramouni waxed wroth, and hid his face from his people, and a thick cloud of smoke arose from the earth many days, whereby much people were choked. The waters of the sea, also, overflowed the land, and vast rents appeared in the face of the earth. The earth quaked exceedingly, and there were sounds like unto thunder. So for many days it continued.

“Then the remnant which was left, being but three score male and female, fled unto the refuge of the dead fire-mountain, whence they dared not come forth again, for the land of my people was become a desert, wherein grew no green thing. And it chanced that they found a passage in the heart of the mountain and ventured therein. Three days they journeyed, and on the fourth the passage ended. Before them was darkness; but, being like to starve for food, they were bold, and lowered a rope, down which one was sent and found firm ground below.

“Then sent they down a second, that the twain might search out the land. In a while they returned, telling that they had seen a great jungle of fearsome-looking plants wherein abode many monstrous beasts. Caring not so that they might find a place to dwell in and withal food to eat, the rest went down into this strange land. My hand groweth weary to write of all they suffered hereafter; how they found the fearsome barbarians which dwelt in the land; of the mighty beasts they fought and overcame. They grew and multiplied into an exceeding great people, taking unto themselves as slaves many of the barbarians, who, for all their loathsome appearance, were willing enough to obey.

“Unto these my people taught the language of Ayuti, they having no speech of their own save queer howling cries, like unto the voice of a wolf, for the which cause called they them ‘Wolf-people,’ being of a mind that they were perchance arisen from wolves.”

Here Mervyn paused and shook his head decidedly.

“I guess the evolution theory’s considerable older than we thought,” said Haverly, “accordin’ to that. But wade in, Mervyn; the old man can tell a decent yarn.”

Once more the scientist bent over the manuscript:

“With the aid of these their slaves my people builded a great city of stone, and in the midst a mighty temple to Ramouni. An image also they built, carven cunningly, and set it up that it might face the passage through which they came. And each day the light of Ramouni fell upon the eye of the image.

“Hereafter they found a strange metal which they digged from the heart of the hills. And they made great mines, and set up machines for the working of the metal; and they prospered. The strongest among them chose they for king, and Bazoo, of the House of Lauma, was priest in the temple of Ramouni. Now it fell that, as time passed, the wolf-people whom they kept for slaves grew in cunning as they grew in numbers. A mighty people they were, that knew not fear.

“And an Ayuti, Nordhu by name, an evil-doer, roused them to rebel; and at a time when the people of the city held high revel, the slaves armed themselves, and, falling upon their masters, slew them all, save a few. From these latter I, even Neomri, am descended, being born to Madro, wife of Nazra.

“While I write the fear is upon me that ere long our race will be nought but a name; for we be but a few, in all not more than a score, and we hide amid the ruins of our city, fearing the creatures which once were our slaves. Yet I would that our race might be preserved, for we are an ancient people. Nevertheless, let the will of Ramouni be done.”

The scientist’s voice trailed away into silence, and he sat pondering for a while over what he had read.

“The old chap’s a bit disappointing,” Seymour broke in at length. “He says nothing of the existence of this phosphorescent liquid, nor yet of the bell which tolls when the sunlight strikes the idol’s eye.”

“He says enough to prove my theory,” Mervyn replied abstractedly; “save that it was a volcanic outbreak, and not an incursion of enemies, which drove them to the shelter of the crater, my theory is identical with the story on this manuscript. Nordhu, the priest, must be the descendant of Nordhu the evil-doer, mentioned here. The caverns in the hills are undoubtedly the ancient mines in which the wolf-men would take up their habitation after the massacre. We may also take it for granted that the work still carried on down there is the making of this same strange metal.”

“Mervynite?” Haverly put in.

“Yes, Mervynite, if you like, Silas,” returned the scientist with a smile.

“Talking of Nordhu,” remarked the baronet, “reminds me that we must decide on the fate of our prisoner.”

Turning, he spoke for some moments with Chenobi.

“The king says the priest may choose the manner of his death,” he announced.

“Must he die?” Mervyn questioned, his mild nature revolting against the idea of an execution.

“He must die!” repeated Seymour sternly. “Both Chenobi and I have sworn it. The fiend murdered our friend’s brother, and it was not his fault he did not add our names to his list of victims. God alone knows how many poor wretches he has sacrificed to that devilish spider! So vile a monster is not fit to live.”

Although his own good judgment told him that Nordhu merited death, yet the idea of executing him could not be other than repugnant to the scientist’s nature. It seemed too much like cold-blooded murder.

“But——” he began again.

“No ‘buts,’ if you please,” retorted the baronet sharply; “his death is decided upon. It only remains for him to choose the manner of it. Come, Chenobi, let us bring our prisoner forth.”

Together the two men left the temple. Once more Chenobi touched the spring in the masonry; then, as the door swung open, a savage cry burst from his lips. The chamber was empty—Nordhu had vanished!

“THE SEAL!”

THE way of the priest’s escape became clear at once. In the rear wall of the chamber a small door stood ajar.

“I thought not that he knew of the passage,” the Ayuti hissed; “but he shall not escape. Take you the hounds, Fairhair, and follow. I know whereto this passage leads, and will ride round upon Muswani to cut him off.”

Within five minutes the pursuit was in full swing. The hounds were loping down the passage on the trail of Nordhu, with the explorers close behind, while the king was galloping away from the city on his elk, hoping to intercept the flying priest.

“Say,” exclaimed Haverly, “I guess this temple must be kinder honeycombed with passages.”

“It’s a wonderful building,” returned Mervyn. “These passages are doubtless arranged for the convenience of the priests——”

“Nordhu must have the devil’s own cunning to have found that secret door,” interrupted Seymour savagely; “But he won’t escape for all his wiles. If the hounds get hold of him he’ll have short shrift.”

Down a flight of stairs the pursuers went, the great hounds making the passage ring with their baying; then on once more, the tunnel twisting and winding in such a fashion that neither of the friends had the least idea of the direction in which they were moving. Little they cared, however, so that they might again lay hands on the fugitive priest, who, should he succeed in effecting his escape, would assuredly once again attempt their destruction. His capture was a necessity if they would ever find their missing comrade and the vessel; for, with Nordhu at liberty, plotting their ruin, they would not dare venture forth to search for the Seal. So they put forth every effort in the chase, hoping at each bend of the passage they turned to come in sight of their quarry.

But Nordhu appeared to have obtained too good a start. The pursuers were beginning to think that, after all, they should lose him, when, rounding a curve swiftly, they pulled up in sheer astonishment.

Scarce twenty feet away, his gleaming jewel flashing a challenge to Seymour’s, stood the man they sought. Beside him was a great lever, upon which his hand rested, and at his feet in the floor of the tunnel yawned a hole some six feet in width. Close to the near edge of this crouched the hounds, their ferocity overcome by the hypnotic power of the priest.

At once the pursuers became watchful. What card was Nordhu about to play? they wondered. What devilish trick was he about to perform? The priest’s face puckered up into a savage grin as he noted the hesitation of his enemies.

“Why do ye not come on?” he cried ironically; “art afraid? I have waited to bid ye farewell, thinking perchance ye might grieve did I leave you without.”

Seymour’s face was distorted with fury as he gazed upon the priest. Scarcely could he control the mad passion which bade him rush forward and grip the grinning fiend. But what was that hole in the floor? What was the lever? That Nordhu was about to spring some diabolical trick upon them was certain, and the thought checked the baronet’s murderous desire. So for a space they remained, pursuers and fugitive glaring at each other with a world of hatred in their eyes, yet neither making a move.

Then once more the priest spoke:

“Since ye will not join me, I will go. Fare ye well until I return with my warriors to destroy ye.”

He laughed mockingly, and at that Seymour, losing control of his temper, leapt forward. Quick as thought Nordhu flung over the lever beside him, and at once, from the roof of the tunnel, a cataract of liquid light began to fall, plunging into the hole in the floor.

“Wilt follow now?” snarled the voice of the priest above the boom and splash of the falling light.

“Jupiter!” gasped the Yankee. “Checkmate!”

Ay! checkmate it was! for who dared attempt to pass that gleaming curtain after Chenobi’s warning as to its deadly power. Nordhu had played his card and played it well.

With a laugh of triumph he turned and strode down the tunnel, leaving his pursuers standing helpless and amazed at his handiwork.

“I almost feel inclined to risk it,” growled Seymour, as the sound of the priest’s footsteps died away.

“You must not,” cried Mervyn excitedly; “remember what the king said, as——”

But there was no need for the scientist to reiterate Chenobi’s warning.

While yet the words trembled on his lips the fact that the Ayuti had not exaggerated the terrible power of the liquid light was brought to the notice of all in a fearful manner.

Released from the fascination of the priest, the hounds had again grown restless, baying clamorously, yet not daring to venture near the curtain of falling light. Suddenly, while Mervyn spoke, from far away came a cry, faint, but easily recognisable as the voice of Nordhu. At the sound one of the dogs made a rash spring forward, as though he would have plunged through the cataract on the trail of the priest. Over the brink of the hole he leapt, his fore-paws outstretched, but touched the fringe of the falling liquid; then he was shrivelled up into a shapeless black mass, and was swept downward by the cataract.

“Great Heaven!” the scientist cried: “poor brute!”

The other hounds, awed by the fate of their fellow, drew back whining.

“What a fearful power!” Wilson exclaimed. “It must be some form of electricity, I should imagine.”

“I guess the Ayuti didn’t pile it on a bit too thick when he said it was death to touch it,” announced Silas; “but let’s get a move on. We’ll have to follow the trail of the elk now, and we may be in at the death, after all, if we flicker.”

With that they all turned and retraced their steps to the altar chamber. Then, descending to the square, they set the two remaining hounds on the trail of Muswani.

“I reckon,” Haverly averred, as they passed through the city gate, “as Nordhu’s a man of resources. He ought to be a financier. There’s not a blamed coup but what he could bring off.”

“He’s the craftiest brute I ever had dealings with,” returned Seymour; “but I think he’s about at the end of his tether. By this time Chenobi should have reached the end of the passage, and, if so, Nordhu will regret the bravado that inspired him to wait and bid ‘us farewell,’ as he put it.”

“How he comes to know the secrets of the temple so well puzzles me,” admitted Mervyn. “His knowledge of the workings of the place seems almost unlimited.”

“You can bet he’s used that passage before,” remarked the American; “perhaps to sneak into the city on some throat-slitting job or other; but I reckon he’ll have to be real cute to get away from Chenobi. Say, we’ll have to accelerate the pace considerable if we’re to see this job through,” and he set the example by striding forward briskly.

Over the plain they went for perhaps a couple of hours, close at the heels of the hounds, until the sound of the sea came to their ears, the booming of waves against the rocks.

“Great Scott!” the baronet exclaimed; “I did not know we were so near the sea.”

“We may see something of the Seal,” suggested Wilson, his heart leaping at the thought.

“I shouldn’t reckon on it,” replied Silas; “this underground sea appears to be fairly large, and there’s heaps of room for the old boat to get lost if Garth ain’t careful where he’s steering.”

“You don’t think the submarine’s come to grief?” queried the engineer anxiously.

“I think nothing,” was the reply, “but, what with wolf-men ashore and ichthyosauri afloat, I reckon our pard must be havin’ a hot time.”

Now the trail led down to the beach, and, swinging sharp to the right after the hounds, the party passed beneath the shadow of an immense cliff.

“Who goes?” cried a voice in Ayuti, and Chenobi stepped forward from an angle of the rock. He checked the noise of the hounds with a gesture, and turned to his friends with an air of surprise.

“Where is Nordhu?” he asked. “I have waited here long for ye to drive him forth, but he hath not emerged.”

Forthwith Seymour explained all that had happened, and told of the cry they had heard, at which the hound had leapt to his death.

“The priest hath doubtless met with some mischance,” Chenobi asserted. “Come; we will enter the passage.”

Moving a few paces along the cliff base, he turned into a dark opening. Ere the others could follow, however, he leapt back with a startled cry, as a dark figure appeared at the tunnel end.

It was the priest.

His one hand, uplifted above his head, held a small, shrivelled brown ball, and his whole attitude was so menacing that the explorers involuntarily stepped back a pace.

“Back!” the king cried, his eyes fixed upon Nordhu’s hand; “’tis the thunder-ball!”

“Move not,” snarled the priest; “I have somewhat to say ere I destroy ye. Thought ye to trap me in the tunnel, dogs? I tell you ye know not the resources of Nordhu. Ye are but babes.” Then, with a change of tone, he went on, “Why do ye pit yourselves against me? I offered you life for the secret of your fire-weapons, and ye would not take it. I offer you again. Join me; make my people into a strong race; teach them of your knowledge, and ye shall be rulers and kings among them. What say ye?”

“No, you devil!” thundered the baronet in a fury, “a thousand times, no! Think ye we would have dealings with a monster foul as you, who can take pleasure in sacrificing helpless prisoners to the appetite of the devilish Rahee? Truly you have no lack of conceit.”

“Hath he spoken for all of ye?” demanded the priest calmly, not a whit moved by this outburst. “Do all of ye choose death rather than life?”

“We choose nothing,” retorted Mervyn; “you are in our power. What is to prevent us slaying you?”

An evil grin spread over Nordhu’s features.

“This,” he cried, shaking aloft the ball he held, and at the movement the face of Chenobi grew pale as death; “the thunder-ball. ’Twill shatter you to fragments in a moment, if I but cast it at your feet.”

“Great Heaven!” whispered Mervyn to the baronet, “it’s a dried puff-ball! We must be careful.”

“Now hearken,” the priest went on; “step backward to the water’s edge and cast your weapons into the sea. Have a care”—as Seymour made a threatening movement—“I am not minded to destroy myself with ye, yet will I do that rather than fall again into your hands.”

“I guess he’s got the drop on us,” Haverly growled, as the scientist translated the priest’s command; “we’ll have to do as he says.”

In silence the party obeyed the order, though their hearts burned with shame at their humiliating position. As the last weapon splashed into the heaving water, Nordhu advanced from the tunnel, walking with a slight limp. The hounds, who had retreated with their master, whined piteously as the priest moved over the beach. Their terror of the man seemed to overcome all their natural courage.

“Stand where ye are,” Nordhu called, “and make no attempt to follow me, or ’twill be the worse for ye.”

So the adventurers stood, and watched him toil painfully across the shingle. Evidently he had fallen and injured himself in the tunnel, at the time when the four had heard his cry. Towards the plain they had crossed so recently he stumbled.

“Curse it! we’ve lost him!” muttered Seymour savagely, as the light of the priest’s jewel faded from view; then suddenly a savage bellow rang out of the darkness.

“’Tis Muswani,” cried the Ayuti; “I had forgotten him. He is loose on the plain, and has doubtless attacked the priest.”

An instant later the bellow was repeated, and the priest reappeared, scuttling down to the water’s edge with the giant elk pounding along behind him, mad with fury. Here was a factor in the game for which Nordhu was not prepared. If he used his explosive ball to destroy the great elk, he would be defenceless against his human foes, and he well knew that he would receive but scant mercy from them. Therefore he took to the water, hoping to swim out beyond sight of the Ayuti’s bellicose steed; then return to the shore at a point some considerable distance away.

“Good old hoss!” Silas cried, as the elk plunged into the water after his escaping foe; but his sentence broke off into a gasp of amazement as a hoarse shout broke from the engineer:

“The Seal! The Seal!”

Far away over the tumbling crests of the incoming waves shone a bright light—the searchlight of the Seal.

THE DOOM OF NORDHU.

FOR a while the thing seemed too good to be true. As the light drew nearer, however, and the explorers saw that it really came from their vessel, their thankfulness knew no bounds. All else was forgotten. The movements of Nordhu, their enemy, ceased to interest them any longer. They had eyes for nothing but the approaching vessel.

Rapidly Seymour acquainted the king with the state of affairs, and Chenobi seemed as pleased as anyone at the turn things had taken. He was eager as a child to see the strange vessel that moved without oars, but his fury against the priest remained unappeased. Nordhu had escaped his vengeance for the time, and the hate that was in his heart was increased ten-fold by the temporary check.

That it was other than temporary he would not for a moment believe, and he waited impatiently for the fugitive swimmer to turn for the shore. He would grapple with him ere he could land, and then let him use his thunder-ball if he would.

Had Chenobi been alone when Nordhu appeared at the tunnel-mouth, there is not the least doubt he would have attacked him despite the explosive he held, and in that case both would have perished together; but the thought that his four friends would be destroyed also had deterred the Ayuti from this course.

Nearer drew the Seal, and ere long the explorers saw with surprise that her deck was crowded with figures. The truth burst upon them with appalling suddenness. Their vessel was in the hands of the wolf-men!

The swimming priest noted the fact quite as soon as they did, and altered his course a little to intercept the slowly-moving boat. Soon he was alongside, and the willing hands of his savages quickly hauled him aboard.

A groan burst from Mervyn’s lips. Nordhu was winning all along the line.

“What have they done with Garth?” Wilson cried, with a break in his voice.

“Heaven knows!” snapped Haverly savagely; “that darned priest has put us in a tight corner. Here we are, with never a toothpick among us, and a boatload of niggers coming ashore in a brace of shakes.”

“They mean to beach her, by the look of things,” cried Seymour; then, turning, he whispered something to the Ayuti, who nodded affirmatively.

Three minutes later the Seal came ashore with a rush, and buried her nose in the sand. Ere her plates had ceased to quiver, Chenobi and the baronet swung themselves aboard, and were raging along the deck with no weapons but their mailed fists.

This state of things did not last long, however. Quickly they wrenched the spears from the hands of two of their enemies, and fell to with these weapons with a fury born of desperation. On their efforts, they knew, depended not alone their own lives but those of their friends, who, in their entirely defenceless condition, would fall an easy prey to the wolf-men.

So they raged up and down the deck amid that shrieking mob of savages, cutting and stabbing with merciless vigour. One thing puzzled them: Nordhu was nowhere visible, and to his absence they doubtless owed the halfhearted resistance which they encountered.

The baronet fought with a definite object—to break his way through to the turret, around which the wolf-men were clustered the thickest, and obtain possession of a rifle. With one in his hands he knew he could quickly drive the wolfish horde from the vessel’s deck, so he strained every nerve to accomplish his purpose.

And nobly did the king second his efforts.

Back and forth they stamped and drove, yet ever pressing on towards their goal; ever struggling towards the open door of the wheelhouse.

They reached it at length. A final rush, a last savage charge, and they were through the ring of savages, within the shelter of the turret. A moment’s breathing space they allowed themselves, then Seymour snatched down the elephant gun, which still rested, loaded, on its rack, and fired both barrels into the surging mass of savagery without the doorway. Two dropped, and the rest, with a terror-stricken cry, fell back hastily.

Quick as thought, the baronet whipped up a couple of loaded revolvers, and sallied forth, determined to complete the discomfiture of the enemy. Not to be outdone, Chenobi cast his eyes round for a more serviceable weapon than his spear, finding what he sought at last in an axe. Gripping this, he followed his friend, and, shouting his thunderous war-cry, hurled himself into the midst of his foes.

His attack was the last straw. Unable, with their ignorant brains, to comprehend the apparently invulnerable nature of their two foes; awed, moreover, by the baronet’s firearms, the wolf-men turned, leapt the rail, and dashed across the beach in a frenzy of fear, with the hounds snarling savagely at their heels.

Scarcely had the last left the deck, ere the scientist and his two friends were aboard.

“It was magnificent!” Mervyn exclaimed, “magnificent! Never have I witnessed such a fight. You should have been a soldier, Seymour.”

The baronet laughed as he removed his heavy helmet, and mopped his brow with a handkerchief borrowed from the Yankee.

“The War Office might object to my fighting in chain mail,” he remarked. “Steady there!”—as Wilson made a move for the turret—“Nordhu must be below there somewhere. We must go slow, or the brute will be blowing the boat up.”

“But he may be murdering Garth,” the engineer cried, “while we stand here talking.”

At that moment the priest appeared at the door of the wheelhouse. Probably the cessation of hostilities had brought him on deck; but he had evidently never expected to see the vessel in possession of the men whom he had left without weapons upon the beach. No doubt he thought his savages would be able to repel all attacks of the unarmed white strangers and their gigantic friend. How bitter was his chagrin, the expression of his face showed. Even then, however, trapped though he appeared to be, he made one last bid for life.

Like a flash he darted across the deck, no trace of a limp apparent in his movements. Past Haverly and Mervyn—both of whom were standing somewhat apart from the rest—he dashed; but unwilling to let him escape, the scientist grabbed at his robe. Like the wolf he was at heart, Nordhu swung round, and a weapon flashed from beneath his mantle.

With a hoarse cry of warning, the Yankee leapt forward. The next instant the report of a revolver rang out, and Haverly dropped with a sob, the blood welling up from a wound in his breast.

The priest, with diabolical cunning, had discovered the secret of the fire-weapons, and had used it to some purpose. But it was his last effort. His time had come!

With a bound Chenobi was upon him; his weapon was hurled over the rail, and the mailed hand of the Ayuti gripped his neck. An effort of the king’s mighty muscles, hardened to steel by the lust for vengeance which gripped him, and the head of the priest was bent backward. A scream of agony burst from Nordhu’s lips, but the merciless pressure was continued until, like a rotten stick, his neck snapped, and he dropped lifeless to the deck.

Chenobi’s brother was avenged!

But though the priest was dead, his fell work remained. The plucky American, who had saved Mervyn’s life by risking his own, lay bleeding and unconscious where he had fallen, and at first glance there seemed little hope of his recovery. Badly wounded he was, without a doubt, whether mortally or not remained to be seen.

Tenderly they carried him below, inwardly cursing the dead priest who had brought him to the gates of death. Even their fear for the missing inventor was swallowed up by that for Haverly.

They could not bear to think of losing their cheery friend, their comrade in so many dangers, and anxiously they awaited the result of the scientist’s examination.

“Leave me a while,” the scientist murmured brokenly at length, and at that the three stole forth, moving silent as spectres to the engine-room, to look for Garth.

The Ayuti noted everything with wonder: the rich carpet which covered the floor of the corridor; the numerous cabins on either side, of the furniture of which he could catch a glimpse through the partly open doors.

All had been rifled by the savages. Drawers and chests had been overthrown, lockers burst open, and their contents strewn about the floors. The usual spick-and-span condition of the boat, due to the care of the inventor, was conspicuous by its absence.

It was with a dread gripping their hearts as to what they should find within, that they opened the engine-room door, and at first their worst fears seemed realised.

Beside his engines, motionless as the gleaming cranks themselves, lay Garth, his head in a puddle of rapidly-congealing blood. With a low, fearful cry, Wilson flung himself down beside his friend, anxiously feeling for the beating of his heart.

“Thank God!” he muttered at last, “he lives!” and, without wasting further words, set to work to restore the unconscious man.

Half an hour passed ere Garth came round, and then so weak was he from loss of blood, that the engineer insisted on him retiring at once to his berth. Only when he was sleeping soundly did the comrades return to the cabin where Haverly lay.

With their eyes asking the question they dared not put into words, they approached the professor, who still watched beside his patient; and surely, never was prisoner more glad to receive reprieve, than they to hear Mervyn’s verdict: “He will live.”

Almost Seymour leapt for joy as he heard the words; but, remembering in time the need for absolute quiet, he restrained himself, and returned with Chenobi to the deck, there to use his superfluous energy in casting overboard the carcases of the slain wolf-men and their priest. That done, he and the engineer turned their attention to getting the Seal afloat again, as while she remained ashore they were exposed to the constant danger of an attack by the savages; and this, while Haverly’s condition was so serious, they wished to avoid, if possible.

By taking the tide at its flood, they managed to effect their purpose, their actions being keenly watched by the Ayuti. Then, when the vessel was once more in her natural element, they deemed themselves more secure.

“Now to get out of this mail,” said Seymour; “it’s a little too heavy for general use, though very handy in a scrap. Wilson, just keep your weather eye lifting on deck here, while I get into some decent togs.”

Presently the baronet was once more decently clothed, rejoicing in the luxury of clean linen. As for the king, he had perforce to be content with his mail suit, Seymour’s wardrobe containing nothing that would fit his huge limbs, which fact, however, did not inconvenience Chenobi in the least.

Their first meal aboard the recovered vessel was one they never forgot. Wilson, ever an adept at the culinary art, had surpassed himself. The saloon table literally groaned beneath the weight of good things; it sparkled with cut-glass and silver. At its head sat the grey-haired scientist, who had left his patient sleeping easily under the influence of a soothing draught. On his right hand sat Seymour and the Ayuti, the latter a strange-looking figure in his armour, amongst the luxurious modern furnishings of the saloon. The electric light gleamed and flashed on his mail at every movement he made, and his jewel, the insignia of his royal rank, which he had not removed, seemed almost to rival in brilliance the glare of the great arc lamp set in the ceiling above.

Everything was, of course, very strange to him. Food, vessels, and cutlery were alike unknown to him; yet, realising he must conform to the habits of his new-found friends, if he would dwell with them in their upper world, he laid aside his gauntlets, and closely followed the example of Seymour.

On Mervyn’s left sat Wilson, his eyes aglow with delight at being once more aboard his beloved vessel. Judging that the wolf-men were not likely to make another attack for some time, the lad had decided to let the Seal take care of herself for a time, merely locking the turret door as a precaution.

So the glasses clinked merrily, and the saloon rang with subdued laughter as the meal went on.

Towards the end, Mervyn rose.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “we shall all be truly sorry to leave the vessel that has served us so well and faithfully. She has become to us as a dear friend; yet to effect our escape from this underworld, it will be necessary for us to desert her. We shall have to remain aboard awhile, until Haverly is sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey to the crater; then we must say good-bye to the Seal.”

“We must sink her before we start inland,” said Seymour. “I should not like to think of the old craft being in the hands of the wolf-men. How long do you think it will be before Silas is anything like himself again?”

“I cannot tell,” returned the scientist, huskily. “He has had a very narrow escape from death, but I do not doubt that his splendid constitution will enable him to get about ere long. I shall be eternally in his debt: but for his heroic sacrifice, I should have fallen victim to Nordhu’s murderous hate.”

“I have a toast to propose,” he continued, after a few moments’ silence, filling his glass as he spoke, “To our American friend: may he speedily be restored to his usual health!”

While they drank to this, there came a scampering of feet upon the deck overhead, succeeded by a chorus of barks. The hounds, returned from the chase of the savages, had swum out to the vessel, and were clamouring for admittance at the turret door.

THE INVENTOR’S STORY.

“I RECKON it ’ud be powerful interesting to hear how you’ve been pegging along since Wilson left you.”

Haverly’s voice was little more than a whisper as he spoke these words. He was mending rapidly, but he had not yet got about again, and the inventor, who had long since recovered from his injuries, was taking a spell below to bear him company.

“Would you care to hear the yarn?” the inventor asked.

“I guess I would,” was the reply.

“Well, you see,” Garth began, “I was below when Wilson was attacked, attending to the damages we had sustained in our fight with the icthyosaurus. He will have told you of that?”

Silas nodded.

“Suddenly I heard the report of a revolver, and judging that something was wrong, I raced upstairs. You can guess my feelings when I saw Tom being carted away by some great flying creature. For a time I think I almost went mad. I raved up and down the deck like a maniac, cursing everything and everybody in this confounded underworld.

“As my frenzy lessened, I realised the futility of my blind rage, and returned to my task, with a heart heavy for the loss of my chum. For, you know, I did not doubt that Tom was as good as dead; I never dreamed that he would be able to escape from the clutches of the brute—whatever it was—which had carried him off. How I finished those repairs I don’t know, but finish them I did at last, and backing the old Seal off the beach, pushed her along up the coast. My movements were entirely aimless. I imagined that all of you were lost; that I alone was left of our party in this ghostly hole of a place, so I took little heed to my course, or perhaps I may have been spared one of the most fearful experiences that’s ever tumbled my way.

“For how long I steered on I cannot tell, but it must have been for a considerable time. I had long since passed the river-mouth where I was washed ashore when I escaped from the savages. Upon my right was a line of towering cliffs, rising sheer from the water’s edge, for perhaps three hundred feet or so. I was keeping well out from shore on account of the presence of numerous sunken rocks, whose jagged crests showed just a few inches below the surface of the water. Suddenly, rounding a rocky headland, the Seal swept into a sheltered bay, a splendid natural harbour in the heart of the cliffs, and here I determined to stay for a while. The cliffs precluded all chance of attack from shore, and the narrow entrance of the bay was sufficient guard against the visit of another saurian, though at the moment I doubt if I should have cared much had one appeared, so apathetic had I grown. But I paid clearly for my carelessness.

“As I brought the vessel to, I never noticed that the surface of the water around was covered with great floating masses of a jelly-like substance. This fact was only brought to my notice when I saw the deck swarming with what I took to be jelly-fish. The presence of the creatures did not trouble me, however, and feeling weary, I securely locked the turret door, and went below for a time.

“I must have slept for about three hours then, on returning to the wheelhouse, I discovered that the jelly-fish still swarmed the deck, being if anything thicker than before. ‘I’ll soon get rid of these things,’ I thought, and stepping down to the engine-room, set the engines going at ten knots. Half a dozen revolutions they made, then stopped, nor could I get them to go again. Evidently the propellers were fouled by the slimy creatures.

“‘Beastly nuisance!’ I muttered, and picking up an axe, sallied forth to get rid of the encumbrance. Two steps I took on the slippery masses which covered the deck-plates, then slipped, only just saving myself from falling. I must be more careful, I decided, and commenced to pick my way as best I could amid the greasy things which squelched beneath my feet at every step. A sickening odour filled the air, indescribably offensive, and this, added to the sight of the things, almost made me ill. I clambered out to the extreme point, just above the screws, and from there I could see that the water for many feet below the surface was alive with the jelly-fish. They hung in great knotted masses from the stern of the vessel; the propellers were completely smothered beneath a score or so of the things, and I saw at once that to get rid of them by means of the axe was absolutely impossible.

“‘What other way, then’? I thought. Almost as soon as I framed the question, into my mind swept the answer. Electricity! Ay, that was the way. I would connect a couple of wires with the dynamo of the searchlight, and bury the ends in the mass of jelly which prevented the Seal from moving. Turning to retrace my steps to the turret, I slipped again, and this time I fell full length.

“The sensation of feeling oneself sprawling on that mass of corruption was a thing to be remembered, I can assure you, but when I felt the ghastly things beginning to swarm over my body, I almost squealed. Their suckers seemed to grip my flesh through the clothes, and burnt like hot iron. I struggled hard to rise, but the creatures sprawled over me in scores, fairly covering me beneath their flabby masses, and holding me down to the deck by their suction. Yet I did not feel alarmed; it was an unpleasant situation—nothing more. No thought of possible peril to life, no fear of death came to me, until the things began to cover my head and to swarm over my face. Then, you may take it for granted, I began to feel a bit sick.

“All this time, mark you, I was struggling with all my might to shake the brutes off, and to rise from my loathsome bed, but I could not. Those slimy things held me more firmly than a vice. I was fairly trapped, and it seemed to me as though I was to be slowly suffocated, despite all my efforts, beneath that hideous mass of blubber. Then suddenly, to my ears came the howl of the wolf-men, and never was sound more welcome. The manner of their approach, of course, I could not tell, neither did I care, so that they tore away the clinging jelly masses which were smothering me. Better, I thought, to be prisoner in the hands of savages than in my present position.

“So I redoubled my efforts, gaining little by little, however, save that my struggles attracted the notice of the wolf-men. Presently, I felt the slimy creatures upon my back torn from their hold; I was dragged roughly to my feet. Rubbing the slime from my eyes, I observed that the deck was simply swarming with savages, who had evidently boarded from two skin boats which were floating alongside. These were engaged in slashing up the jelly-fish, wholesale, with their spears, and flinging them overboard. The twain who had released me from my predicament I at once recognised as two of my former captives, and by the evil grin which lit up their features I conjectured that they knew me again.

“Between them they bundled me to the turret, making unmistakable signs for me to start the boat. After some difficulty, I made them understand that the jelly-fish were keeping the boat motionless, and at once they dived over the stern, and hacked away the obstruction with their spears; then returning, they once more bade me start the boat, and this—recognising the hopelessness of resistance against such odds—I did.

“The rest is soon told. The brutes remained aboard the Seal, using me as a sort of general factotum, not scrupling to punctuate their orders—all of which, of course, were given in signs—with a dig or two from their spears. I can tell you I was pretty mad with the brutes. Now and again some of them would want to be put ashore for a spell, and they never returned without game of some sort, which they ate absolutely raw. That was what we were running in for when you sighted us. I had steered the old boat as close in as I dared, and had gone below to stop the engines, so I knew nothing of the boarding of the priest. Just as I flung over the levers, something caught me a crack on the head, then everything went dark.”

“I guess that old devil, Nordhu, must have dropped you,” Silas remarked, as the inventor concluded; “he was monkeyin’ around down here somewhere when we got aboard. If he’d been on deck, Seymour and the Ayuti would have had a tougher fight for their money. Say, are they gettin’ ready to flit soon as I can hustle a bit?”

“Yes,” Garth replied, “you must hurry up and get well, Silas, so that we can start before long. Though I shall be sorry to leave the Seal, yet I’ve had quite enough of this underworld, and would sacrifice more than the vessel to get back home again.”

“I assume Chenobi ’ll have to leave his pets behind?” said the Yankee.

“He proposes to take the hounds with him,” was the reply; “says he can rig up a pulley to hoist ’em up the cliff, or whatever it is we’ve got to climb. Of course he can’t take the elk; it would require a steam-crane to lift the great brute. But now get off to sleep; you’ve been awake quite long enough.”

With that Garth quitted the cabin, and ascended to the wheelhouse, where his comrades were assembled.

“Ah!” Mervyn said as he entered, “we were just going to call you up, Garth. We want to run the Seal ashore again. Seymour and Chenobi have decided to pay another visit to the city. You see, there are thousands of pounds’ worth of jewels on the hilts of the weapons in the armoury—wealth sufficient to make Chenobi a person of some importance above-ground—and he wishes to take some of the precious stones with him.”

“Quite right too,” returned Garth, grasping the wheel; “Tom, get down to your engines, will you?”

Ten minutes later the Seal’s nose was once more touching the beach. Seymour had again donned his mail, and he and the Ayuti were moving over the sand with the hounds at their heels. At intervals Chenobi raised a cry to summon the great elk, for they had decided to make the journey upon the broad back of Muswani, instead of proceeding through the subterranean passage.

Ere long the giant ruminant loomed out of the twilight, and mounting, the two men rode swiftly away across the plain.

ON THE CREST OF THE TIDAL WAVE.

TIME dragged heavily for those left aboard the Seal. There seemed little to do; their preparations for the journey they thought to take ere long, were complete. Ammunition, provisions—consisting for the most part of tinned goods—personal belongings, were alike packed and ready. Nothing at all superfluous was allowed in the packages, for they would only have Muswani to carry their baggage as far as the cliff stairway; for the rest of the journey they would have to bear their own burdens.

Their plans for the future seemed perfect. They were only waiting for Haverly to get a little stronger, ere commencing their march through the jungle to the upper world and daylight. They had yet to learn that “the best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft agley.”

“I hope they will not get into danger,” Mervyn remarked, after a long silence; “it’s rather risky, yet we cannot blame Chenobi for wishing to secure the jewels.”

“He would be in a rather peculiar position above ground without money,” returned Garth, “and I fear he would be too proud to accept help from one of us. Anyway, he and Seymour should be safe enough. They are well armed, and——”

Out of the distance came a sullen muttering, as of far-distant thunder, and at the sound Garth’s sentence died on his lips.

“Whatever’s that?” Wilson asked.

Striding out on deck, Mervyn leaned over the rail, and stood listening for a repetition of the sound. Again it came, low as before, reverberating amid the hills like the roll of many drums.

“I don’t like it,” the scientist muttered, as Garth and the engineer joined him; “have you noticed how remarkably still the water has grown during the last few hours? See how gently the waves come in; there is scarcely more motion than on a mill-pond.”

“What do you infer from that?” asked Garth.

“That we are about to witness some phenomenon peculiar to this underworld,” replied Mervyn. “What form it will take I do not know, but I heartily wish Seymour and the king were back.”

“They should not be long now in any case,” rejoined the engineer; “they have been gone over three hours. I say, we must get the Seal off again. The water’s receding!”

It was true. Although the flood-tide had not yet reached its height, the water was rapidly running out from shore, and the Seal was fast being left high and dry.

“Full speed astern, Tom!” Garth cried, as he and Wilson darted into the wheelhouse. Down the steps the engineer bounded, two at a time, and hurled himself along the corridor of the engine-room.

Clank! The levers went over with all his force behind them. The gleaming cranks flew round in a halo of dazzling light, but the vessel moved not an inch. Her propellers shrieked on the air, for the water had entirely receded, and she was hard and fast ashore.

With a muttered exclamation the lad left the engine-room.

“No use?” he said, as he re-entered the turret.

“Not a bit,” returned Garth. “It’s the queerest thing I ever knew. Mervyn can’t account for it either. The water simply ran out as though a hole had opened in the sea-bed. See, there is no water in sight anywhere; nothing but sand.”

“It’s a licker!”

The two men turned at the words. Haverly had entered the turret.

“My word, Silas,” exclaimed Wilson, “you’ll get it hot if the professor sees you! You ought not to be up yet.”

“I guess I’m the best judge of that,” retorted the American with a feeble smile. “I calculated as a constitutional ’ud set me up some, so here I am. But what in the name of blazes has come to the water? Have yer plumped the old boat down in the middle of a desert, or what?”

Quickly Garth explained the extraordinary phenomenon they had witnessed.

“And Mervyn can’t figure it out either?” questioned Haverly.

“No,” returned the inventor, “he’s as much in the dark as we are. But here he comes; you can question him yourself.”

“Say, Mervyn, can’t you enlighten us some?” Silas asked, as the scientist came in from the deck.

“Whatever are you doing here, Silas?” he asked sternly. “You should not have ventured up so soon.”

“I guess I’ll improve considerable more rapid up here than down below,” returned the Yankee.

“Perhaps so,” was the reply, “if you only take care. But you must not abuse your returning strength.”

“No, I cannot explain the phenomenon,” he went on, shaking his head, “though I fear it must be due to volcanic agency. Hark!”

Again that thunder-like muttering rolled out of the distance, but the attention of the comrades was distracted from the ominous sound by a faint cry from Haverly.

“Jupiter! Another fire-message!”

Away over a spur of the distant hills an arch of fire flamed into view, and silhouetted against its golden splendour were eight grotesque figures.

“Can you translate, professor?” cried Haverly; “these signs mean something or other, you can bet your boots.”

Garth and Wilson waited eagerly for the scientist’s answer. It came at length.

“Nordhu, son of Nordhu, will avenge his sire!”

“And that’s the message?” the engineer asked, as the blazing bow waned and died.

“That’s the translation,” returned Mervyn, abstractedly.

“Then I guess we must look out for trouble, and that right soon,” remarked Silas. “If this new Nordhu’s anything like the old man, he’ll be on our trail in less than no time.”

“We’re in a nice lively position to receive an attack of savages,” said Garth, “with the old Seal as helpless as a log.”

“I reckon we’ve come out of tighter corners than this yer,” retorted Silas, “though I allow I’d feel kinder easier if William and the Ayuti ’ud show up. You say they’ve gone to the city?”

“Yes,” returned Wilson, shortly.

“If they ain’t along presently,” pursued the Yankee, “they’ll find some of the wolfies laying for ’em. Them priests are real hustlers when it comes to a scrap. I’d advise as you loose a gun or two off. They might hear the reports.”

“A good idea,” Garth cried, and snatching up a magazine rifle, discharged it to the last cartridge.

“That ought to fetch ’em,” remarked Haverly cheerfully.

Boom! Once more that muffled explosion shook the underworld, succeeded this time by a continuous roar as of a mighty cataract. Thoroughly alarmed, the explorers gazed in the direction whence came the sound. Far away down the coast, its towering crest gleaming through the twilight, appeared a wall of water. With fearful rapidity it roared down upon the helpless vessel.

“Great Heaven!” Mervyn burst out, “a tidal wave! We are lost!” Even while the words trembled on his lips, a shout rang high above the boom of the approaching wave, and down the beach at a furious gallop came Muswani. The Ayuti evidently fully realised the peril of the situation. Straight for the motionless Seal he steered his magnificent steed. A few yards from the rail a word of command pealed from his lips, and at that the mighty elk hurled himself into the air. Clearing the rail by a couple of feet, he landed with a crash upon the deck, the hounds following like shadows at his heels.

Quick as thought the two men leaped from his back, and raced for the turret. Then, as the door crashed to behind them and the hounds, and before ever Muswani could leap ashore, the watery wall struck the Seal.

For one brief instant it seemed as though the ill-fated craft would be overwhelmed. The water foamed and surged, boiled and eddied around her; but by some fortunate chance she was lifted high upon the crest of the giant wave, and was swept forward like a feather.

“Try your engines,” Garth bawled to his friend, and instantly Wilson darted below again. But the engines with all their power were as toys in the grip of the waters. No power on earth could have forced the vessel forward against that foaming torrent. Lucky, indeed, had Seymour and the Ayuti been to arrive at the moment they did. A few seconds later, and they had been left ashore, separated by many miles of raging water from the vessel and their friends. Their position they knew was perilous in the extreme. At any instant the submarine might be hurled against some iron cliff and shattered like matchwood; yet dangers faced together lost half their terror. United the little band felt equal to anything; so keeping a cheerful courage, they awaited with what patience they could muster the time when the force of the wave should expend itself.

But the time sped by, and still the waters roared onward; still the Seal danced and whirled amid the foam-capped waves.

Outside, motionless as a statue, keeping his balance upon the slippery deck with wonderful skill, stood Muswani. Not all the violent lurches of the submarine could shake the great elk from his footing. He was immovable as though he were part of the vessel itself.

Chenobi gazed with pride upon his giant steed. It would mean no slight wrench when the time came for him to part with the magnificent brute; but that had not to be considered yet. Time enough to think of that when they got out of the grip of the tidal wave, which foamed forward relentless as ever.

The shore had long since faded from view. Nought was visible on either hand but a waste of waters, tumbling and foaming in mad confusion. And ever and anon a thunderous explosion would burst out, echoing across the water like the firing of great guns.

Once, close alongside, the mighty body of an ichthyosaurus was flung up, rent and torn in ghastly fashion by some giant natural force.

Suddenly a cry came from Seymour.

“Great Scott! Look there!”

The others turned quickly. To starboard a beetling line of cliffs loomed into view, threatening and terrible. Next moment an exclamation from the American announced the appearance of a similar barrier upon the port side. Through the canyon or gorge thus formed, the waters swept in a maddened torrent, the Seal lurching and rolling in a fashion which bade fair to capsize her. A hundred times—ay, more—she seemed likely to be dashed against one or other of the rocky walls, but by a miracle she escaped destruction in this manner.

So for perhaps an hour she was swept forward; then a terrible fact became apparent to the adventurers. Silas was the first to notice it.

“Say!” he remarked, “I guess these yer cliffs are closing in on us.”

“What do you mean?” asked the scientist; “how closing in?”

“Just cast your eye to the top of this starboard wall,” was the reply; “if the hull outfit ain’t leaning outward, call me a darn nigger.”

An instant’s scrutiny showed Mervyn that the thing was true.

Shaken to its foundations by the force of the explosions, which moment by moment were becoming more frequent, the whole cliff was tottering to its fall. How long it would be ere it thundered down upon the hapless submarine none could tell.

“Full speed ahead!” Silas snapped, his voice recovering its strength under the excitement of the moment; “we must get out of this or we’re done.”

All saw the force of his words, and within two minutes the Seal was leaping forward like a flash of light, her whole hull quivering with the throb of the engines. Her pace was tremendous. The cliffs dashed past in a dazzling line on either side, and still the tottering mass to starboard hung poised, as though loth to crush the gallant vessel and her crew.

The moments seemed to crawl by, and each was laden with the suspense of a century. How long till this gorge shall end? was the cry of each of the comrades. How long till these rocky walls shall cease?

Then suddenly, a sheet of open water appeared ahead, and at the sight a simultaneous cry of relief went up. Another moment and the vessel would have been out of the gorge, and safe from the perils of the crumbling cliff; but in the very instant of her escape, like the crack of doom, a thunderous explosion volleyed through the canyon.

With the sound, the tottering wall of rock bent and swayed, then crashed downward with a deafening roar. Almost, the Seal was clear of the falling débris—almost, but not quite. A colossal boulder caught her stern, ripping the whirling propellers from their sockets, and smashing her steering gear to a mass of scrap-iron.

“Done!” Garth gasped, staggering under the shock; “the beastly thing’s snapped the propellers, and they were the only ones I had.”

The others did not take in the significance of this remark for some moments. They were too occupied in a scrutiny of the curious place the Seal had entered. It was a great circular basin or funnel, enclosed on every side by towering cliffs, and around it the water was sweeping in a giant eddy. Into this the vessel was instantly drawn, being helpless as any log in the whirling water.

Turning, the adventurers gazed towards the gorge through which they had come. It had ceased to be. The fall of the cliff had completely choked the passage, and the basin was now without outlet!

“I guess the old Seal’s fairly trapped,” remarked Silas gloomily; “it would ha’ been better if the plaguey cliff had buried us all, ’stead of shuttin’ us up in this hole.”

As he spoke, Wilson came upstairs.

“You’d better come down, Garth,” the engineer said; “there’s a bad smash astern, and I can’t manage it myself.”

Glad of aught to relieve the awful depression which had succeeded the excitement of the race through the gorge, the inventor followed his friend below, to do what he could towards patching up the damage.

“It’s a terrible outlook,” Mervyn muttered, “to be fastened up here until our provisions give out, and then—death by starvation.”

“A terrible outlook indeed,” granted Seymour. “It’s maddening to think that we have escaped all the perils of the underworld, only to be hopelessly imprisoned in this rocky basin.”

“Say, what’s this steam mean?” asked Haverly, who stood with face pressed to the glass. A mist-like vapour had commenced to rise from the surface of the gyrating water, growing denser in volume each moment, until the walls of the basin were almost hidden.

“Trouble again, I reckon,” the American continued; “I guess we’ve struck little else this trip, so far.”

“Some volcanic disturbance,” exclaimed Mervyn. “I——” The words died on his lips in a gasp, as a fresh development forced itself upon his notice. The water in the basin was rising!

“Wal, that licks all!” cried Silas, as he too became aware of this new movement; “not content with pluggin’ us up here, it’s goin’ to jam us up against the roof.”

“It will merely shorten the period of our imprisonment,” returned the baronet, and then silence fell between the watchers.

An hour dragged by, and still the waters rose; still the submarine was borne upwards. Anxiously the comrades peered out into the misty atmosphere, wondering how this strange adventure would end. Even the iron-nerved Ayuti grew uneasy as time went by, a feeling shared by his hounds, who, scared by the repeated explosions, whined pitifully at intervals.

Muswani—motionless as ever—still kept his position upon the deck, being the only member of the party who seemed not at all dismayed by the strangeness of the situation.

Time crawled on. Many thousands of feet the Seal must have risen, when a sharp cry came from Haverly:

“The roof!”

Close upon his words came a report like a thunderclap, and a dazzling shaft of flame leapt from the surface of the water, illuminating the rocky walls of the basin and—scarce ten feet above—the roof.

“We must sink her,” Mervyn cried, and darted to the stairs for the purpose of calling Garth. Ere he could reach them, however, a second report burst out. The dark mass of the roof above seemed to bend downwards. There was a roaring as of a thousand Niagaras; the swirl of many waters; a thunderous crash as though the earth itself were splitting asunder; then darkness!

INTO THE SUNLIGHT.

SEYMOUR opened his eyes and gazed around dreamily. What had happened, he wondered, as he sat up, and what was this strange light that flooded the vessel? He rubbed his eyes and looked again, then a thrilling cry burst from his lips.

“Daylight! Great Heaven, daylight!”

He staggered to his feet. He was right. The Seal was rolling on the swell of the ocean, bathed in the full glory of the mid-day sun. Into infinite distance the shimmering wave-crests danced on every hand. No land was visible save one small rocky island, entirely destitute of verdure, which thrust itself above the surface of the water some distance away. This much Seymour noted, then with a fervent prayer of thankfulness he turned to assist his comrades.

Haverly lay senseless beside the wheel; his restoration was a matter of little difficulty. Neither was the Ayuti much trouble to bring round. But Mervyn, whom they found at the foot of the steps with a broken arm and other minor injuries, proved a more difficult subject.

Hounds as well as men had shared the general oblivion, and the sun was sinking to its rest ere all were once more restored to a state of sensibility.

The thankfulness of the explorers was supreme; but so strange had been the manner of their deliverance from their subterranean prison, that even yet they could scarcely grasp the fact that their wanderings and trials amid the wilds of the underworld were really over.

Mervyn, his arm, skilfully set by the American, in a sling, was bubbling over with enthusiasm, despite his numerous injuries.

“It must have been the birth of that island which released us,” he observed; “the solid rock, thrust upward by volcanic force, piercing the ocean bed, and rising above the surface of the water.”

“It’s the most marvellous thing I ever heard of,” rejoined Seymour, “though I fear the presence of that great rock will not prove much of a blessing to the vessels that frequent these seas, especially as it will be uncharted.”

“It will not remain so long,” retorted the scientist; “but see, the Seal is drifting towards it. We shall be able to moor her directly.”

Inch by inch the helpless submarine drifted towards the boulder-strewn shore of the island, which but lately had formed part of the subterranean world. Ere long she was close enough for her crew to moor her, and this Seymour did. As he fastened the rope, the hounds, weary of the restraint of the turret, leapt ashore, and went careering madly over the rocks. Suddenly they burst into a clamorous baying, as a monstrous form emerged from the shelter of a clump of boulders.

“’Tis Muswani!” cried the Ayuti, and vaulting the rail, he rushed forward to meet his steed.

“Great Scott!” cried Seymour, “if that don’t beat all. Fancy the old elk getting through safely.”

Mervyn’s eyes glowed with excitement.

“Grand!” he cried; “it’s just what I needed. The elk’s the very thing to confirm my story. If——”

“Ship in sight!” bawled Garth at that instant. His comrades followed the direction of his gaze. Away on the distant horizon, bathed in the blood-red rays of the dying sun, appeared the masts and funnels of a large steamer.

“Thank Heaven!” breathed the scientist, joyfully; “our troubles are over at last!”

*          *          *          *          *          *

“Say, Seymour, how’s this strike yer?”

Haverly skimmed his copy of the “Metropolitan Gazette” across to the baronet.

“I guess Mervyn’ll have a word or two to say about that,” he went on; “for sheer impudence the party as is responsible for that classy drivel takes the biscuit. I reckon, figuratively speaking, he’s just about mopped the floor with the professor.”

The adventurers sat in the library of Hilton Manor. Mervyn alone was absent, he being in London, hard at work upon his book.

“What do you mean, Silas?” Garth asked.

“Just what I say,” retorted the American; “but read it out, William, so’s our pards can grasp the elevatin’ language.”

“Very well,” returned the baronet, smiling, and forthwith commenced to read the following, which, topped by two staring head-lines, occupied two columns of the “Gazette’s” centre page.

“‘A scientist’s delusion!’” Seymour began. “‘An up-to-date fairy story! Truly we are tempted to exclaim with Joseph’s brethren, ‘Behold, that dreamer cometh,’ and we do not doubt that those of our readers who observed the extraordinary effusion in our contemporary of yesterday were alike tempted. Never before has such a wildly improbable story found its way into print. Jules Verne himself could scarcely have conceived anything more fantastic; yet here we have half a dozen columns of closely-printed matter, offered to the confiding public in the guise of sober truth. We marvel that the writer of the article should have dared append his signature; but, after reading this masterpiece of modern imagination, we were in no way surprised to learn that it emanated from the pen of our old rival, Professor James Mervyn.’”

“Take your breath, old man,” Silas interrupted, cheerfully, “you’ll need it all ’fore you get through.”

“Dry up, Silas,” retorted the engineer, “you’re spoiling the flow of language. I should think the beggar must have swallowed a dictionary.”

“Perhaps he gets paid by the yard for what he turns out,” Garth suggested, with a grin; “but wade in, Seymour; we’re eager for the next instalment.”

“You shall have it at once,” rejoined the baronet, and resumed his reading.

“‘We have only space here to touch upon one or two of the more flagrant of the series of glaring falsehoods—we can use no other word—which constitute the whole outrageous story. Whether the interior of the globe is a huge cavern or no, we are in no position to state; but hitherto we have been content to believe in the popular theory of internal fire, and shall continue to do so until we have convincing proof to the contrary. This, however, we could have granted, had it not been for the hopelessly impossible stories which follow. The intellect which could conceive such creatures as the wolf-men and their hypnotist priest, should find its sphere of labour in other realms than those of science. The learned professor should make his mark as a writer of fairy tales. Before his vampires the flying dragons of the ancients fade into insignificance, while his megalosaurus—a creature extinct for eras—beats all the fabled monsters of classical times. But when we read of the giant spider—Rahee the terrible, as he names it—our disgust knows no bounds. That he should have supposed for an instant that he could foist so ridiculous a conception upon a circle of intelligent readers, destroys our last atom of compunction at the drastic course we felt called upon to take.

“‘Yet even this pales before his subterranean metropolis, the city of Ayuti, with its one giant inhabitant. This splendid savage, this intellectual barbarian, is, in our opinion, the wildest imagination of all. In the description of the Ayuti’s antlered steed, obedient to his master’s slightest command, we recognise——’”

“Oh, hang it all!” Seymour broke off angrily, “I’m sick of the drivel,” and he flung the paper to the floor.

“I guess you’d better explain the stuff to Chenobi,” remarked Silas; “he’s looking as if he’d like to be in the know.”

Following this suggestion, Seymour translated the article for the benefit of the Ayuti.

“So,” the latter cried, his eyes flashing with rage, “the dog not only doubts our friend’s story, but calls me barbarian and savage! Were it not that ye say the law of your land forbids killing, the hound should not live an hour.”

“Best of it is,” Garth broke in at this point, “the party that wrote that article—Max Dormer—has a place not five miles from here, and is holding a big meeting there to-day—some scientific society or other, I believe. It would be a bit of a joke if Chenobi was to pop over and pay ’em a visit.”

“By Jove! we’ll do it,” cried Seymour, slapping his thigh; “we’ll stir the beggars up.”

“The king had better go in his tin suit,” suggested Silas; “it’ll look more like business.”

“He shall,” returned the baronet, and spoke a few rapid words to his Ayuti friend.

Instantly the latter rose, an even finer figure in his perfect-fitting suit than he had looked in his mail.

“’Tis well,” he replied to Seymour; “thou and I, Fairhair, will teach this braggart a lesson. When he sees Muswani, perchance he will doubt no longer that there be strange beasts in the underworld.” With that, he and the baronet left the room.

Some time later they rode down the drive upon the back of the elk—Chenobi armed cap-à-pie—and swept out into the high road, leaving the dull-witted lodge-keeper gaping after them in blank amazement. Past astonished pedestrians they flashed, Seymour laughing heartily at the temporary panic their strange appearance caused; on at a headlong, exhilarating gallop, until they reached the gates of the place to which Garth had directed them.

And here they were checked. The gates were locked, and the attendant, alarmed by the unusual dress of the Ayuti, and also by his strange steed, refused to admit them.

“You don’t come in here,” he bawled, “Sir William Seymour or not. You look more like a couple of escaped lunatics than anything else, to my mind.”

Chenobi laughed scornfully as the baronet translated this insulting answer.

“There are other ways of getting in than by the gates,” he said, and backed his mount to the further side of the road. A sharp word of command and Muswani leapt forward like a meteor. Straight for the eight-foot wall, which joined the gates, Chenobi steered him. Like a bird he rose, cleared the obstruction magnificently, and dropped lightly down upon the other side. Affrighted, the attendant vanished into the lodge, and they swept up the avenue towards the house unmolested.

It was indeed a big meeting which was being held at Professor Max Dormer’s place. Earlier in the day, carriage after carriage had rolled up the drive, and discharged its load beside the great lawn, whereon a marquee had been erected. Not a few of those present held a foremost place in the ranks of science, and Dormer’s heart leapt at the thought of the stunning blow he would be able to deal at his erstwhile rival, Mervyn. He knew that the returned scientist’s article in the London daily had attracted almost universal notice, and he was determined to bring forward this matter at this meeting, and expose before this representative gathering the daring effrontery of the writer.

That any of the men of science would place any reliance upon Mervyn’s story he did not for a moment believe; but he determined to make the blow he was about to deal at the absent professor’s reputation as crushing as possible. So he arranged his notes with great care, running over in his mind as he moved amidst his guests the various points of his discourse.

The meeting was at its height. Savant after savant had mounted the platform, and had addressed the great gathering. And now came Dormer’s turn. With all the eloquence that was in him, he was inveighing against his rival, urging that the man who could pen such a tissue of falsehoods deserved to be ostracised, when there came the clatter of hoofs upon the gravel of the drive. All turned at the sound—the side canvas of the marquee had been rolled up on account of the heat—wondering who this late-comer might be. A simultaneous gasp of amazement went up as the giant elk came into view with his mail-clad driver. Straight across the lawn Muswani pounded, almost up to the great tent itself. There he pulled up, announcing his appearance with a bellow that deafened the ears of the assembly. As he did so, Seymour leapt to earth, followed by the Ayuti. Into the tent the baronet strode.

“Dormer!” he bawled, “come down here.”

Trembling, the destroyer of Mervyn’s reputation descended from the platform, and threaded his way amidst his distinguished guests to where Seymour awaited him.

“Are you responsible for that drivel in to-day’s ‘Gazette’?” the baronet demanded sternly.

“I wrote that article, if that is what you mean,” retorted the other, with some show of spirit.

“Then permit me to introduce you to the noble savage, the intellectual barbarian, His Royal Highness Prince Chenobi of Ayuti,” was the crushing reply and Seymour motioned for Chenobi to draw near.

“Is this the dog who called me savage, Fairhair?” thundered the Ayuti.

“This is he,” replied the baronet.

“Then translate to him these my words: He is a hound, and the son of a hound. Let him thank his gods that the law of his country forbids the killing of even such vermin as he, else assuredly I would strangle him where he stands. Yet he will be wise to beware how he maligns me hereafter, lest I be tempted to forget the law, to disgrace my own manhood by laying hands upon his puny carcase. Ask him wherein I am savage and barbarian? Is not my skin as white as his? is not my brain as clear? My people were kings and rulers upon the face of the earth while yet his forefathers burrowed in caves and dens, like unto the beasts they hunted. Let him beware, I say, or his lying pen shall yet be the cause of his ruin.”

This scathing torrent of abuse Seymour translated in its full significance, glossing over nothing; and before it the offending scientist seemed to shrivel up with mortification. His eyes were fixed fearfully upon the face of the Ayuti, as if expecting the giant to put his threats into instant execution.

“Gentlemen,” cried the baronet, when Chenobi had finished, “you see the Prince, whom I am proud to call my friend; you see also his antlered steed, Muswani, the giant elk. I ask you now if the story of my comrade Mervyn is sufficiently proved? If his character as a writer of the truth is vindicated? Is he to labour hereafter under the stigma which this malicious fellow has cast upon him, or will his writings be accepted by you all as actual descriptions of real creatures? I await your answer.”

An instant’s silence, then as one man the assembly rose.

“We are satisfied,” cried someone, and two hundred voices echoed the words. Out of the great tent Dormer’s guests poured, all eager to get a closer look at the giant elk. Note-books came out by the score, and many a page of descriptive matter was scribbled down for use upon future occasions.

Many of those present knew Seymour personally, and they crowded round him eagerly, questioning him concerning his late adventures.

“I must refer you to Professor Mervyn’s article,” he replied to all their queries, “and to the book which he will shortly publish on the subject. His description of the Under-world is far more graphic than anything I can manage. One thing I must ask of you, gentlemen. Will you see to it that Professor Dormer makes public apology for his slanderous statements against my comrade Mervyn?”

“He shall acknowledge his mistake at once,” an eminent scientist exclaimed, “or lose his standing among us.”

“Thank you!” replied the baronet; “mistake is putting it rather mildly, but it will do. And now I think we will return. Should any of you wish to examine the elk again, later on, you will find him at Hilton Manor. His master and I will be there for some weeks to come. Chenobi”—turning to the Ayuti—“if you are ready, we will go.”

At a word from his master Muswani dropped to his knees; the two men leaped to their places. A wave of the hand and they were off, speeding down the avenue towards the gates. These the keeper flung hastily open for them—being evidently relieved to see the last of these escaped lunatics, as he termed them—and they turned once more for home.

Seymour was in high spirits at the manner in which they had turned the tables upon Dormer, but Chenobi appeared preoccupied.

“A thought has come to me, Fairhair,” he said at length. “You remember the fire-message of the son of Nordhu, wherein he vowed to avenge his sire?”

“I do,” replied Seymour.

“What if he should fulfil his vow?” pursued Chenobi.

“What if he should lead his followers through the fire-mountain into this upper world? I doubt not that your people would prevail in the end; yet I fear me much blood would flow ere the wolf-people could be destroyed.”

“Nay!” returned the baronet decidedly, “I do not think he will attempt so mad a scheme. Anyway, we have not to concern ourselves with that. Our troubles are over; our wanderings in the Under-world are a thing of the past. See, here is the Manor,” and with that they turned in at the gates.

PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C.

Transcriber’s note:

Upside down letters have been turned right-side up.
Inconsistent use of hyphenation has been changed to the most often used.
Errors in punctuation have been corrected.
Illustrations have been moved to after the paragraph they are mentioned in the text.