"And you think, Uncle, it has never been explored?" I said, without replying to his last remark.

"My dear boy, for goodness' sake give up dreaming and take to reality," he said pettishly. "Explored? Yes. I remember how they say the Spaniards explored it, and butchered a lot of the poor Peruvians there like so many sheep, but they found nothing. Don't think about treasure-seeking, Hal—it's a mistake; fortunes have to be made by toil and scheming, not by haphazard proceedings; but all the same I must say," he added musingly, "they do tell of the golden ornaments and vessels of the sun-worship hidden by the poor conquered people ages ago to preserve them from their greedy conquerors. Their places are known even now, they say, having been handed down from father to son."

"But did you ever search?" I said eagerly.

"Who? I? Pooh! Nonsense, Hal! My idea always was that gold was to be grown, not searched for; but after all, I might just as well have gone upon a harum-scarum gold-hunt as have sunk my few poor hundreds here."

The conversation was directly changed, for Garcia came in to take his evening cigar with the family, looking the while dark and scowling; but it had little effect upon me, for my thoughts were running upon the dim, mysterious cavern, with its echoes and shadows; and the more I thought, the more it seemed possible that a natural or an artificial discovery might there be made. By artificial, I meant the finding of a buried treasure. With the old profusion of gold in the land there must have been some rich mines. Why might not this be one of them?

"Anyhow, I have nothing to lose," I said to myself; and at last I retired to rest, excited with the thoughts of Lilla and the riches I might find—the consequence being that I lay awake half the night, forming all sorts of impossible schemes; but above all determining that, come what might, I would explore the great cavern of Tehutlan—if. If what? If I could find it again.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

BEGINNING TO "BURN."

The sun was rising and sending his golden arrows darting through the thick mist which hung over the plantation, as I went out into the court-yard, to find all still and peaceful, for work had not yet commenced.

I had taken the precaution of laying in a good supply of provisions, which I carried in a wallet in company with flint and steel, matches, and several candles; for, instead of the morning light making my project seem absurd, I had grown warmer upon the subject, and come to the determination that if buried treasures had lain in the earth all these ages I might as well become the owner of one as for it to lie there another century, waiting some less scrupulous searcher.

The night had not been passed without quiet thought, and I had come to the conclusion that if so much gold had been used for the embellishment of the various temples, and that gold had been hastily torn down and hidden, it would most probably be in the vicinity of a ruined temple.

But at this present time I was red-hot for exploring the cavern, which did not fit with my common-sense argument, without it should prove that there had once existed a temple somewhere on one of the platforms at the side of the gorge, when, if that should be the case, I felt sure that I had hit upon the right place.

What, then, was my first proceeding?

Evidently to search the sides of the ravine for traces of some ancient building.

Tom's words on the previous day had not been without effect. It was quite possible that I was watched, either by some spy of Garcia's, or, it might be, by some suspicious Indians who had seen me searching about, perhaps, for aught I could tell, close by one of the buried treasures, of whose existence they were aware.

What a thought that was!—it sent a thrill through me, and roused me to fresh energy and determination.

Under the circumstances, and granting that I had been watched—the figure I had seen corroborating Tom's words—it was evidently my policy to get away unseen; and to achieve this I had risen thus early, swung on my wallet, and, armed with my gun, a hunting-knife, and a long iron rod, I walked softly round the house, but only to have my nostrils saluted by the fumes of tobacco, and the next instant I was face to face with Tom Bulk, leaning against a post and smoking.

"Startin' so soon, Mas'r Harry!" he said quietly. "I thought you'd be in good time this morning."

Then, paying not the slightest heed to my discontented looks, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, shook himself together, and prepared to follow me.

"But I don't want you with me, Tom," I said.

"Dessay not, Mas'r Harry; but I'm a-coming all the same, and got my gun cleaned up ready."

I knew it was useless to complain—for Tom had already given me one or two samples of how obstinate he could turn—so I made the best of it; and, knowing that he was as trustworthy as man could be, I trudged on with him close behind, hour after hour, till, after several wanderings wide of the wished-for spot, we hit upon a little clear, cold, babbling stream.

"I'll bet tuppence that comes out of that big hole," said Tom eagerly.

The same thought had occurred to me; and now, just as I had given up all hope of finding the gorge that day, here was the silver clue that should lead us straight to its entrance.

The stream led us, as we had expected, right to the mouth of the gorge— that is, to where the rocks, which had heretofore been only a gentle slope clothed with abundant vegetation, suddenly contracted, became precipitous, and broken up into patches of rich fertility and sterile grandeur.

But now these charms were displayed in vain; for the gorge being reached, I prepared to examine carefully its sides, and accordingly began to climb.

"Thought you meant the big hole, Mas'r Harry?" said Tom, gazing uneasily about, and evidently seeing an enemy in every lump of rock or trunk of tree.

"Up here, Tom, first," I said.

He followed me sturdily, without a word, up, and up, and up, climbing over the precipitous sides, with tough root or fibrous vine lending us their aid, till, breathless, we stopped to gaze round or down into the rich ravine below.

Platform after platform I reached, and then peered about amongst the dense growth in search of some trace of masonry; but though again and again the blocks of stone wore the appearance of having been piled together, I could find nothing definite—nothing but that ever-recurring dense foliage creeping over and hiding everything, till we had panted up another hundred feet, where a much larger table-land or platform extended before us.

My heart beat painfully now; for, judging from appearances, it seemed that if ever temple had looked down upon the beautiful little vale, this must have been the spot where it was piled. The cavern was sacred to a god; there must, then, have been some temple or place of sacrifice near at hand, it seemed, and I longed to begin investigating; but only to seat myself upon a mossy block, dreading the search lest it should prove unfruitful, and so dash my golden visionary thoughts. But at length I was about to commence, when a throb of joy sent the blood coursing through my veins, for Tom said, in his dry ill-tempered way:

"Been some building going on here some time or another, Mas'r Harry."

I started to my feet then, to find that the block I had used for my seat had once been squared for building, and on peering about, there, in every direction, amongst creeper, moss, and vine, lay fragments of some mighty temple. Some of the blocks were crumbling away; some square and fresh as if lately cut; and many of a size that was gigantic, and excited wonder as to how they could have been moved.

I was right, then. Here had once been a grand temple; and if its treasures had been hidden by the ancient priests of the place, where so likely a concealment as the mysterious cave, whose gloomy entrance I could just distinguish far-off below us? The building must once have been grand, for every step revealed new traces, with the vegetable world completing the ruin commenced by man: mosses eating away, roots forcing themselves amongst interstices, and moving with mighty force stupendous blocks from their ancient sites.

"Yes, this was the temple. I was right so far," I exclaimed to myself. "Now, then, for the treasure! This way, Tom!" I exclaimed, turning to descend, eager now, and excited.

But the descent was steep at times, even perilous, though I heeded it not; and in less than half an hour we should have reached the stream meandering through the rugged bottom of the ravine, had not Tom, who was always on the look-out for danger, suddenly dragged me down into the shelter of a mossy boulder, and, in reply to my inquiring look, contented himself with pointing a little below us to the left, when, following the direction of his arm, it seemed to me that my secret starting that morning had been in vain. The golden treasure, if it existed, appeared about to be snatched from my grasp—my knowledge was about to be met by cunning, perhaps force. We were watched. Of that there was no doubt, and my heart sank with bitter disappointment; for there, where Tom pointed, plainly to be seen peering at us from a clump of verdure, was a pair of sharp bright eyes, their owner being carefully hidden from view.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

IN SHADOWY LAND.

For quite a quarter of an hour we remained motionless—the watcher and the watched—Tom and I both well armed, and involuntarily our guns were pointed at the eyes; but the position was not one which justified firing. The ravine was as free to the owner of those eyes as to ourselves, and, after all, we had no proof that this was an enemy.

I was in doubt as to our next proceeding, and had just come to the conclusion that our most sensible plan would be to turn back without going near the cavern at all, and so try to throw the enemy off the scent, for I felt certain that whether I discovered a treasure or no, I was on the right track, when Tom whispered eagerly to me:

"Let's show him that we know how to use our guns, Mas'r Harry. We won't shoot him, but only give him a start. Look at that: there's a poll-parrot—two of 'em—settled in the tree above him! It's a long shot, but I think I could bring one down; so here goes!"

Tom levelled his piece and the next instant would have fired, when the parroquets began chattering, screaming, and fighting together, fluttering down towards the bushes which concealed our watcher. Then there was a rush, a crashing of the undergrowth, and the owner of the eyes—a good-sized deer—bounded into sight for an instant, and then disappeared in a series of spring leaps, which soon took it out of sight in the dense growth.

"I am, blessed!" exclaimed Tom, in accents of the most profound disgust. "If I'd known, wouldn't I have fired, that's all! Had some venison to take back, Mas'r Harry."

"I'm very glad you did not, Tom," I said.

For I felt how the report of a gun would have published our whereabouts, if there really were any lurkers near—a thing that I must say I now thought very probable, since the fact of there being a treasure in the cave, held sacred by the Indians, would, as a matter of course, render them very jealous of intruders.

"Where for now, Mas'r Harry?" said Tom.

"The cavern, Tom," I said.

Finishing our descent we were not long in reaching the rocky barrier, evidently piled by Nature at the entrance of the vast frowning arch.

We stopped and looked around suspiciously; but the gorge was silent as the grave—not a leaf stirred; there was neither the hum of insect nor the note of bird. Heat—glowing heat—reflected from the rocks, already not to be touched without pain—and silence.

"Going in, Mas'r Harry?" said Tom.

"Of course," I replied.

"Very good, Mas'r Harry; if you will, you will. But if we get lost, and then find ourselves right away down in no-man's land, don't you go and say it's my fault."

I was in no mood to reply, and clambering up the hot rocks, with little glancing lizards and beetles rushing away at every step, we soon stood gazing in at the gloomy chamber, our eyes, unaccustomed to the gloom, penetrating but a few yards at a time, so that had there been a host of enemies within, they would have been unseen.

"Now, Tom!" I said excitedly, as together we climbed down into the shade, to feel the cool and pleasant change from broiling heat to what was, comparatively, a very low temperature. "Now, Tom, we are going to explore one of the wonders of the world!"

"Humph!" ejaculated Tom, who did not look at all pleased; "it's very big, and large, and cool. But say, Mas'r Harry," he exclaimed, brightening up, "it wouldn't make half a bad place for keeping tallers! Yah! what's that?"

"Only a bird," I said, as with a rush a couple of large birds had flown close by us, evidently alarmed at our visit to their home. "That's a good sign, Tom, and shows that you need not fancy there's an enemy behind every block of stone. If anyone was within those birds would not be there."

Tom grunted, and then, as if to show his unbelief, cocked both barrels of his gun, as, with eyes each moment growing more familiar with the gloom, we walked slowly forward into the darkness ahead—slowly, for the floor was rugged in places with fragments from the roof, and stalagmite. The roof was about fifty feet above our heads, and the span of the low corrugated arch, I should say, a hundred more than that. The stream was rippling noisily along, threading its way amongst the massive blocks of stone, murmuring musically over pebbles and sand. Now our way was wet and slimy, and then again rugged and dry, till, having penetrated some little distance with every precaution, we turned round to look back at the entrance, to see as pretty a picture as ever I gazed upon in my life. We could now see plainly the nature of the roof, hung with beautiful stalactites of many graceful forms, giving to the great arch the appearance of some grand specimen of Gothic tracery, through which we looked upon the ravine lit up by the outer sunshine, with its green, and gold, and blushing floral hues. It was a scene to be remembered for ever; but the gold in my thoughts seemed more glorious, and I turned from it without a sigh.

Another dozen yards and a curve in the cave hid the entrance from sight; we were in gloomy shades, where a light was necessary; and before going farther I paused to think.

If the treasure had been hidden there, where would it be?

Reason said directly, in the most distant and inaccessible recesses of the vast cavern.

And where was that? How far from the light of day?

That was the problem I had set myself to solve, and, in spite of a feeling of awe with which the place inspired me, I prepared for the solution. It was no light task, and I have no shame in owning that I felt a strange reluctance to proceed along a rugged path wherein might at any time be yawning some fearful bottomless chasm, ready to swallow up the adventurer; but I would not show my dread, and if Tom felt any he was too obstinate to show his.

By means of string we tied each a candle to our pistol barrels, and then set forward, walking slowly, now with the floor of the cavern ascending, now with it sloping down with a steep and rugged gradient, but always with the little river gurgling in darkness by our side, sometimes almost on a level with our feet, at others, where the path rose, running in a deep chasm whose black darkness made one shudder.

We must have penetrated, I should say, the greater part of a mile when the narrow rocky shelf upon which we were walking came to a sudden end, and holding down our candles, we tried to penetrate the depth before us, but in vain; we could only see a vast black abyss, over which we were standing upon a tongue of rock, while to right, to left, it was precisely the same—an awful falling away of all that was palpable—and we knew that a slip would have sent us to a horrible death.

"This is a fearsome, unked place, Mas'r Harry," whispered Tom; but his words went floating around as if taken up by a chorus of mocking voices, and a strange shudder crept through me.

It was indeed awful, that vast obscurity, with death threatening us if we took another step; and I could not help thinking how easy it was for a people of a low order of intellect, blindly superstitious, to make this solemn hall the home of their poor idol. It was a place that took no little courage to explore, and often I felt my heart fail me ere I recalled the errand upon which I had come.

Was it likely that, sooner than it should fall into the hands of the Spaniards, gold almost invaluable had been cast into this awful gulf? It was probable; but, as far as I could see, recovery would have been impossible, unless, after all, it was not so profound as the darkness made it appear. But then, how to descend? To swing by a rope over the fearful chasm would have unnerved the stoutest of heart, and I felt that I hardly could have dared such an adventure.

This, then, must be the extent of the cavern—or rather of our power to explore it in this direction—for, as I have before said, we stood right out upon a projecting piece of rock from which descent was absolutely impossible, and there was nothing for it but to turn back.

"Think it's deep, Mas'r Harry?" whispered Tom loudly.

"Deep—deep—deep—deep—deep—deep!" came whispering back from all sides, making Tom shiver; but he recovered himself directly, and taking a piece of greasy newspaper from his pocket he loosely crumpled it together, knelt down close to the brink of the abyss, lit the paper, and then threw it from him to blaze out brightly, and fall down—down rapidly—as it burned lower, and lower, and lower, till at a vast depth it burned out, but without illuminating anything. We saw no reflection from rocky point or gleaming water, and our feeling of awe was increased.

"I'll have another try, anyhow," said Tom. "Ears will sometimes tell us what eyes won't. Just lend a hand here, Mas'r Harry."

For a moment or two I shrank from assisting him, on seeing his object, but directly after applied one hand to a rough block of stone that lay at our side, weighing, I should think, a hundred pounds.

We had about a couple of yards to move it, and then it rested upon the very brink, a shrinking sensation coming over me as I saw Tom stand, candle in hand, with one foot resting upon the rock ready to thrust it over.

"Now, then, Mas'r Harry," he said, "this'll find the bottom if anything will. We shall soon know now. Say when!"

I did not speak, for I was wondering whether that rough block was going down where that I coveted had been cast, and for a moment I was about to restrain Tom; but I thought that the fall of that stone would teach me whether the bottom was at an attainable depth or no, and I signed to Tom to thrust the fragment off.

"Over, Mas'r Harry?"

"Over!" I said in a whisper; and the next moment there was a grating noise and the stone had been thrust off to fall—fall—fall in silence, while with awe-stricken countenances we leaned over the gulf and listened, second after second, without avail, for no sound came up.

"It's gone bang through to the other side of the world, Mas'r Harry!" whispered Tom. "There ain't no end to this place, for if it had been ever so deep you must have heard it touch bottom some time. Ain't it awful!"

It was awful, and a hand seemed clutching my heart as I thought of falling, ever falling like that, or of some enemy dashing me over into the fearful gulf. There seemed to be indeed no bottom within ordinary range, and the idea of descending by rope in search there of treasure was absurd.

How long the stone had been falling I cannot say; but just as we had given up all thought of hearing of it more there came from the depths below a faint whisper of a splash, or of some pebble falling in water, but only for that whisper to be echoed and re-echoed from distant parts till it increased to a fearful roar that was some seconds in dying away.

It was impossible to help a shudder upon hearing those horrible reverberations, each one telling of the awful profundity of the place— one which, without extensive mining apparatus, I felt that any fathoming for search was out of the question.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE BLACK ARCH.

Dreadful place indeed!

"They cannot have thrown any treasure down there," I mentally exclaimed the next moment. "It must be somewhere recoverable."

"Say, Mas'r Harry," said Tom then, "hadn't we better get back?"

"Are you afraid, Tom?" I said.

"Well, no, Mas'r Harry, I ain't afraid; but I am nearer to being so than ever I was in my life. 'Taint fear, only one of my knees will keep going shikery-shakery, and my teeth have took it into their heads to make believe it's cold, and they're tapping together like the lid of a kettle in boiling time. But I ain't a bit afraid."

"It's an awful-looking place, Tom," I said, "and enough to make any one shudder."

"'Tis that, Mas'r Harry—'tis that indeed!" said Tom earnestly. "And if I believed in ghosts and goblins I should say as this was the shop where they was made. But—but, Mas'r Harry, what's that?"

I turned round hastily to look in the direction in which we had come, to see plainly a shadowy-looking form flitting, as it were, out of sight in the dim obscurity, and a feeling of tremor came over me as I thought of our peril should we be attacked now, standing, as we were, with certain death behind and on either side; and determined that, if we were to encounter an enemy, it should be upon less dangerous ground, I called to Tom to follow me; and holding my dim light well in front, began to retrace my steps in the direction of the entrance, when there was a loud echoing cry from behind. I felt a violent blow in the back which dashed me to the ground, and in an instant our candles were extinguished and we were in darkness.

For a few moments I felt paralysed, expecting each instant that I should have to grapple with an enemy; but, save for the whisperings and the distant roar of water, all was silent till Tom spoke.

"Have you got the flint and steel, Mas'r Harry?"

"Yes," I whispered. "But what was the meaning of that blow and that cry?"

"It was me. I stumbled, Mas'r Harry," said Tom, "for there was a black thing like a devil's imp flew up out of the big hole and hit me in the face. But pray get a light, Mas'r Harry!"

That Tom's imp was some huge bat I did not for a moment doubt; but after seeing a shadowy figure in front I knew that it was possible that danger awaited us, so, hastily dragging flint and steel from my pocket, I was soon clinking away till a shower of sparks fell upon the tinder; the usual amount of blowing followed, and at last a match was fluttering its blue, cadaverous light, to blaze out soon and enable us to ignite our candles, now burned down very low, when, hastily pursuing our way, we came again without adventure into the great entrance, the daylight being welcome indeed, when we sat down, about fifty yards from the mouth, to partake of some refreshments.

It is surprising what a tonic those provisions and a moderate taste of aguardiente formed. The daylight, too, lent its aid to restore the equilibrium of our nerves, and things wore an entirely different aspect.

"That must have been my shadow, Tom," I said at last, just as he was indulging in a pipe. "Your light threw it on to the dark curtain of gloom before us. And as for your imp, that was a huge bat."

"Well, do you know, Mas'r Harry," said Tom, "I do begin to think that I hollered afore I was hurt. But you know it really is an unked place in there, and wants a deal of getting used to, and I ain't a bit used to it yet. But don't you make no mistake, Mas'r Harry; if you want to go in again I'll go with you, and I can't say fairer than that."

"Well, Tom," I said thoughtfully, "I do want to go in again, for I'm not at all satisfied with my journey. I don't understand what became of this little river, for of course it must have turned off somewhere this side of the great hole."

"To be sure it did, Mas'r Harry; I saw where it went off under a bit of a tunnel just before we got to that horrible great place."

"Then the cavern must branch off there, Tom," I said. "That must be the part for us to explore."

"Very good, Mas'r Harry, when you like; but in case of an accident, and I don't come out any more, I think I'll tell the truth before I go in: I said I wasn't, Mas'r Harry, but I was awful scared and cold and creepy, but I think I shall be better this time; so when you're ready I am."

I expressed my readiness, and in spite of fatigue we stepped onward again till the darkness compelled us to stop and light candles, when, knowing now that there were no very great perils in the path, we made far more progress, and in a very short time arrived at the spot where Tom had seen that the bed of the stream took a fresh direction.

It was just as he had intimated: it suddenly turned off to the left, but beneath the shelving rock where we stood holding down our candles as far as we could reach; and if we wished to explore farther there was nothing for it but to scramble down some forty feet to where the water ran murmuring amongst the blocks of stone, here all glazed over with the stalagmitic concretion that had dripped from the roof.

I led the way, and with very little difficulty stood at last by the stream, when Tom followed, and we slowly proceeded along its rocky bed till at the end of a few yards we came to the turn where it came gushing out of a dark arch, some six feet high and double that width, the water looking black and deep as it filled the arch from side to side, running swiftly—a river of ink in appearance.

"Tom," I said dreamily, "we must explore this dark tunnel."

"Very well, Mas'r Harry," he said in resigned tones.

And when a few minutes after I turned to look at him, he was leaning against a rock and removing his shoes and stockings.

"What are you doing?" I said.

"Gettin' ready, Mas'r Harry; so as to have something dry to put on when we come back."

"But I'm not going to try without boat or raft, Tom," I said. "We must give it up for to-day."

Tom said no word but hurriedly replaced his extreme garments, and together we slowly made our way back to reach the light in time to see that the sun was very low down in the horizon, when completely wearied out we sat down to finish our provision, a very easy task, for I had only intended my store for one. But I must give Tom the credit of saying that he would not eat without much pressing, declaring that his pipe would satisfy him.

An hour after we were making our way back to the hacienda with, fortunately for us, a bright moon overhead, but it was nearly midnight before we reached the court-yard.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE RETURN TO SHADOW-LAND.

Tom was inexhaustible in his schemes, and at the end of three days he had contrived the very thing we required, in a light little raft composed of a few bamboo wands confining together a couple of inflated calf or small heifer skins, which floated lightly on the river like a pair of huge bladders.

"There, Mas'r Harry, what do you say to them, eh? Let all the wind out and double 'em up, cut fresh sticks over there by the cave, blow the bags out again, and there you are fitted up in style."

"Tom," I said joyfully, "you're a treasure!"

"Course I am, Mas'r Harry! And yet you wanted to leave me behind."

We were off the next morning before daybreak well armed, each carrying a pistol besides our gun, and travelled as rapidly as we could, being pretty well laden; our load being increased this time by better illuminating powers in the shape of rope thickly coated with pitch.

"You'll take the prog-bag, Mas'r Harry, as soon as we get there; and I've brought this bit of rope so as to sling the skin bags over my shoulders," said Tom.

"All right!" I said, and I nodded assent.

Having the advantage of a little more acquaintance with the road we arrived at the ravine in good time without seeing a soul, walked straight to the blocks in front of the great cave, climbed them, hastened in for some distance, and then sat down in the cool twilight to rest and refresh ourselves, the place being apparently just as we had left it some days before.

It was very laborious work that tramping through a trackless country, but an hour's rest and a hearty meal sufficed to make us once more eagerly set about our task; Tom now apparently as much excited as myself though without my deep interest. Tom's idea was that we might discover something wonderful, more singular perhaps than the vast chasm; but his fancies were exceedingly vague, while for my part I studiously preserved silence respecting my own intentions.

As soon as we reached the region of gloom we lit a candle and one torch, but so far, with the increased power of thoroughly illuminating the place, it only served to reveal the vastness of the awe-inspiring cave we were traversing.

Our progress was necessarily slow, but at last we stood over the arch from whence issued the stream, when, moved by a strange feeling of attraction, I left Tom busily preparing the raft while I walked forward with the torch to stand at last upon the rocky cape projecting over the awful gulf, and there stood holding the light above my head trying to penetrate the gloom.

But my endeavours were vain; above, beneath, around, the torch shed a halo of faint light, beyond that all was intense blackness, from out of which came the whisperings, murmurings, and roarings, evidently of water, but which the imagination might easily have transposed into the mutterings of a vast and distant multitude.

With an involuntary shudder I turned away, thinking of the consequences of a sudden vertigo.

Tom was busy with knife and rope, and kneeling down I helped him, puffing into the skins till almost breathless; but at last our task was done, and together we carried the little raft down to the water-side, though not without several slips, launched it, and then placed upon it our lights stuck in lumps of clay brought for the purpose.

The raft was about six feet long by four feet wide; the skins supporting light sticks of bamboo well secured to them, and these in their turn bearing cross pieces laid in their places, so that the light vessel's deck, if I may call it so, was a sort of bamboo grating, upon which we could sit, though standing would have been a puzzling gymnastic exercise.

We were ready then at last; but now the same feeling seemed to pervade both as we stood there on the rock gazing before us at the black arch, through which, flowing easily, came the inky water. From where, from what strange regions?

The Golden Magnet—by George Manville Fenn



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE WATERFALL.

I don't think many could have stood peering into that gloomy tunnel without feeling something like a tremor of dread. However, I mastered it at last, after asking myself the question, Was it wise to run such a risk? The answer came in the shape of gold—it might be the passage to traverse to arrive at inexhaustible treasure, and I turned to Tom.

"Are you ready?" I said.

"Yes, Mas'r Harry, I'm ready when I've lit my pipe," he said.

And coolly filling it and igniting it from the torch, he crept boldly on to the little raft and took a bamboo, one of two cut on our way here, to pole us along.

After placing our guns in safety upon a ledge of rock, I crept on too, and the little raft swayed down heavily; but it was wonderfully buoyant, and with our lights in front we prepared for our subterranean passage.

"All right, Mas'r Harry?"

"Yes," I replied.

And then we pushed off, poling ourselves along under the arch, the rugged wall being easily reached on either side, the stream widening and not being very rapid after we had passed the first dozen yards.

The navigation proved so easy that we were able to glance about at the sides and roof, which often nearly touched us, compelling us to stoop, while at other times the tunnel opened out and we seemed to be making our way through a narrow lake. But it soon contracted again, and I should think our onward progress must have been through the damp, dark, winding way for quite a couple of miles; when, after seeing nothing but shining, glistening rock above us for hours, we seemed to have come to the end of our uneventful journey in a large irregularly shaped chamber whose roof of veined rock was about forty feet above us, its length being about two hundred feet, and its greatest breadth about sixty.

The stream had widened out into a little lake again, leaving, however, on one side a sandy shore some six or eight feet wide. The waters were troubled, as if in a state of ebullition, and for a while we sat wondering and listening to a loud moaning roar coming apparently from a distance. Then pushing on by the side, in a manner of speaking we coasted round the place till we reached the sandy shore and rested; for though the water flowed out through the arch by which we had entered there was no way of further exit from the great vault.

This, then, was the extent of the cavern river, and it was with disappointment that I went slowly round once more, poling the raft over the troubled waters, to find that there was no likelihood of a discovery here. The sandy shore was the only landing-place, and unless the treasure was buried there I could see no other spot where a search could be made. As to the lake's profundity, of that we could tell nothing, only that at every attempt to touch bottom we withdrew our poles with a shiver.

Here, then, was the source of the river, which rose from springs somewhere far below—springs which caused the bubbling we saw, making our little raft to rock terribly in one part we passed over, so that we gladly sought the sandy shore and there remained listening to the lapping of the water and the faint distant roar.

"There must be another cavern beyond this, Tom," I said after a thoughtful pause.

"Ain't a doubt about it, Mas'r Harry," he replied. "It's my belief that if any one would do it he might go on for ever and ever, right through the inside of the earth to find it all full of places like this."

"Look!" I said eagerly, as I stood on the sandy slip of land and held up the light above my head, pointing the while to the end of the vault; "there's a rift up there, Tom, if we could climb to it, and that's where that roaring noise comes through."

"Mean to try it, Mas'r Harry?"

"Yes," I said, "if we can climb to it; otherwise we must come again with something we can fit together like a ladder."

"Oh! I can get up there, Mas'r Harry, I know," said Tom. "I've been up worse places than that in Cornwall after gulls' eggs."

Tom sprang ashore, and I gave a cry of horror, for the little raft was moving off; but with a leap Tom was back upon it and drew it ashore by a piece of line, which he tied to one of the poles after forcing it well down into the sand.

"That won't get away now, Mas'r Harry," he said.

And then stepping cautiously along over the sand, which gave way and seemed to shiver beneath our feet, we reached the end of the vault, and with very little difficulty climbed from cranny to cranny till we gained the opening—a mere slit between two masses of rock—through which we had to squeeze ourselves, and then wind up and up between block after block, that looked as though they had been riven asunder in some convulsion of nature.

Two or three times we were for going back, so arduous was the ascent; but determined to see our adventure to the end we pressed on and on, ever higher, till the noise became almost deafening, a cold dank wind too made our lights to flutter, and once they threatened to become extinct. But five minutes after the passage widened and the draught was not so fierce, while bright veins running through the rock at my side whispered of some rich metal or other for him who would venture thus far in its search.

"We're a-coming to it now, Mas'r Harry," said Tom shouting, for the noise was deafening.

The very next moment we were standing in a vast vault stretching out as far as our feeble light would show us, while about fifty feet to our left, in one black, gloomy, unbroken torrent, fell from some great height above, a cascade of water, black as night, till it reached the basin below us, which, even with our trembling lights, shone forth in a silvery, iridescent foam.

We could hardly hear the words we uttered from time to time, but we felt but little inclination to speak, so awe-inspiring was the scene before us; and it was not until we had been gazing for some time that we ventured to climb down lower and lower, to find that the bottom of the cavern was a basin of restless water, from which it was evident some portion escaped through a natural conduit to the vault below, while probably the rest made its way to the vast gulf we had before seen.

Then up and down—now near the great foaming basin, then with arduous climbing close to the dome that formed the roof—I searched about, well aided by Tom, who seemed to think that I was looking for something precious, though he said nothing. At one time we approached so near the waterfall that we could distinguish, high up, the narrow archway through which it gushed. It seemed, too, that by a little management any one daring enough might have passed round the rocky amphitheatre in which we were, right beneath the waterfall to the other side, where rifts and faintly-discerned chasms whispered of further wondrous passages unexplored, and I felt sure—for the more I searched the more the feeling came home to me—that we were the first human beings who had ever entered this stronghold of nature.

With the exception of the bright veins I have mentioned there was no trace of gem or precious metal. The sides and roof sparkled and glistened again and again, but it was only with some stalactitic formation—beautiful to the eye, but worthless; and at last I felt that this was labour in vain—the treasure was no more here than in the vast chasm where we had hurled the stone; and, shouting to Tom my intentions, we stood and had another look, and then lit upon a mass of rock a large piece of oily oakum which we had brought for the purpose.

Our oakum burned brightly, but it was of little avail, giving us not much more than a glimpse of the wonders of the grand chamber in which we stood; and then we turned to go, but only to encounter an unexpected difficulty. The chamber was so vast and the rift by which we had entered the sloping side so high up amidst crags resembling one another that we had great difficulty in finding it, and I remember shuddering as I thought of the consequences of being lost there in the dark.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

CAST ON A STRANGE SHORE.

Being nervous or wanting in nerve is a state that would soon prove the ruin of the adventurous.

We had to set ourselves determinedly to the task of finding our way back, and after a weary climb Tom pointed it out.

If anything, the descent was more laborious than the climbing up; but at last, tired out, we reached the vaulted chamber with its troubled lake and narrow sandy strip of shore—a welcome place, gloomy and horrible as it was, for it meant rest upon our raft, and the gliding out with the stream to the entrance arch, and then not so very long a journey to the blessed light of heaven.

"Ah!"

That cry burst from our lips simultaneously, as, climbing down to reach the sand, we held our lights low to see—what?

That there must be a sort of tide in the lake, small as it was; for the water was bubbling up more fiercely with a hissing noise, and there was no sand—the waters had covered it; there was no raft—the pole had been loosened by the water and the raft had gone, floated away, to be driven by the stream to the tunnel, and then swim lightly away to leave us to a horrible death—a self-sought death; and as I thought of what I had done in my insensate greed for gold I could have groaned aloud.

But no, it was no insensate greed, I told myself—it was for Lilla's sake—and my eyes rilled with tears as I thought that I should never see her more, and that Garcia—

That name sent a thrill of energy through my weary frame, and calling upon speechless Tom, I told him to light a piece more oakum; and he did so, to reveal plainly the raft floating about right at the end of the great vault, and apparently nearing the arch of exit. What were we to do?

There was but one answer. Dash into that horrible black lake and swim to the raft, or else stay and die.

It was dreadful, to plunge into those mysteriously disturbed waters, containing far below who could tell what hideous monsters?—to swim, or try to swim, where the strange eddies and whirlpools might draw the struggling wretch down! To swim, too, in profound darkness; for I felt that if the attempt were made it would be made together.

The thoughts in my breast must have been the same as those in poor Tom's; for, looking at the faintly-discerned raft and then up at me, he said with a groan: "Mas'r Harry, I daren't!"

"Tom," I said, "I dare not!"

"But tell me to try it, Mas'r Harry," he cried—"order me to swim off to it, and I'll try. I shall be sucked down like a cork in a sink-hole, but tell me to do it—order me and make me, and I'll try; but I daren't go without I was made."

"Light another piece of oakum, Tom," I said hoarsely. "Perhaps the water on the sand is shallow and we might walk along to the other end, and then try to swim together: it would not be half so far. But stay— hold my hand while I step down and try."

We crept down to where the sand had been bare when we left it, though loose and yielding; and, sticking the short piece of candle in a crevice, Tom seized my hand firmly and I stepped down into the water, but only to cry to Tom to draw me forth, for the sand was quick now and watery, and more dangerous to him who ventured upon it than the lake itself.

It was not without a sharp struggle that I once more stood beside Tom upon the ledge of rock, when without a word he drew out the oakum and prepared to light it, while, half beside myself with horror, I tried to calculate how far was the distance, and whether, by well marking the spot where the raft floated, we could not contrive to hit it in swimming in the dark. That we should have to swim in the dark I knew; for neither of us, I felt, could then have swum with one hand, holding a light above the troubled waters with the other.

Just then Tom's oakum blazed up behind me, to light up the vault with its sparkling stalactitic roof, glistening sides, and strangely-agitated water. There floated the raft plainly enough just in front of the arch, and so near to our reach that in an instant Tom had thrown off cap, wallet, and jacket beside the candles stuck in the rock and the still burning oakum.

"No, Tom—no!" I cried, catching at him; "you must not risk it."

"Let go, Mas'r Harry—I must!" he shouted. "I swore I'd stick to you."

He struck me in the chest so that I staggered back, and then there was a loud plash and he was swimming away.

To start up and throw off my own jacket and wallet was the work of an instant, for, with his example, I could not stay back. We were companions, and I felt that it would be cowardly after he had taken the first plunge.

Another instant and I was after him, "plash!" with the noise of my plunge still echoing as I rose above the waters—echoing in a strange whisper along the arched roof. But oh! the painful, numbing sensation of intense cold that struck to my heart! It was fearful, and before I had taken a dozen strokes I felt that I should never reach the raft.

I was not called upon so to do, for the next minute, in answer to my cry came a groan from Tom, and I knew that he was swimming back, and the next moment he shrieked:

"Mas'r Harry, back! lend me a hand! Cramp—cramp!"

And then he gave a shriek of agony which roused me to a state of frenzy, as I could just see him beating the water with frantic effort close by my side.

The raft was forgotten then as with a vigorous stroke I reached him, placed one arm beneath his, and then struck out for the lights.

How I reached them I cannot recall: only a horrible struggle, the echoing of splashing water, the reaching of the cold, slimy rock with something seeming to draw me under, a fierce effort to get out, the dragging forth of poor Tom, who sank by my side with a groan; and then in a dreamy state I pulled the last piece of oakum from Tom's wallet, held it to one of the candles for it to blaze up, sputtering loudly from the wet hand that held it. I sheltered my eyes after pressing out the water, looked again and again, separated the oakum so that it flared more and more, lighting up the low arch through which we had entered, when I groaned to myself: was this to be the end of my golden dreams— death in this hideous vault? for the stream set swiftly now through the arch, and the raft was gone!



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A NIGHT'S REST.

The bright, flaring, spluttering blaze, glimmering and flashing upon the troubled waters and reflected from the roof; then, as it sank down, comparative darkness, for the two scraps of candle seemed to burn very dimly. Tom lay upon the rocks without speaking, while the agony that passed through my brain was intense. I felt that I had murdered the poor fellow, who was called upon to give up his young life through his fidelity to what any thoughtful man would call my wild follies.

We were to die, then, here, in this wild, mysterious cave, far beyond the reach of aid; for even if we had not by our caution thoroughly concealed our coming, who would dare to follow our route, unless by chance the raft were seen?

That certainly afforded a faint gleam of hope, and another came directly to fortify it. My uncle had talked about the great cave, and its exploration had been mentioned. It was possible, then, that upon our absence causing uneasiness a search might be made in this direction; for I knew my uncle too well to think that he would leave his sister's child unsought.

But if he did not arrive in time? or if some of Garcia's spies had seen us enter and were to mislead the searchers?

The thought was too horrible; and I shuddered as I thought of Lilla and her fate, till a maddening sensation of jealousy drove for a few minutes all fear and dread away.

My musings were arrested by Tom, who made me start by suddenly taking my dripping hand between his—damp and icy to the touch.

The next moment he was holding my hand to his breast, so that I could feel the laboured beatings of his true heart as he exclaimed hoarsely:

"Mas'r Harry, you saved my life then, and I'll never forget it."

"Nonsense, Tom!" I said with gloomy cheerfulness. "It's all give and take out here. Why, you saved me from the crocodiles."

"Cuss 'em! Don't talk about 'em here, Mas'r Harry," said Tom in a whisper. "We don't know but what there's horrible ones living in these dreadful waters. That there cramp taking me in the leg like that made me feel as if one had got hold of me. I'm a horrible coward, Mas'r Harry, that I am."

"Tom," I said, "this place is enough to unnerve any one."

Then we were silent, for the strange echoings of our voices had an unearthly, terrible effect upon our nerves; and more than once I started at the grotesque shadow of myself upon the wall. The roar of the great waterfall came humming through the rift above our heads, while below the waters hissed, and bubbled, and lapped against the rocks in a curious, whispering, awe-inspiring fashion; and then moved by the same impulse we both took off and wrung all the moisture we could out of our things before standing shivering before the lights, one of which was already beginning to gutter down and threatened to become extinct.

Upon examining our wallets we found that we each had a couple of candles left, but our provision was very low; and the question now arose as to the next proceeding.

"Won't do to lie down and die, Mas'r Harry," said Tom. "I'm ever so much warmer now."

"No, Tom," I said, "we'll fight to the last; but what are we to do?"

"Well, Mas'r Harry, I'd first of all get up into the crack of a passage up there before the lights go out, for there's no knowing how high this water may rise; and if I ain't to see daylight no more, but to die here, I should like to die dry and warm."

"Don't talk about death, Tom," I said with a shudder. "Let's fight for life to the last, and, as you say, we'll climb up to the rift."

One candle burned out as we tried to move it, and deferring the lighting of another for reasons of economy, we climbed to the narrow crack-like passage and went along it about thirty yards before Tom, who was first, turned round in a part where the passage widened a few feet.

"Now look here, Mas'r Harry," he said. "We don't know that there ain't no other way out of the cave. I should say as there is if we could find it; at all events we mustn't lie down and die till we've looked about and the candles are burned away, and then felt about till we can't feel no longer. So see here, Mas'r Harry, we're wet, and cold, and tired out, and we can't do nothing better than sit down here and have a good sleep. Then we'll wake up, eat the bit of grub there is left, and go to work again fresh. What do you say?"

"Say? That I think you are right, Tom," I replied, trying to imitate his cheerfulness. "But about the light?"

"Light, Mas'r Harry? Why, we must put it out. We ain't little children to be afraid to go to sleep in the dark. Then you've got your tinder-box and matches all dry in the wallet, and we can light up and go at it again in the morning, or night, or whatever it is, Mas'r Harry, for there ain't no difference here. Who knows but what, while we are looking for the way out, we mayn't find what you want?"

"What I want, Tom?" I said suspiciously. "To be sure, Mas'r Harry? What you want, whatever that may be—I don't say as it's gold mines, or dymons, or what not; only whatever it is we may find it, for I shouldn't be surprised at finding anything here."

I did not reply; but making the best of the sad lodging that was to be ours for the next few hours, and all wet and shivering as we were, creeping together for warmth, we lay down, and I stretched out my hand to extinguish the candle.

But my hand was arrested half-way, as I looked upon the glittering rock above my head and listened to the hissing, seething noise of the water below us in the long vault and the faint roar of the cataract far above us to the left. Now with a sense of dread indescribable I thought of the water rising to where we were during our sleep, and whether it would not be better to light another candle. Anything was better than lying there in the horrible darkness.

The spare supply of light we possessed, though, would be wanted after our sleep, and reluctantly I pressed down the wick; thinking as I did so what would be the use of the gold if I found it now and there should be no means of escape!

"What time would you like your shaving-water, Mas'r Harry?" said Tom, whose teeth chattered as he spoke.

"This is no time for laughing, Tom," I said gloomily.

"I don't see as it's any time for crying, Mas'r Harry," he replied, "for I'm quite wet enough without that."

Then he was silent, and we lay in that awful darkness, which in, spite of my efforts, I kept peopling with multitudinous horrors.

Then I seemed to lose consciousness; in spite of hard rock, cold, and damp, sleeping heavily, and dreaming now of Lilla, who seemed to be in some terrible peril from which I could not save her. I wanted to reach her, but something kept me away, while the danger she was in, as it floated before my distempered imagination, was somehow connected with Garcia, and Indians, and fire, or a mingling of all three. I felt ready to cry out as I struggled against the power that held me back; but at last I saw what it was that stayed me; it was the gold for which I had been seeking—piled-up, heavy masses of gold—holding me down, crushing me almost, while Lilla's sweet imploring face was turned to me as if asking my help. I strained, I longed to release myself, but in vain; and at last one great ponderous mass began to move towards me slowly, with a heavy, roaring noise, till it rested upon my chest, and with a start I woke to find one of Tom's arms thrown across my throat and him snoring loudly.

For a few minutes I lay aghast, unable to make out where I was; but by degrees recollection brought back all the horrors of our position, and with a sigh I managed to rid myself of Tom's arm.

I settled myself to try and sleep once more, so as to be ready for what would, I knew, prove an arduous, wearying task, tiring alike to body and spirit; when my blood seemed to be frozen in my veins, for there came a soft, fluttering noise, the air seemed to fan my cheeks as I lay, and then there echoed through the place three wild, appalling cries, followed by profound silence.

"Who's that a-calling? It won't do, Muster Garcia! You left her to drown, eh? What! Hilloa! Say, Mas'r Harry, was I dreaming or did you call?"

"I did not call, Tom," I whispered; "but there is some one in here besides us. Hark!"

Again, as I spoke, and heard plainly above the distant roar, three more cries came sweeping along, and once more there was silence.

"All right, Mas'r Harry," said Tom; "better chance for us to get out. If some one else can come in that only shows that there's another way; and when it's time to get up, why, up we get, for I don't feel a bit disposed to try any more sleep here—it's too much like hard work!"

"I don't think the cries were human, Tom," I said.

"Never mind that, Mas'r Harry, they weren't ghosts' cries. I'll bet that. Now, if my old mother was here she'd stick out as it was a spirit as couldn't—Oh, Mas'r Harry, though, what a horrid screech!" he whispered, as again a long-drawn, hollow, echoing cry ran through the passages.

I do not think I'm more timid than most lads would have been at a time like this; but my hands trembled as I sought for the flint, steel, and tinder-box, anxious to be out of the darkness that hemmed us in on all sides, and it was not until I had tried for some time that I was able to ignite the tinder.

At last, though, the brimstone match was held down to the spot glowing beneath my breath, the blue flame was succeeded by that of the wooden splint, and once more our spirits rose as the feeble light of a candle was reflected from the rocky walls.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

THE AMPHITHEATRE.

We were half numbed with the cold, but I found now that, in spite of our troubled dreams and its apparent brevity, our sleep must have continued for a long time, for our clothes were nearly dry.

"Now, then, Mas'r Harry," said Tom, "never mind no shrieks and cries; let's eat what there is in that bag and drink what there is in that bottle, and then go on our voyage of discovery. It will give us strength for the job, besides being ever so much easier to carry. If anything queer comes near us we've got our pistols, so let them look out."

In spite of the feeling of tremor caused by the mysterious cries I was eager enough to move, and we began to climb up once more through the crack, after stepping back to the vault, holding up our candles, and making sure that by no possibility we had overlooked the raft.

As to its floating away I felt that it would not go very far on reaching the end of the tunnel, there were too many obstacles in the way in the shape of great boulders to block up the stream; so that hope of relief was but faint there even if a search was commenced.

There was no raft in sight; nothing but the strange, troubled water, ever bubbling and leaping up; and with a shudder, as we thought of the struggle we had had, we turned away, but not without seeing that the sand strip was now about half bare.

It was no time for being nervous. We knew that to live we must find a means of exit while our candles lasted, so started once more to thread our way along through the rift and right on to the huge cavern where the cascade of water came thundering down.

Here we halted for a time to gain breath, and then set to work to thoroughly explore the place; so we pushed on nearer and nearer, to find that, as we expected, we could pass right round behind the waterfall, over the slippery, wet stones, worn into seams, as if at one time the stream had rushed down them; but no trace of rift or passage could we find save one small crevice through which it seemed possible that a body might be squeezed.

"Never mind, Mas'r Harry, that can't be the way; let's try farther round this other side."

Tom led now and I followed, leaving the cascade behind us, and thoroughly examining the other side of the amphitheatre, but without avail; when we sat down, worn out, about opposite to the rift where we had entered, too disheartened to speak, till Tom said:

"We shall have to try and crawl through that hole, Mas'r Harry—there, under the waterfall."

"A dog could hardly do it, Tom," I said bitterly, and then I started. "Stop a moment," I cried. "That was a regular crack or split in the rock that we came through, Tom; such a one as might have been made by an earthquake."

"Sure it was, Mas'r Harry; but you don't think as another one has come and shut it up, do you?"

"No, no, Tom," I cried, leaping up and forgetting my fatigue; "but why should not that crack be continued on this side—here, just opposite where we are? Come, climb higher with me, and let us have another try."

My thought was a bright one; for far up, just where the side of the amphitheatre began to curve into the dome which formed the roof, we found a crack answering to the one through which we entered on the other side; and squeezing ourselves through, we found that we were in another narrow passage—so narrow, though, that we proceeded with great difficulty.

"This must be the way out, Tom," I said.

"Or the way in, Mas'r Harry," said Tom; "one of them two. Anyhow, though, we shall soon see."

Not so soon, though, as Tom expected; for we crept on and climbed for quite a couple of hours, winding and doubling about, before the rift opened out, sloping, too, at the same time, so that walking became out of the question; and we climbed slowly down till we lost sight of roof and sides. Then on and on, slowly and carefully, where a false step would have sent us gliding we knew not where; and then we stopped, aghast, with a fearful chasm at our feet, to awake to the fact that we had climbed down to the extreme edge of an awful precipice, while, on holding up our lights, there before us was darkness, black and impenetrable, above, around, beneath.

The same thought occurred to both, and in a whisper we gave utterance to that thought together, though in different words.

"Tom, we've come round to another part of the great black gulf."

"Mas'r Harry, this is the same place where we pitched down the big stone. Let's try another."

More to prove the truth of our thought than anything else, I assented; and finding a good-sized lump, Tom hurled it outwards with all his might, and then we listened as we had listened before, to hear it at last strike water at a profound depth, with the same roar of echoes to make us shrink shuddering back.

"It is the same place, Tom," I said, speaking hoarsely, for this was another damp to our hopes.

There was apparently no chance even of reaching the rocky point where we had stood the day before, for that point stood out alone, and I could not see how it could be reached; but in a dull, despondent way, I thought that we would try to the last; and shrinking back a few yards from the edge of the precipice, we began to climb along the side, in the hope of finding some outlet in that direction; for could we but reach that point by any means we were safe.

Ten minutes' climbing in a state of extreme horror, with the loose fragments of rock slipping from beneath our hands and feet, to roll rattling over the edge of the vast chasm, and then we were brought to a standstill; for there, right in front, was a bare, smooth, perpendicular wall of rock, inexorable as fate itself.

We turned and began to climb back along the horrid slope, when, with a sensation of horror that I hardly dare to recall, I felt my legs slip, my hands, torn, wet, and bleeding as they were, to glide over the stone to which I clung; and, with a feeble cry for aid to Tom, I gave myself up for lost.

With a shriek like that which might have been expected to have emanated from some wild beast, Tom leaped to my side, caught at me, and then, clinging together, we continued our downward course for what seemed an interminable length of time, when there was a sudden stoppage. Tom's feet rested in a cleft of the rock, and he held me fast, as I lay gasping, with my legs hanging for some distance over the frightful chasm.

For full five minutes we did not either of us move, since it seemed that the slightest attempt to alter our position must result in a plunge into the darkness yawning to receive us.

One candle was extinguished, but the other lay guttering and flaring some twenty feet above us, wasting rapidly, and casting its feeble, weird light upon where we clung.

We neither of us spoke, but softly feeling about, I at length got my fingers in a chink of rock, which gave me courage to move my legs, so that at last they rested upon a rough point or knob. Then, by Tom's guiding, my other hand found a hole, and by an effort I climbed on to the slope, to lie panting and waiting for nerve.

Help me Tom could not from his position, and had I not stirred myself I must have fallen at last; but he had well paid the debt he owed me for my last night's efforts, as I told him when we had cautiously made our way back up the slope in a diagonal direction to where the rift opened, to sink down at last, breathless and thankful, in the narrow way; glad even to be beyond reach of the influence of the horrible gulf, which had for me an attraction that was appalling.

We were very quiet now, as we half sat, half lay upon the rocky bottom of the crack, till our strength was somewhat renewed after our late efforts, when, dragging myself up, I wiped the clammy dew from my forehead, and Tom followed my example.

"Tom," I exclaimed, "inaction means death. Let's try that hole behind the fall."

"Right, Mas'r Harry," said Tom, essaying to be cheerful.

And without another word he rose, took his candle from the niche in which he had placed it, and together we made our way back into the amphitheatre. Then we climbed over the blocks to behind the fall, where, going down upon his knees, Tom held his candle in at arm's-length, and then essayed to creep in at the little opening.

I looked on anxiously as his head and shoulders disappeared, then his whole body; and I was preparing to follow him when he wriggled himself back, to face me with a sad shake of the head.

"No good, Mas'r Harry—a baby couldn't go through there."

I took his word, and led the way back till we were clear of the mist shed by the fall, and then I set to and tried if the great problem of our escape could not be solved; and at last when all hope was ready to expire in my bosom the solution came.

We were sitting, sad and dejected, worn by our long toil, when suddenly we were startled by a shriek similar to those which we had heard upon our awaking.

Tom pressed close to me, and I must confess to a strange sensation of awe, as now, one after another, these wild cries came ringing out of the darkness around. Now near, now far-off, and fading away as it were, till one was uttered close by my ear, and I saw a shadowy form sweep past the light shed by our one poor feeble candle; then another and another; when, angry with myself for my superstitious dread, I exclaimed aloud:

"Why, they're birds!"

"Birds they are!" cried Tom gently. "But are they real birds, Mas'r Harry?"

"Real? yes, Tom!" I exclaimed excitedly. "And there must be some other way of entrance, for I saw one disappear close by the falling water. Yes, and there goes another!" I cried, as I held up the light. "Tom— Tom, they are the messengers of life! There is a way out yet!"



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A JOURNEY IN THE DARK.

Again the hope which animated our breasts chased away the sense of depression and fatigue, as, lighting our last candle to obtain a better light, we clambered as rapidly as we could high up towards where the water came roaring from its vast culvert, just as with a loud shriek a bird flew out, like some creature of shadow-land, from a niche which had hitherto escaped our notice.

The next moment, after a flit round the amphitheatre, it gave another shriek, and we saw it re-enter the niche and disappear.

That there was an outlet to the upper world there we now had no doubt, but the question arose which exit presented the least peril—the ascent to this niche right over the arch of the torrent, or the way back by the vault of the troubled waters, to swim for our lives down the little river.

We did not pause long to consider, but, drawing our breath hard, sought to climb up to where the bird had disappeared.

We needed the activity and power of some animal born to a climbing life, for it was a terrible task, over slippery, spray-bedewed rocks, that seemed composed of ice. Our feet and hands slipped again and again, and more than once I felt that I must fall upon the bow of that torrent of inky water, at first by our side, soon right beneath us, and so be plunged into the seething cauldron below.

I found myself wondering whether, if I did so, my body would be forced through along some subterranean way to the vault of the troubled waters, from thence float out slowly along the little river, and so to the mouth of the cave and the outer sunshine.

Such thoughts were enough to unnerve one; but, bit by bit, we climbed on in safety, handing the candle from one to the other, and ever and anon stretching out a helping hand, till, how I cannot tell, we clung at length right over the falling torrent, with a piece of rock, smooth as the polishing of ages could make it, between us and the niche, which now proved to be a good-sized split separating a couple of rocks.

"You go first, Mas'r Harry," Tom whispered, with his mouth close to my ear. "I'll stand firm, and you can climb up my shoulders, and then lend me a hand."

I prepared to start, handing him the one candle we now had alight, when I gave utterance to a cry of despair; for the linen band which had crossed my breast, and supported the wallet, had been worn through by the constant climbing, and I suppose must have broken when I was making this last ascent. At all events, the wallet was gone—plunged, I expect, into the torrent, and bearing with it the flint, steel, tinder-box, and matches; so that, should any accident befall our one light, we should be in the horrible darkness of the place.

"Never mind, Mas'r Harry," said Tom. "It ain't no use crying after spilt milk. Up you go, sir."

With failing heart and knitted brow I exerted myself, climbed to Tom's hips, as he clung to the rock and lighted me; then to his shoulders; stood there for a moment trembling, and then struggled into the cleft, turned round, lay down in a horrible position, sloping towards the torrent, with my head two feet lower than my knees, and then stretched out my hands to Tom.

"Can't reach, Mas'r Harry," he said, after one or two despairing trials. "You'll have to go and leave me. See if you can get out and fetch help."

For a moment I felt stunned at this unforeseen termination of our efforts, for there really had seemed hope now, unless this fresh passage should prove too narrow to let us pass.

I did not answer Tom, but drew myself up again to think; when, taking off my coat, I rolled it round and round, laid fast hold of the collar, and then, once more lying down, I lowered the coat to Tom.

"Can you reach that?" I said.

"No, Mas'r Harry—not by a foot," said Tom gloomily, his words being shouted, as the roar of the torrent beneath us swept his voice away.

He stood in a position of awful peril: a false step, and he would be plunged into the torrent; and as I looked down at his upturned face and the flickering candle, I wondered how I could have ever dared to stand there myself.

"Can you reach it now?" I said, lowering myself a little more.

But his answer came in a dull, muffled, despairing monotone:

"No."

I wriggled and shuffled my body a little more forward, forcing my boot toes into a crevice as I did so, for it seemed that now the slightest strain would draw me over the precipice. But there was no other resource: Tom must have help; and I lay shivering there as, with an upward spring, the candle between his teeth, Tom clutched my coat, I shuddering the while, and wondering whether the cloth would give way, or whether I should be drawn down.

We were looking straight into each other's eyeballs, lit by the guttering candle, as, with trial after trial, exerting the great muscular strength in his arms, Tom climbed higher and higher till he could touch my hands, my arms, and then hold on by my neck, when he stopped panting, just as, in his convulsive efforts, his teeth met through the candle, ground through the wick, and the upper portion fell far below into the torrent to leave us in that awful darkness.

"Hold fast, Mas'r Harry!" Tom hissed in my ear. "Crook your hands. No! Clasp 'em together, to give me a foothold."

"Tom!" I groaned, "I'm slipping. I can hold on no longer."

"A moment—a moment, Mas'r Harry," he cried.

I clasped my fingers together, when, bending his body into a half circle, he got one foot into my hands, forced himself rapidly up, staying my downward progress of inch after inch, as the weight of his body pressed me to the rock; but as he turned to hold me in his turn, it was just as I felt myself going faster and faster, gliding head downwards towards the torrent.

Another struggle, and, wet and bleeding, I was by Tom's side, for him to hold tightly by one of my hands, as with the other he felt his way along slowly for some yards, when once more we sank upon the rocky floor, to lie panting, our breath drawn in hysterical sobs, and a darkness around that was too fearful even to contemplate.

Our despair was such that we could find no words; but at last Tom said, in a voice that I could hardly hear for the roar of the torrent, which seemed to be here condensed by the narrow passage:

"Mas'r Harry, I'll go first; follow close behind, and crawl."

His words gave me energy, and we set off, crawling slowly, now upwards, now downwards, feeling every foot of the way, lest some new peril should lie in our path. The roar of the torrent rose and fell as we crept away, till by slow degrees it became fainter, fading to quite a soft murmur; but still no new horror assailed us. The dread darkness was forgotten in the hope that shed a light into our hearts, as foot by foot we progressed through what was sometimes a narrow passage, sometimes a wide vault, as we could tell by the echoing of our voices from its arched roof. In one of these, too, our ears were saluted by the shrieks of birds and the rushing of wings—a fact which told us we could not be very far from the light of day; but progress was so slow that I often despaired of seeing that light again.

Often and often I could have lain down and cried like a child, and it required no weak effort to keep my emotion back.

"Seems to me, Mas'r Harry," said Tom at last, "this is a very big place we're in, for the more I try about, the less I seem able to get on. Shall we rest a bit?"

Had Tom said, "Shall we keep on?" I should have made the same reply—"Yes." And then, as we extended our aching limbs upon the soft soil which covered the floor of the cave in this part, a delicious sense of tranquillity stole over me, and almost instantaneously I sank into a deep dreamless sleep.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

TO DAYLIGHT.

How long we lay in that stupor—more than sleep—I cannot tell; but I was awoke by Tom, and once more we slowly continued our journey, walking now though—for the absence of fresh perils had given us courage—and with our arms extended we went slowly on; but ever with the soft earth of the cave beneath our feet, and the stillness only broken by the occasional shriek of a bird.

"Say, Mas'r Harry," said Tom after a long silence. "We are only wandering here and there without finding the passage to go out."

"I have been thinking so too, Tom," I said, as a thought struck me. Then loudly—"Look out, and see if you can make out anything when I fire: the flash may guide us."

Taking out my pistol I fired upwards, when it was as if the whole cave were being crushed up together—thunder, roar, and bellow, in a deafening series of echoes—echoes succeeded by the rustling as of ten thousand wings, and shrieks that were deafening—noises which were quite a quarter of an hour in subsiding.

"We must be near to an opening, Tom," I said, as soon as I could make myself heard.

"All right, Mas'r Harry, and I've seen it," he said cheerily. "This is a big place, hundreds of feet over, but the passage out lies here; that firing of the pistol was a good idea of yours."

He took my hand and stepped out boldly. Then feeling his way with caution, he exclaimed joyfully that he had found the opening, into which we stepped, and soon knew by the hollow sound that we were in a rapidly contracting passage.

From time to time I now flashed off a little powder in the pan of my pistol, in which instant we were able to see that we were in one of the riven passages of the cave, similar to those which we had before traversed; and, faint with hunger, we pressed on, till a distant murmur, ever increasing, forced itself upon my notice, and in a voice of despair I exclaimed:

"Oh, Tom, Tom! we are going back, my lad!"

"Mas'r Harry," he exclaimed, "don't be down-hearted. 'Tis so, though; and I've been thinking it for the past quarter of an hour, but I wouldn't say it for I wasn't sure. Never mind, let's turn back. That's the big waterfall we can hear, sure enough. But we can step out bold now, as we know there's no danger; and when we are in the big place where we slept, a little powder will show us the way."

A weary walk and we were once more upon the soft earth of the cave where we had slept—the bird-chamber we called it—when, by means of flashing off powder, we arrived at a pretty good idea of the size of the place, and, better still, discovered a fresh outlet.

Danger and disappointment had made me now cautious, and I would not proceed until, by the expenditure of more powder, we had made sure that there was no other passage; alarming the birds too, so that they swept round us like a hurricane.

"Right this time, Mas'r Harry," cried Tom.

Then we were once more on the way, crawling as to pace, as we felt our way cautiously along.

"If it ever fell out, Mas'r Harry, that we wanted a hiding-place, what a spot this would be!" said Tom, little thinking that the day was to come when it should prove the salvation of those who were our truest and best friends. "Why, I don't believe there's an Indian ever had the pluck to come a quarter as far, and we know it now well, every foot of it."

"Except the way out, Tom," I said sadly.

"Oh, that's right enough now, Mas'r Harry," he cried. "Cheer up: here's the birds flying along by the score. Can't you hear their wings whistle? They're some of those we frightened out coming back again."

I could hear the soft flap of wings plainly enough, and I could not help feeling hopeful as we toiled on, till suddenly Tom exclaimed:

"Keep back!"

"What is it?" I exclaimed, our voices echoing in a way which told us that the cave had once more opened out.

"My leg goes down as far as I can reach here, Mas'r Harry. There's a hole of some kind. Stop till I flash off a bit of powder."

I stood firm, while Tom was busy for a few moments, during which I heard the click of his flask. Then there were sparks as he snapped off his flint-lock pistol, but for a few times without effect; but at last he started a train of powder which burned brightly, showing us that we stood on a ledge some fifty feet above where there was the flash of water and many a grotesque rock.

"Why, Tom?"

"Why, Mas'r Harry?"

"Down on your knees!" I cried joyfully as I set the example.

For we were in the first extensive widening out of the cave, at about five hundred yards from its mouth, having emerged through an opening hitherto unknown to us from its being upon a ledge forty or fifty feet above the floor, where in that part it ran on a level with the little river.

We rose from our knees, weak as two children, and contrived to scramble down to the bottom, along which we stumbled slowly and without energy towards the cave's mouth, going back first to where we had left our guns. Turn after turn, winding after winding, we traversed, and there was the faint dawning of light in the distance—light which grew more and more bright and glorious as we advanced, shading our eyes with our hands, till, utterly worn out, we sank down close to the entrance amongst the soft, warm, luxurious sand, when I gazed at the pale, haggard, blood-smeared face beside me, to exclaim:

"Tom, is that you?"

"Mas'r Harry," he replied hoarsely, "poor Missus wouldn't know you if she was here."

It was the noon of the third day, we afterwards learned, that we had spent in these realms of darkness, and never did the bright face of nature look more glorious than it did to our aching eyes. But in spite of the intense sensation of gnawing hunger we could not proceed till we had rested. Then after bathing our faces, hands, and feet in the cold stream, we slowly journeyed to the hacienda.

"Don't say a word about the cave, Tom," I said, as we neared home.

"No, Mas'r Harry, not if you don't wish it," he rejoined, looking at me wonderingly.

"I have a reason, Tom," I said. "We can say that we have been exploring, and that will be true, and will satisfy them."

"You ain't done with the cave yet, then, Mas'r Harry?"

"No, Tom," I said, "not yet."



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

A QUESTION.

The look I received from Lilla that evening was one which, while it reproached me, made my heart leap. But all the same, I did not respond to it: I dared not; and I sat there answering my uncle's questions and telling him of our discovery of the ruined temple, but no more; while Garcia, who was present, smiled a contemptuous smile that was most galling.

For that smile seemed to mean so much, and to say, "Look at this crazy vagabond, how he spends his time!"

I was too weak and ill, though, to resent it, and gladly sought my bed, which I did not leave for a couple of days, being tended most affectionately during that time by Mrs Landell.

We had made our entrance to the hacienda by night, as I had wished on account of our appearance, and it was well we did so, for an inspection of the clothes I had worn displayed such a scarecrow suit as would have ensured the closing of any respectable door in my face.

But if, when I rose from my couch, my clothes were worn, so was not my spirit, and during the long hours I had lain there my brain had been as active as ever concerning the buried treasures.

The terrors of the cave were great, certainly, but then I reasoned that three parts of them were due to ignorance. Had we been acquainted with the geography of the place, as we were now, and taken common precautions, we might have saved ourselves the hairbreadth escapes and agony of mind that had so told upon us—we need not have risked our lives by the great gulf, nor yet in the vault of the troubled waters. With a short portable ladder and a knotted rope the ascent to the rift over the torrent in the great amphitheatre would have been easy. And altogether it seemed to me that another visit, well prepared for, would not be either arduous or terrible.

The visit, of course, would be to search for the treasure; and calm reflection seemed to teach me that it was very probable that we had now hit upon the part that appeared likely to have been used for the purpose—so I thought. I could not feel that the timid, superstitious Indians would ever have penetrated so far as we did, but the soft earth of the bird-chamber seemed, after all, a most likely place.

"What! going again, Mas'r Harry?" said Tom when I broached the subject.

"Yes, Tom," I said; "I want to explore this bird-chamber part of the cave. And besides, we need run no risks this time—we need not go into the terrible parts."

"Very good, Mas'r Harry; only reck'lect about the pitcher as goes so often to the well getting broken at last."

"But you'll go with me, Tom?" I said.

"Go with you, Mas'r Harry? Course I will! I should just like to catch you going without me. Don't you get coming none of them games."

The result of this was that one morning, soon after sunrise, Tom and I were climbing over the rocks that barred the mouth of the cave. We had plenty of provision and plenty of candle. Each man, too, carried his own tinder-box and a small coil of knotted cotton rope, which served as a girdle, and so was not allowed to encumber our movements.

Light-hearted and eager, I led the way, and we pushed right in past the rift on the ledge which led to the bird-chamber, for we were anxious to see what had become of our raft.

It was just as I anticipated: we found it self-anchored between two blocks of stone within fifty yards of the tunnel-arch; and landing it, we cut the leather thongs, let out the wind, and then hid the whole affair behind some rocks—in case, as Tom said, we might want it again.

A rest and a slight attack upon the provisions, and we were once more journeying towards the mouth, but only to pause in the chamber where lay the opening that had saved our lives.

A little agility took us to the mouth of the rift; and now, candle in hand, we could see the passage through which we had travelled so laboriously, to find it the easiest of any crevice we had traversed, the floor being deeply covered with guano, as was the case with the bird-chamber when we entered it, at last, to find a vast hall of irregular shape, swarming with the guacharo, or butter-bird of South America—a great night-jar, passing its days in these fastnesses of nature, but sallying out at dark to feed. The uproar they made was tremendous, and several times I thought that our lights would be extinguished, though we escaped that trouble and continued our search.

The floor was nearly level, and the roof, like the others in the cave, covered with stalactites; but the birds and their nests completely robbed the place of beauty or grandeur.

An hour spent here convinced me that we knew the two only passages leading from the place, so we continued our investigations, travelling along the farther passage till the sound of the great waterfall smote upon our ears, but still nothing rewarded our search though we went to the end.

A passage of the most rugged nature, but a passage only, with nothing in the shape of branch or outlet save into the amphitheatre, into which we had no desire to penetrate. Certainly the passage widened out into a chamber with glistening roof here and there, but with rocky floors, and presenting nothing striking as likely to reward my search.

At the end of a couple of hours we were back in the bird-chamber (I continue to call the places by the names that first struck us as suitable), when we sat down for another rest and time of refreshing, for we had no peril to dread this time; and now, once more, I began to think over with damped spirits the possibility of finding what might have been here concealed. Treasures, the wealth of nations, might have lain hidden for ages, with the guano continually accumulating to bury them deeper and deeper; but were they buried there?

I would try and prove it, at all events; and rousing myself from my musing fit I took a sharp-pointed rod with which I had come provided, and began to probe the soil, Tom watching me earnestly the while.

But nothing rewarded my endeavours. I probed till I was tired, and then Tom took up the task, but always for the rod to go down as far as we liked in the soft, yielding earth.

At last I told him to give up, for the possibility of success seemed out of the question. Fatigue had robbed me of my sanguine thoughts, and wearily I led the way back to the mouth of the cave, and we again had a rest, Tom lighting his pipe, and I gladly seeking the solace of a doze.

Rest and refreshment had their usual effect, and I was soon up again and at work with the rod, thrusting it down into the sand all over the place, till in one spot it struck upon something hard, and my heart leaped; but a little tapping of the hard matter showed that it was nothing but a mass of rock some four feet below the sand.

I sat down again, hot and ill-tempered; when Tom tapped the ashes out of his pipe and stood before me.

"Now, what is it you're really after, Mas'r Harry?" he said. "Not gold, is it? Why don't you be open with a fellow?"

"What makes you ask, Tom?" I said suspiciously.

"Because they do say, Mas'r Harry, that the folks that used to live here got to bury their stuff, to keep it out of the Don's hands."

Always the same tradition! But I made no answer, for a fresh thought had struck me—one of those bright ideas that in all ages have been the making of men's fortunes; and, leaping up, I seized the rod and ran to where the stream, inky no longer, but clear and bright, ran sparkling in the subdued light over its sandy bed towards the open sunshine.

Wading in, I turned up my sleeves and began to thrust my iron probe down here into the soft sand, for I had argued now like this: that after carefully considering where would be the best place to hide their treasure, the priests of old might have been cunning enough to think that the simpler the concealment the less likely for it to be searched, and thus with the dim mysterious caverns beyond offering all kinds of profundities—spots that could certainly be suspected—they might have chosen the open mouth of the Cave, and buried that which they sought to save in the bed of the little stream.

The thought seemed to take away my breath for a few moments, it came so vividly; the next minute I was wading about, thrusting the rod down as far as I could in the wet sand; but always with the same result—the iron went down easily to my hand and was as easily withdrawn.

I probed right in as I waded amongst the gloomy parts and then went on to where it became dark, but still I was not discouraged, but came slowly back towards where the barrier of rocks blocked the entrance, down beneath which the little stream plunged to reappear some yards on the other side; and here in the most open part of all, but screened from the sight of any one in the valley—here, where the water formed a little pool beneath the creeper-matted rocks, I gave the rod a hard thrust down as far as it could be driven, bending so that my shoulder was beneath the water, when my heart leaped and then beat tumultuously, for the rod touched something. I tried again.