This was a clever suggestion. The Greek fortunately had a bit of cord about him, and in a moment the torch was throwing a dull light far up the rugged slope of the rock.

Guy continued to climb higher and higher, keeping a cool head in spite of his excitement, and testing well each crevice or projecting ledge before trusting his weight to it, and at last, with a throb of joy that nearly took his strength away, he pulled himself out upon the flat summit of the rock.

Seventy feet below him was the raft and its occupants, glowing in the torchlight. Guy crawled forward on his hands and knees, and soon reached the verge of the rock on the other side. The running water was below him, much farther, indeed, than the level of the lake, but the roar of the torrent was loud and distinct to the ear.

He turned and crawled back.

"Canaris," he whispered down, "I have reached the top of the cliff. There is running water on the other side. Waken the rest as quickly as possible, and send some one up with a torch. I forgot to bring one with me."



CHAPTER XXXI.

A TERRIBLE BLUNDER.

From his gloomy perch on top of the rock Guy could see all that happened plainly.

Canaris woke his companions as speedily as possible. Their astonishment at finding Guy missing was very great, and at first they seemed scarcely able to comprehend the Greek's explanation.

Then they glanced eagerly overhead; and hailed Guy with shouts of joy.

"Here, hoist me up," cried the colonel. "I'll take him up the torch."

"No, I'll go!" exclaimed Forbes. "I'm a pretty expert climber, colonel, and won't run any risk."

"Bless me!" ejaculated Sir Arthur. "Did that young man Chutney walk up the face of that wall? Why, he's a freak."

Canaris solved the matter by picking up one of the leathern bags and tearing it open.

"Look!" he shouted up to Guy. "It was fortunate we kept these. Here are the ropes and hooks by which we scaled the walls of Harar."

"Hurrah!" cried Chutney. "Just the thing! I had forgotten about them."

"Now," continued the Greek, "both of you can go up the rock and I will remain here with Sir Arthur."

He dragged out the four ropes, spliced two of them together to make the required length, and then, giving the end to Forbes to hold, he threw the iron hook skillfully toward Guy. It landed on top of the cliff, and Guy fastened it securely to a crevice.

"Now you can come up," he shouted down.

Placing a torch in each pocket, Forbes began the ascent, and speedily reached the top. The colonel followed with equal dexterity.

"All right?" called the Greek.

"Yes," replied Chutney; "all right. We will return as soon as possible. If anything happens fire your gun."

Guy lit a torch, and the glare revealed only the narrow ledge on which they stood. Beneath and overhead was empty space.

They paused a moment to listen to the sound of the running water.

"It is far beneath us," said the colonel; "possibly a hundred feet, but it is the outlet of the lake, I am sure. Upon my word, Chutney, I believe we will get out of this scrape yet."

"Come on," said Guy briefly; and he led the way along the narrow path.

They traveled in silence for five minutes, until the light from the raft had nearly vanished, and then Guy halted suddenly. A wall of rock, steep and smooth, prevented further advance.

"Come, let us go back," he said; they retraced their steps until they were near the starting point.

Under foot were loose fragments of stone. Guy picked up one of these and tossed it over the edge. A faint splash was distinctly heard a few seconds later.

"The river is directly beneath us," said the colonel.

He picked up another stone, and moving off a few yards, cast it down. This time it struck something hard after the same interval.

"There must be a shore to the river," he said. "What shall we do now? Follow the top of the cliff in the other direction?"

"No," said Guy. "We must scale the precipice right here."

"Impossible!" declared Forbes. "Our ropes are not long enough."

"Canaris has two more," replied Guy; "go and get them."

Melton hurried off at once.

The raft was close at hand, and in five minutes he was back.

"Here are the ropes," he said. "Canaris tied them together and tossed up one end."

Guy skillfully made one continuous rope about eighty feet long. In breathless silence he let the hook drop over the edge, paying out the line yard by yard.

Seventy-five feet from the top the strain slackened.

"It has reached the bottom," cried Guy joyfully.

"We had better make sure," said Forbes. "Haul up the rope again."

As the hook came over the top Melton grasped it.

"Are the ropes securely tied?" he asked.

"Yes; they won't part," replied Guy.

"All right, then. Hold the end tightly. Here goes."

He flung the hook far into the air, and the next instant Guy felt a sharp jerk.

"The hook is swinging in air," he cried in wonder.

"I was right," said Melton; "that was only a ledge it struck before. The bottom may be a hundred feet or more distant."

Guy hurriedly pulled the rope back and fastened the hook to the top of the cliff. He made a noose in the other end and placed it under his shoulders.

"Now let me down," he said coolly. "If I miss the ledge you can haul me up again."

No one made any objections.

It was perilous, of course, but some one had to do it, and why not Chutney?

They lowered him into the darkness foot by foot, and at last the strain slackened.

"All right," came the welcome cry from below. "I'm on the ledge. It's two or three feet wide. Now come down hand over hand, one of you."

"I'll go," said Forbes. "You will have to remain here, colonel, to help us again."

Meanwhile Guy had lit a torch, and when Melton began the descent the yellow glare was visible far below.

The face of the cliff, though sheer, was full of rough projections for his feet, and in a short time he stood beside Chutney on the ledge.

Wrapping the end of the rope about his arm, Guy called loudly, "Throw the hook far into the air, colonel. Do you understand?"

"All right," was the immediate response, and in a moment, as the rope swung over their heads, a heavy sound was heard beneath.

"It reaches the bottom," cried Guy joyfully. "The rope is slack."

He hauled on it eagerly, until ten yards or more lay in coils at his feet. Then it became taut. The bottom of the cliff was fifty feet below.

The roar of the water was now loud and fierce, but it lay more to one side. Directly beneath them was solid ground.

With a trembling hand Guy pulled at the hook and secured it to the ledge. Claiming the right to go first, he let himself over the verge, and a joyful hail announced that he had reached the bottom in safety.

Melton stuck his torch in a crevice of the rock and started after him. As his feet touched the ground Guy lit a fresh torch and the light revealed a level space of white sand, strewn with rocks.

Overhead was the glow of Melton's torch on the ledge, and far beyond on the dizzy summit of the cliff twinkled the light that the colonel held.

"We are on the bottom," shouted Guy, with all his might.

His voice echoed again and again through the cavern. A reply came back, but it was almost lost in the roar of the unseen waters.

With feelings that it would be difficult to describe they now advanced along the sand, bearing the torches high over their heads.

With each step the sound grew louder. It was not the harsh, spasmodic roar of water dashing among sunken rocks, but resembled rather the swift outpour of a torrent gliding over a smooth, unbroken bed.

"Here we are," cried Chutney. "I nearly stepped in the water without seeing it."

He held his torch out with one hand, and its glowing radius revealed a strange sight.

Twenty yards to their left a rapid, unbroken sheet of water burst with terrific force from a dark archway in the very face of the smooth cliff. It was the outlet of the lake.

In width it was about forty feet, though the opposite side of the river was shrouded in darkness. On the spot where they stood a reflux current had worn an inlet into the sandy shore, and here a stretch of comparatively calm water was circling in swirling eddies, a startling contrast to the furious sweep of the torrent beyond.

Yes, there was no doubt of it, here was the continuation of the underground river, the way that led to safety and hope.

With strange emotions they watched in silence the dark flood pouring from its natural archway in the face of the cliff. To their right the sandy shore seemed to spread away smoothly into the darkness, but before they could scrutinize their surroundings more closely a strange, sharp sound echoed through the vaulted roof of the vast cavern, succeeded by a faint shout.

"It was the report of the Greek's rifle," exclaimed Melton, in horror-stricken tones, "and it was Carrington who shouted. Some calamity has happened."

Staggering with fear, they hastened back to the edge of the cliff. Melton clutched the dangling rope.

"Stop!" cried Guy, in tones of agony. "My heavens, Melton, we are lost, doomed to the most horrible of deaths. What blind, desperate fools we were. We can never get back to the lake, and our companions can never reach us here. We could not be more widely separated were the world itself rolling between us."

"What do you mean?" cried Forbes. "Are you mad, Chutney?"

"Mad? No. I wish I were. You are blind, Melton. How can we get that rope up the seventy feet stretch from the ledge to the summit of the cliff?"



CHAPTER XXXII.

GOOD-BY TO THE LAKE.

Melton dropped the rope and staggered back from the cliff, his face deadly pale.

"Yes," he said hoarsely, "you—you are right, Chutney. How could we have done such a foolish thing? From that narrow width of the ledge one could not throw a rope twenty feet in air. We are hopelessly cut off from our companions."

"Hullo, down there!"

It was Carrington hailing them from the top of the cliff, and they could make out his figure dimly in the torchlight.

"What is the matter?" shouted Guy lustily, making a trumpet of his hands.

In a moment the reply came distinctly to their ears.

"Canaris hears a strange cry from the lake. You had better come up."

"We are cut off," Guy shouted back. "We cannot get the rope back to the top of the cliff. Go tell Canaris"—his voice sank to a whisper, and he dropped on the sand beside Melton.

The colonel did not answer. The torch moved off along the cliff and then stopped, no doubt directly above the raft.

"He has gone to aid Canaris," said Guy. "I would like to know what is taking place on the lake."

"Ah!" said Forbes, "here he comes back now."

The torch moved along until it was directly over their heads, and then the colonel called down:

"Come up to the ledge. I have a way to save you."

Guy and Melton sprang to their feet in amazement. They could hardly believe they had heard aright.

"What can he mean?" cried Guy.

He seized the rope and started up hand over hand, placing his feet on the rough places in the wall.

Melton joined him on the ledge a moment later. The torch he had left there was still burning, and its light showed the colonel where they were.

"Watch sharp below there," he cried, and almost instantly Guy felt something dangling before his face. He put out his hand and clutched a thin cord.

"By Jove, Melton, it's the fishing lines!" he exclaimed. "The colonel has tied them together."

No directions were needed to tell them what to do next. Guy loosened the hook and fastened the line to it securely.

"Go ahead," he shouted to the colonel, and the rope instantly began to ascend.

In less than five minutes, though it really seemed an hour, the colonel signaled down that all was ready.

It was a perilous undertaking to go up the face of the cliff with nothing but a smooth rope to hold to, but at Guy's bidding Forbes made the attempt.

A great load seemed lifted from Guy's mind when he heard his friend's voice at the top, and without a moment's hesitation he started up himself.

Had the face of the rock been perfectly smooth he could never have reached the summit, and even by the aid of the rough places he found it a terribly difficult task. Two or three times he swung helpless in mid-air, and just when he felt that he could go no farther he was pulled to the top without any effort of his own, and fell over from sheer exhaustion. He was all right in a moment or two and, hauling up the rope, they hurried back to the raft.

Canaris and Sir Arthur hailed them gladly. It was the work of a moment to attach the hook to the top of the ledge, and one by one they slid down to the raft.

Here a startling surprise awaited them. Among the rugs lay a dark-skinned savage, half naked and frightfully emaciated, while on the end of the raft rested a canoe much worn and battered.

"What on earth does this mean?" exclaimed Chutney. "Where did you get that fellow? Is he dead?"

"No, he lives," replied Canaris. "I heard a strange cry out on the lake. That was the time I fired my rifle. Then I saw this canoe drifting toward the raft, and when it came near enough for me to catch hold of I found this poor fellow lying in the bottom. Nothing else was in the canoe, not even a paddle. Just before you came I was talking to him. I know a little of the language, and he managed to tell me that he belongs to Oko Sam's tribe of Gallas. His name is Bildad, and he is the same native who was pursued into the cavern by the Abyssinians."

"But how did he get away from the serpent?" asked Forbes.

"I don't know," replied Canaris. "When he gets a little stronger I will find out. I gave him some food and he devoured it like a wild beast. He was terribly afraid we would kill him, and I could hardly make him believe otherwise."

"And what have you discovered?" exclaimed Sir Arthur, who was bursting with impatience. "Must we die in this horrible place or is there hope of escape?"

Chutney hurriedly related their adventures and the great discovery that had been made.

"Yes," he concluded fervently, "we have every reason to hope. If all goes well we shall resume our journey down the river in a few hours."

"Chutney," cried the colonel solemnly, "I fear you are deceiving us and yourself with false hopes. The outlet of the lake is found, it is true, and by means of this rope we can reach it, but how are we to travel on down the river? Can you carry this raft over the cliff yonder?"

"Yes," said Guy, with a confident smile. "I can take the raft over the rocks. It can be taken apart, and one by one the logs can be hauled to the top of the cliff and let down on the other side. To put it together again will prove no difficult matter."

"A splendid plan, Chutney," cried the colonel. "I retract what I said. And how about the canoe? Can we take that along also?"

"Yes," answered Guy, "we will take it with us on the raft. It may prove of use; but the raft, I think, will be safer for us to travel on. And now let us set about the task without losing any time. The transportation of the raft will be a difficult and arduous undertaking."

"The first thing in order is to get Bildad to the top of the cliff," said Canaris.

This was not accomplished without some difficulty, for the poor fellow was in a pitiable state of weakness; but finally, by putting a noosed rope under his arms, Chutney and the colonel, who had gone up ahead, drew him in safety to the top and placed him on a couple of rugs.

Then one by one the bags of provisions, the torches, the paddles, and the arms were tied to the rope and pulled up. Sir Arthur was sent up last, and Forbes and the Greek were left alone on the empty raft.

After some consideration they decided on the following plan: Forbes and Canaris would take the raft apart and fasten the rope to the logs. Sir Arthur and the colonel would draw them up, pull them along the top of the cliff, and lower them gently to Chutney on the other side, who would receive them on the ledge, loosen the rope, and throw them down the remaining fifty feet to the ground, where the soft sand would receive them without injury.

Guy was speedily lowered to the ledge, where the torch was still burning. Three more stuck in the crevices served to illuminate the top of the cliff.

Down in the lake Melton and Canaris quickly severed the withes that bound the raft together, and in a short time the first log was swung gently down to Guy, who stood it endwise on the ledge, loosened the noose, and pushed it over the brink. It fell with a dull crash.

In half an hour the raft was lying at the bottom of the cliff, and then several alterations were made. Chutney exchanged places with Forbes, and Sir Arthur, who found himself unequal to the task of pulling the heavy logs to the top of the cliff and dragging them along the summit, took the Greek's place, and went down to assist Chutney with the raft.

Sir Arthur and Guy transferred themselves to the canoe as the raft grew smaller, and when the last log went up they noosed the rope about the center of the canoe itself and went up hand over hand and joined the others.

The canoe was pulled up with some difficulty, and lowered to Guy, who allowed it to remain on the ledge, which, though narrow, was ten or twelve yards long. The baggage was next lowered, and then, one at a time, Bildad going first, they descended to the platform where Guy was awaiting them.

Forbes was the last one down, and, with a dexterous jerk, he threw the hook loose from above, and it but narrowly missed their heads as it cleared the ledge and struck the ground. It was dragged back and hooked in place.

The final descent was not free from accident, for the canoe slipped from the noose and fell with a crash, but with no other mishap all reached the solid earth, and with the casting off of the rope from the ledge was severed the last link that connected them with the underground lake and its horrors.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

A TERRIBLE RIDE.

Their first act showed the true character of these brave men.

"Let us thank God for our deliverance," said Guy solemnly, and kneeling on the wet sand—an example that was followed by all—he offered a simple and fervent prayer.

Renewed hope was visible on their faces when they rose to their feet in the dim light of the torch.

"We will put the raft together," said Guy, "and then have something to eat before we start."

It was but a short distance to the water's edge, and by all working industriously the logs were soon lying on the sandy beach, and Forbes was fastening them together as before.

Bildad, from the warmth of the rugs, watched these proceedings with a look of mute wonder on his dusky features.

As soon as the raft was ready the baggage was placed on it.

"Take the canoe along," said Forbes. "It is too badly shattered by the fall to use, but it will furnish us with torches and firewood."

There was room to spare, so the boat was placed on one end of the raft, and then sitting on the sand they made a hearty meal of crackers and figs.

"I don't admire the appearance of that river very much," remarked the colonel. "It comes through the cliff as though shot by a cannon. No wonder, though, when you think of the terrible pressure from above."

"We will make up for lost time by rapid traveling, then," said Forbes.

"Ah, you think so?" cried Sir Arthur. "Bless me, I hope we will. I have an engagement to dine with Lord Balsover at the Hotel Bombay at Aden on the 10th at six o'clock in the evening. He touches there on his way to India, and I can't disappoint him, you know."

"Drop him a few lines, Ashby, and postpone the engagement a couple of weeks," remarked the colonel dryly.

"Bless me! Can I do that?" ejaculated Sir Arthur.

The laugh that followed was cut short by Guy's short, decisive voice: "Get ready, it's time to start."

The raft lay partly in the water, and with a hearty shove from all it was pushed clear of the shore. Forbes and Canaris held it while it tossed up an down in the swirling eddies.

"Get on board," directed Guy, setting the example himself, and assisting Bildad.

Forbes remained on shore, holding the corner of the raft till all had passed on board. It trembled fiercely in his grasp, as though eager to be off on the journey.

Far overhead the abandoned torch was glowing dimly on the summit of the cliff, a patch of brightness that made the gloom round about all the blacker by contrast. For the first time a sudden realization of the unknown perils that lay before them flashed into the minds of the little party.

"Let go, Forbes," said Guy in a firm voice.

Melton sprang nimbly on board and grasped a paddle. The raft quivered a moment and then shot, swift as an arrow, toward the turbulent stretch of water beyond.

Then came a tremendous lurch, a riotous dash of spray that took away their breath, and with a dizzy speed that was simply indescribable the trembling craft was whirled down the torrent.

The first sensation was one of uncontrollable fear, and they hung with all their might to the logs, expecting every instant to be tossed into the water. Round and round spun the raft in dizzy revolutions, until their heads were dizzy and aching. Then the harsh roar subsided, and in a little while the raft became quiet and rested on the surface of the water with hardly a quiver.

And now they ventured to sit up. They appeared to be moving with the velocity of a railroad train.

On both sides, a few yards from the raft, smooth walls of rock were visible. Overhead was empty space.

"If this could continue," said Guy, "we should reach the end of the river in a few days."

"It won't last," said Forbes gloomily. "We'll soon run across some bad water."

His fears were shared by the rest, but as time passed on and they continued to speed smoothly between the rocky walls, they began to feel less apprehensive of danger.

"Bildad seems to be feeling quite chipper," said Guy. "Suppose you ask him how he tricked that serpent, Canaris."

"Well, I'll try him," was the reply.

The conversation commenced, and the harsh jabber which they carried on was very interesting to the rest of the party.

"Bless me; you'd think the Greek was talking in his own tongue," remarked Sir Arthur. "Reminds me of our old Greek professor at Balliol College, Oxford. He loved the language of the Athenians so much that he hated to use the English tongue at all. Worst of it was he expected all of us to be as fluent as himself. Made us all talk Greek in the class-room. I'll never forget how we got even with him. Lord Somebody or other—I can't recall the name now, but it was some celebrated man—visited the college. I don't suppose he knew Greek from Hottentot, but we made the professor believe it was a famous Greek scholar who was coming, one who had been making excavations on the site of old Troy during the past four years, and who, strangely enough, was then in England and expected on a visit to Oxford. The professor prepared an elaborate address in pure Greek, and when the visitor entered the class-room he delivered it in the most eloquent manner.

"'What's that fool talking about?' asked the visitor.

"'Oh,' says young Ormsby, who was sitting near me, 'he's lecturing the class on "Political Economy in Ancient Athens." He'll be through in a moment and able to receive you.'

"The visitor left the room highly insulted, and the professor, when he discovered the truth a day or two later, nearly took apoplexy."

As the laughter that greeted this little reminiscence of Sir Arthur's ceased, Canaris finished his conversation with Bildad.

"It is difficult to converse with him," he reported, "but from what I can learn he dived from the very embrace of the serpent, and succeeded in swimming to the other canoe, which he had turned adrift only a moment or two before. Without paddles or food he floated behind us into the lake."

"It's a miracle that he escaped the serpents," said the coionel, "floating about on the lake all the time."

"But how did he know anything about the entrance to the river?" exclaimed Guy. "Did you ask him that, Canaris?"

"Yes," said the Greek. "He says he discovered it himself a year or two ago just as the old Englishman must have done."

"Well, it's a lucky thing for Bildad that he ran across us," was Guy's comment; and Bildad, to judge from his contented expression, seemed thoroughly to appreciate this fact.

As the river continued swift and smooth, with no signs of danger ahead, all went to sleep except Canaris and the colonel, who were intrusted with the care of the raft. Several hours later they were relieved by Chutney and Forbes, and thus all secured a fair night's rest.

A scanty share of food was doled out for breakfast, as the supply was getting very low. Some time afterward a faint roar was heard in the distance, and almost before they could prepare for danger a violent cross current struck the raft, tossing it about most perilously, and they caught a glimpse of a furious body of water issuing from a narrow passageway.

"That was the other channel, the one we should have taken in the first place," exclaimed Guy. "We are now on the main river again."

"They travel separately for quite a distance," remarked the colonel. "The lake must be seventy or eighty miles in our rear. We are making splendid time."

Little did they imagine at that moment how great a change was close at hand. The river glided smoothly between its massive walls with scarce a murmur.

An hour later Forbes held up a warning finger. An ominous sound was heard far below that increased in volume with every second.

"Cling to the raft for your lives," shouted Chutney.

The first words were audible; the last were drowned in the mighty roar of the water, so sudden was its approach. By the torchlight they saw for an instant the billows of tossing spray. Then the raft plunged madly like a thing of life, a great wave broke over it with stunning force, and all was darkness.

None could remember clearly what happened after that. Plunging over the crests of enormous waves, whirling round and round in dizzy revolutions, drenched by icy showers of spray, grinding and crashing on countless rocks, the raft went on its way through that awful stretch of rapids, holding together by nothing short of a miracle. A full hour it lasted, though it must have seemed like days to the wretched voyagers.

Then the wild pitching and tossing subsided, the crash of the furious water grew fainter, and all was calm and peaceful as before.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

MORE MISERY.

Perceiving that the danger was over, Guy ventured to sit up. His clothes were dripping wet, but fortunately he kept his matches in a tin box, and striking one cautiously, he lit a torch which had been lying partly under his body, and was not too damp to burn.

His companions were still sprawled out on the raft, holding to the logs with all their strength. When Guy assured them that all danger was past they sat up, looking very pale and dazed.

"That was awful," said the colonel. "It's a miracle the raft lived through such a ride."

"The canoe is gone," exclaimed Forbes. "Washed clear off the deck, and—— Why, hello, what's the matter, Chutney?"

Guy was looking about the raft with a ghastly and fear-stricken countenance, holding the torch over his head.

"A terrible calamity has happened," he cried in a voice that was strangely unnatural. "I fear we are lost men. Where are the provisions? Where are our torches?"

"By gracious, they are gone!" declared the colonel. "Clean gone!"

It was truly a terrible situation in which they, found themselves. The provisions and the torches had been washed off the raft. If they did not reach the open air in two or three days starvation was certain.

"No," cried the Greek suddenly, "all hope is not gone. Look! here is a bag that was lying partly under me. It is half full of crackers."

"And I have three torches in my pocket," added Sir Arthur. "Bless me if I know how they got there but here they are, anyhow."

"That scant supply of food may last us to the journey's end, if used in moderation," said Guy solemnly. "God grant us a speedy passage to the mouth of the river."

In spite of Chutney's brave attempts to cheer them up, the spirits of the party sank very low.

That meager bag of crackers must feed six mouths until they reached the end of the cavern. That event might be in a week, and it might be in a month. The uncertainty and the suspense were terribly trying.

It was some consolation to discover that the river was still flowing very rapidly. The possibility of encountering more rapids they now dreaded but little, for it was very improbable that worse places could exist than that which the raft had navigated so stanchly.

"We must travel night and day," said Guy, "and in darkness. We have four torches left. Only when we hear the sound of rapids dare we light one of them."

He emphasized his words by putting out the torch that was burning, and instantly they were plunged in total darkness.

This marked the commencement of a period in which all trace of time was lost. Huddled together on the few remaining rugs, they drifted on and on with the current, alternately asleep and awake.

At certain intervals a torch was lit for a few moments while they ate the pitiful scraps of food that Guy distributed with rigorous impartiality.

The short periods of light were taken advantage of by the colonel to record in his diary the brief incidents of the journey.

A few extracts from it, made with his permission, will make sufficiently clear to the reader in what gloomy monotony that part of their cruise was spent which began with the departure from the lake and terminated abruptly in a misfortune remarkable for the utter despair that followed on its track:

First stage.—This is the second day since leaving the lake. We received three crackers apiece. Twice a torch was lit to aid us in passing rapids. They proved to be insignificant.

Second stage.—We slept by turns. Had three crackers apiece. All complain of hunger. Bildad clamors for food. Current still good. Plenty of small rapids.

Third stage.—We now sleep most of the time. Chutney has cut down the rations to two crackers apiece. Bildad is ill. Drinks water incessantly and demands food. We are compelled to hide the bag.

Fourth stage.—Current not so rapid. All in low spirits. We are tortured by hunger. Sir Arthur dreams of banquets in his sleep. Harrows our feelings by his accounts of them. Bildad very ill. No longer wants food.

Fifth stage.—Alas! worse and worse! Bildad and Sir Arthur ill. Chutney is a hero. He tries to cheer us all. Gave half his share of food to Sir Arthur. Thinks I don't know. Bildad raving. Had to tie him to the raft.

Sixth stage.—Bildad and Sir Arthur very weak. Today a gleam of hope. Canaris, after many trials, caught a fish a foot long. We devoured it raw with the utmost greed. Our strength is fast leaving us.

Seventh stage.—Chutney still hopeful. Bildad and Sir Arthur in a bad way. Provisions for three days still remain. We must reach the mouth of the river by that time. Canaris fished, but caught nothing.

Eighth stage.—The outlook is dark. I fear none will ever read these pages. The river begins to run sluggishly. Bildad shrieks and raves continually. Sir Arthur is better. They are all asleep now. Forbes and I were put on guard, but Forbes has gone to sleep, and I am afraid I shall do the same without knowing it. A dizzy weakness is coming over me, and——

At this point the writer appears to have dropped his book and pencil and fallen asleep.

Just what space of time was covered by the above quoted entries from the colonel's book is uncertain. A week would probably be a fair guess. The misery of these unfortunate voyagers during that period can hardly be imagined. They suffered continually from the pangs of hunger. They traveled in utter darkness, and, to add to the horror of it all, two sick men had to be ministered to. Under these circumstances we again take up the thread of the story.

It is not to be wondered at that Forbes and the colonel were so derelict as to fall asleep at their post of duty. To remain awake in their condition was simply impossible. It was terribly unfortunate that it should be so, as what follows will prove.

The raft encountered no rapids during the time that all were sleeping, and as far as personal danger was concerned it mattered not whether any one was on guard or not.

Forbes and Chutney awoke about the same time. As was Guy's usual habit after sleeping, he lit a torch to see how the current was running. The light woke Canaris and the colonel almost immediately, while Sir Arthur turned on his rug and asked feebly for something to eat.

The very mention of food brought a hungry glare to their eyes, and Guy turned round to reach the bag. It was not in its accustomed place, and he staggered to his feet in astonishment.

"It's gone," he cried savagely. "The bag is gone. Who has taken it?"

They glared at each other with fierce mistrust.

"Ah, look! look!" shrieked Canaris suddenly. "The black wretch!" and springing across the raft he flung himself on Bildad and grasped him with both hands savagely by the throat.

Melton and Guy tore him away by main force and there beside the African lay the bag—empty.

Bildad's lips were full of crumbs, and half a cracker was still clutched in one grimy hand.

"Kill him. Throw him in the river!" shrieked the Greek, who was fairly beside himself with rage and hunger.

"He is out of his mind," said Guy gravely. "He took them in his delirium. Not one is left;" as he shook the bag in the air.

Sir Arthur made another piteous appeal for food, and Guy took the half cracker from Bildad's hand and gave it to him.

"None left!" repeated the colonel blankly. "What are we going to do? We'll starve in two days. I feel now as if I were on fire inside."

"All our rifles are gone, too," said Guy suddenly. "Bildad has thrown them overboard. The crafty scoundrel feared we would shoot him for stealing the crackers, and he threw away the guns on purpose. There was method in his madness, after all."

"The fiend!" hissed Canaris between his teeth. "And it was I who saved his life for this. If I only had known! If I only had left him to perish in the lake!"

"Hark! I hear rapids or something ahead," said Guy at that instant.

For the moment this diverted their attention from poor Bildad, who lay in a half stupor unconscious of all that was taking place.

The sound that Guy had heard was close at hand, and in a moment the raft was flung heavily upon a sand bar and remained there motionless.

The channel made a sudden, sharp turn, and the current, being too swift to round the sharp angle, dashed with a sullen splash against the shore.

Guy grasped the torch and staggered forward on the beach. It was the first time his feet had touched land for more than a week.

"Here is shore and rocks beyond it," he exclaimed. "I see a cavern, too, in the face of the cliff."

He continued to move forward with uplifted torch. Suddenly he paused and uttered a loud cry. A terrible roar echoed from the cavern a second later, and then with a single bound a great tawny beast sprang out of the shadows, and striking Guy to the earth with one blow of his mighty paw, threw himself furiously on the prostrate body.



CHAPTER XXXV.

BILDAD DRINKS NEW LIFE.

The stricken man had no time to utter another cry. The lion—for such it proved to be—paused a moment, with uplifted head, snarling angrily. The torch had been flung back a yard or more toward the water, and was spluttering on the damp sand.

Guy's companions were helpless with fear and dread. Forbes alone had self-possession enough to remember that he had a revolver. It was not loaded, and he trembled so much that he could scarcely draw the shells from his pocket.

"Hurry! Hurry!" whispered the colonel. "The brute may tear him apart any moment."

Meanwhile Guy lay white and motionless in the grasp of the lion. Not a muscle quivered, and his eyes were closed.

Suddenly, as Forbes was nervously ramming the shells into the revolver, the beast turned on his prey with a vicious growl and seized Guy's arm loosely in his mighty jaws. In another instant Chutney would have been dragged off, but help was to come from an unlooked-for source.

With a single bound Bildad sprang out upon the sand, brandishing a huge spear that Canaris had brought with him from the lake.

Another leap carried him within a yard or two of the lion, and the amazed spectators had a brief vision of the enraged beast quivering for a spring at the audacious African.

Then the spear flashed in the torchlight, and as Bildad sprang to one side, the lion, with a mighty roar, toppled over on the sand—dead. The spear had pierced his heart.

For an instant no one realized what had happened. The lion in his fall had cleared his victim entirely, and before any one thought of moving forward Guy pulled himself to his feet and staggered feebly toward the raft. Melton ran forward just in time to catch him in his arms.

"Thank God," he exclaimed fervently. "You are not hurt, Chutney?"

"No, I think not," was Guy's response; "only stunned and bruised a little. It was a close call."

"Close! I should say it was. It's the first time I ever saw a lion killed in that way. Bildad saved your life, for Melton could never have killed the brute with that toy he has there."

A strange sound suddenly diverted their attention to Bildad.

The savage was ripping open the dead lion's throat with a spear, and throwing himself on his knees, he lapped up greedily the red blood as it flowed from the wound.

It was a horrible and fascinating sight. He drank long and deeply, and when at length he rose from his savage feast the ferocity of the lion seemed actually to have flowed into his own veins, so horrible and demon-like was the expression on his dusky face.

Shaking the blood-stained spear, he shouted two or three times in a frenzied manner, and then tottering to the raft, flung himself among the rugs.

"We are saved," cried Forbes with sudden inspiration. "There lies meat in plenty."

Melton's words caused a speedy revulsion of feeling. The colonel shouted for very joy, and Canaris sprang toward the dead lion with drawn knife.

"Cut off as much of the meat as you can," said Guy. "Here, give me my saber. Let me help."

He turned to reach it, but a sudden weakness came over him, and he was compelled to lie down on the rugs. The colonel, in deep alarm, made a hasty examination to see if he had sustained any injury, but with the exception of a severe bruising and a slight laceration of the left arm, caused by the lion's teeth, he appeared to be all right.

Melton and Canaris were just on the point of cutting into the dead lion with their sabers, the only weapons that remained to them, when a fierce roar echoed through the cavern, repeated two or three times in rapid succession, and in the gloom they could see a pair of shining eyes.

"Run for the raft," cried the Greek; and, as they reached the shore, a superb lioness bounded forward and stood by the body of her mate.

"See!" cried the colonel, pointing a trembling finger. "Two more lions coming out of the cavern. Push the raft into the water at once or we shall be devoured."

The danger was indeed imminent, and yet, in their starving condition, it was hard to leave all that meat behind. Forbes, impelled by some mad impulse, pointed his revolver at the angry lioness, but Guy grasped his arm before he could pull the trigger. Two more lions were now in plain view, stalking slowly out of the shadows.

"The pistol is useless," said Guy. "We dare not resist. We must get away as silently as possible."

The raft had been tossed but lightly upon the beach, and with but little effort it was pushed free of the shore and trembled on the water.

A loud roar close at hand caused them to fall on board in frantic haste, and as the swift current whirled them away the three lions trotted down to the water's edge and howled in concert.

"We may be thankful we got away with whole skins," said Chutney. "It was a great misfortune to have to abandon all that meat, but a delay or an attempt at resistance would have cost us our lives."

"It means starvation," said Melton bitterly. "Those lions came down from the open air to drink. That hole in the rocks led out of the cavern, I have no doubt, and we could have followed it up and perhaps found food, or we might even have abandoned the cavern entirely and finished our journey on top of ground. We must be close to the coast now."

This statement of what "might have been" sent their spirits down to the lowest ebb. They realized that Melton was undoubtedly right. Safety had actually been within their grasp, but the lions had driven them off, and now they were doomed to almost certain death by starvation. Even had they chosen to go back and risk the chances it was too late, for the current had taken them far from the spot, and the sandy shores had given way to perpendicular walls of rock.

The torch continued to burn brightly, a piece of extravagance that called forth no rebuke.

The journey continued amid unbroken silence. Sir Arthur and Bildad were both asleep, though it was no peaceful slumber, to judge from their restless tossings.

Sir Arthur's illness had now lasted a week. It was more of a nervous attack than anything else, but without food it was hopeless to look for recovery. He was extremely weak, and lay most of the time in a stupor.

The painful bruises Guy had sustained kept him awake much longer than the rest, but at last he too fell asleep.

Thus several hours passed away, and they awoke in utter darkness. The torch had burnt out during the night, but Guy recklessly lit another.

The river was flowing rapidly among scattered rocks, and as the raft approached a jagged ledge that cropped up from the water, a dark object was seen clinging to it.

"Why, it is our lost canoe," said Forbes as they drew near. "Help me catch it, Chutney. We will pass close to it."

The raft struck the edge of the rocks, and as it swung round with the current they grasped the end of the canoe and pulled it on board.

"It will do for firewood," said Guy. "We won't have to travel in the dark any more."

"Yes, yes; build a fire," said Sir Arthur feebly, sitting up among the rugs. "I'm cold, Chutney; icy cold. Have we come to the end of the cavern yet?"

"He seems a little better," whispered the colonel, coming close up to Guy. "Do you know, Chutney, I've been thinking for the last hour that we must surely be near the end of the river. Since first we entered this cavern we have traveled eight hundred miles. Calculate the rate of speed at which the current flows, and you must see that I am right. Moreover, we cannot be very far beneath the surface of the earth. Those lions do not dwell in the cavern. They only came down for water."

"I believe you are right," said Guy. "Two more days will tell. If we don't reach the open air in that time—well, it won't matter after that whether we reach it or not. I can hardly stand on my feet, and as for the torments of hunger, I need not speak of that. You know them yourself."

"Yes, I do indeed know what it is," said the colonel bitterly, "but we must endure it a while longer. For myself I do not care so much, but Sir Arthur is in a bad way, and as for Bildad, we may have to bind him hand and foot. He sleeps now, but no one can tell what he may do when he awakes."

"We will watch him closely," said Guy. "Canaris is splitting up the canoe for firewood, and it will no longer be necessary to travel in darkness."

"See!" cried the Greek, pausing with uplifted axe. "The shores have disappeared. Has the river become wide or is this another lake?"

"There is still a strong current," said Guy. "The channel has suddenly become broad. That is all."

A cheerful fire was soon blazing, and the ruddy reflection stained the water far and near, as the raft drifted on with the current. Sir Arthur fell asleep again, and Bildad lay among the rugs as one dead, glutted with his savage feast, and his lips and hands still red with clotted blood.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

BILDAD TURNS CANNIBAL.

All through that day—for such we shall call it—they floated on without a single glimpse of the shores, though a good current still existed.

Their sufferings had now reached a point that was almost unendurable. The emptiness at the stomach and the pangs of hunger had given way to the fierce pains and the appalling weakness that come to those perishing of starvation.

For two days, it must be remembered, they had eaten nothing, and for a week previous three dry crackers apiece had been their daily allowance.

Chutney, with marvelous endurance, retained his strength and affected a hopefulness he was far from feeling, though, if the truth were known, a share of his food for a week past had been secretly given to Sir Arthur, whose illness had roused his compassion.

The colonel was almost too weak to stand—for his previous captivity had undermined his constitution, while Melton and the Greek made no efforts to conceal their sufferings.

Bildad, instead of becoming violent, woke up very weak, and lay helpless on his rug.

It was pitiful to see how they all turned their pockets inside out and drove their fingers into the crannies of the logs, hoping to discover a stray crumb. It was useless to fish, for they had nothing to put on the hook.

After nightfall, as near as Guy could guess, the river became very narrow and the current increased perceptibly in speed. The steep and rocky shores seemed scarcely ten yards apart, and overhead hung masses of stalactite almost close enough to strike with the paddle.

"We are near the end," said Guy, making an effort to speak calmly in spite of his sufferings. "Hold out a little longer. I feel sure that we shall be saved."

"Yes, we are near the end," said the colonel, "very near, Chutney. Our sufferings will soon be over. You deserve a better fate. I wish——"

"No, no, don't talk that way," cried Guy. "You will live to see the sunlight again—I am sure of it."

The colonel turned over on his side without making a reply.

"If we don't reach the mouth of the cavern in twenty-four hours, I for one will never see the light of day," said Melton huskily. "I'd hate to die in this place. It wouldn't be so hard out under the open sky."

"Water! water!" moaned Sir Arthur feebly, and crawling to the edge of the raft Guy filled his helmet and put it to the sick man's lips. He drank deeply and sank back on the rugs.

Guy crept cautiously forward to the front of the raft again—for every motion was a torture—and resumed his watch ahead, straining his eyes to catch the first glimpse of light that he felt sure must come before long.

Faster and faster ran the current now and the shores flitted past like dim specters. The channel became more turbulent and rocky, and the raft tossed and trembled as it swept over brawling rapids and grated over unseen obstructions.

When Guy turned toward his companions again they seemed to be all sleeping, and he envied them their merciful oblivion.

Bildad was muttering excitedly in his own tongue, and as Guy watched him he tossed his arms and sat bolt upright. The ugly face was frightfully distorted and the fever-stricken eyes shone with a baleful light. With an apprehension that he took no pains to disguise Guy watched him sharply. There was no telling what this savage might do in the delirium of illness—a delirium aggravated tenfold by the tortures of hunger.

Guy noted with secret uneasiness that no weapon was lying anywhere near. Melton alone had a revolver, and he was half inclined to waken him and ask him for it.

Bildad, however, made no attempt to leave his place on the rugs. He kept on talking to himself at intervals, his eyes staring vacantly out on the river.

A dingy leopard skin was still bound around his loins, and suddenly seizing the end of it he began to chew it greedily.

Then he noticed the blood still sticking to his fingers, and placing his hand in his mouth he sucked it with a hollow noise that made Guy sick.

Suddenly his eyes became fixed and glaring, his hands dropped to his side, trembling nervously, and his lips parted in a wolfish expression, that displayed two rows of glistening teeth.

A thrill of horror ran through Guy from head to foot as he saw what had unmistakably fascinated Bildad's gaze. Two yards distant, facing the savage, lay Sir Arthur, propped up slightly among the rugs. His head was thrown back, and in the perspiration, caused probably by his slight fever, he had torn loose the fore part of his flannel shirt, so that the throat and part of the breast were fully exposed, and shone clearly in the soft glow from the fire.

To Chutney Bildad's wolfish gaze admitted of no misconstruction. The sight of the white flesh had roused the savage's fiercest instincts. At that moment Bildad was a cannibal at heart!

No words can describe Guy's feelings as he realized the awful truth.

At first a deadly faintness threatened to deprive him of all consciousness. Then came a thrill of strength, and his quick mind sought some plan of action. There was no weapon within reach. He must waken the Greek.

"Canaris," he muttered in a low voice, but the word stuck in his throat and died away in a whisper.

The sound, slight as it was, drew Bildad's attention. A glance at Guy's frightened countenance told him his horrible design was discovered. His thick lips parted in a glare of ferocious hatred—the blind fury of a madman.

He thrust his hand to his side, drew out a long, gleaming knife, and with a demoniacal laugh sprang at Sir Arthur, brandishing his weapon.

At the first flash of the steel Guy uttered a shout that might have wakened the seven sleepers, and threw himself across the raft. He fell short of the African, and staggered to his knees with another wild cry.

The glittering blade wavered a second in mid-air, not ten inches from Sir Arthur's heart, and then, his eyes flashing and his face distorted with passion, Bildad turned and threw himself on the man who had thwarted him.

Guy staggered to his feet in time to meet the shock, and they fell together with a crash, the madman on top. As he blindly threw out his arms in self protection he grasped Bildad's wrist, arresting the course of the descending knife. Before the fiend could snatch the knife with the other hand he twisted the brawny wrist till the bone cracked. The knife dropped from the nerveless fingers, and Bildad shrieked with rage and agony. Guy tried to shout, but the savage's uninjured arm clutched his throat, and he felt himself jerked violently along the raft. He struggled and kicked in vain. A mist swam before his eyes, and he felt the agonies of suffocation. With both hands he tore at the brawny arm, but the grip only seemed to tighten, and then he realized that he was on the edge of the raft. He was powerless. He wondered vaguely why the rest did not come to his assistance. He felt his head and shoulders slip over the edge, and then opening his eyes he saw the madman's leering face, flushed with rage and triumph, staring into his own. His eyes closed with a shudder as he seemed to feel the icy waters close over him. Then the grasp on his throat suddenly relaxed, and he knew nothing more.

* * * * *

When Guy opened his eyes some minutes later, and saw with wonder the familiar faces of his friends bending over him, he felt as a man might who had come back from the grave. He tried to rise, but a firm hand pushed him gently back, and the colonel's voice said softly, "No; lie down. Not a word until you are better."

Gradually memory came back as he rested, and he knew why his throat felt so queer. In the firelight he saw Bildad lying motionless across the logs. The ugly face was smeared with blood, and Forbes and Canaris were binding the brawny arms and legs.

And there lay the knife, flashing back the light from its polished steel.

"You came as near to death, Chutney, as any man can come," said the colonel a little later, when Guy was able to sit up and lean against the fragments of the canoe. "Forbes saved you on this occasion. He got awake just in time, and crawling over the logs—for he was unable to walk—he brought down the butt of the revolver on the fiend's head. He first tried to shoot, but his weapon missed fire."

"Is he dead?" asked Guy.

"No," replied the colonel; "more's the pity. He seems to be only stunned. We've tied him up securely, so he can't do any more harm. But what started him, anyhow?"

Guy, with many a shudder, related the events that led to the attack, and his audience were horror-stricken at the terrible tale. The strangest part of it was that Sir Arthur had slept through it all and was still sleeping.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE END OF THE CAVERN.

After that Guy himself fell asleep—a deep, heavy slumber that caused his friends some uneasiness as they listened to his labored breathing and saw the red flush that mounted over his pallid face.

Later on he struggled back to a wretched consciousness of his misery. He made an effort to rise, but such keen pains darted through his body that his head dropped back on the rug. The least movement was an agony, and his head was aching with a fierce intensity that he had never known before.

"I will rise," he muttered between his clinched teeth, and summoning all the power of his iron will he sat up.

The remaining half of the canoe was just behind him, and dragging his body a foot or more over the raft he fell back against it with a groan of agony.

The glowing embers of the fire shed a dim light over the scene. On his right lay Sir Arthur, white and motionless. On the left was Bildad, his arms and legs drawn up about his body in the throes of suffering. Near the front of the raft lay the colonel, face downward on the logs, and close by was the Greek, his white features turned toward the firelight.

One alone showed any signs of life. Melton was leaning over the edge apparently drinking, and presently he raised his head and crawled feebly toward the fire.

"How long have I slept?" asked Guy in a hoarse whisper.

Melton turned in astonishment as though frightened by the sound of a human voice.

"I don't know," he said, speaking with a great effort. "Hours, Chutney, hours. A day and a night must have passed since I cracked that fellow there on the head. I hoped you would never wake. This is like dying a thousand times over. It won't last long now. A few hours at the most—and then—"

"But tell me," interrupted Guy, "the rest, are they—are they——"

"Dead?" said Melton. "No, I think not. Very near the end, though. They can't move. They can't even reach the edge of the raft to drink. Water has kept me up a little."

Crawling inch by inch, he drew himself beside Guy and propped his back against the canoe. They sat side by side, too exhausted to speak, mercifully indifferent to their fate.

It is doubtful if they realized their position. The last stages of starvation had blunted their sensibilities, thrown a veil over their reasoning faculties.

Presently Guy observed that the raft had entered upon a most turbulent stretch of water. At frequent intervals he heard dimly the hoarse roar of rapids and felt the logs quiver and tremble as they struck the rocks. The shores appeared almost close enough to touch as they whirled past with a speed that made him close his eyes with dizziness, and the jagged roof seemed about to fall and crush him.

He saw these things as a man sees in a dream. He could no longer reason over them or draw conclusions from the facts. The increasing roar of the water, the cumulative force of the current, told him dimly that a crisis was approaching.

So they drifted on, lost to all passage of time. Presently the last embers of the fire expired with a hiss as a dash of spray was flung on them, and all was dark.

Guy whispered Melton's name, but a feeble groan was the only response. He reached out a trembling arm and found that his friend had slipped down from the canoe and was lying prostrate on the rugs. He alone retained consciousness, such as it was.

Bildad was jabbering in delirium, and Guy could catch broken sentences muttered at intervals by Carrington or the Greek.

He felt that his own reason was fast going, and he conceived a sudden horror of dying in darkness.

A torch was lying under his hand and he had matches.

The effort of striking the light was a prodigious one, but at last he succeeded and the torch flared up brightly over the raft and its occupants.

The sudden transition from darkness to light had a startling effect on the very man whom Guy supposed to be past all feeling. Sir Arthur suddenly sat straight up, his white face lit with a ghastly light.

"Ha, ha!" he shouted, waving his shrunken hands. "The light, the light! We are saved! Do you see it, Carrington; do you see it?"

Then the wild gleam faded from his eyes, and in a quavering voice—a mere ghost of his old pompous manner—he exclaimed:

"To the Guards' Club, Waterloo Place! Do it in twenty minutes, driver, and the half sovereign is yours. Go by way of Piccadilly; it's the near cut."

A moment later he added: "I'll be late. What beastly luck!"

Then a swift change passed over his face.

"Ha! ha! There's the light again," he cried exultantly. "Look, Carrington, look——" His lips trembled over the unfinished sentence, and without another word he dropped back on the logs and lay there perfectly motionless.

This was the last thing that Guy remembered.

The torch still burned beside him, and the raft plunged on its dizzy course, but his mind was wandering far away, and the past was being lived over again.

He was riding through London streets, dining with his old friends at the club, pulling a skiff over the placid current of the Thames, shooting quail on his brother's estate, dancing at a ball at Government House, Calcutta, marching through Indian jungles at the head of his men, plotting the capture of the Rajah, Nana Sahib, in far-away Burma—thus the merciful past stole his mind away from the horrors of the present, and he alternately smiled or shuddered as he recalled some pleasant association or stern reminiscence of peril.

So the hours passed on. The torch faded and dimmed, burned to a charred ember, and then went out.

The water hissed and boiled, crashing on rocks and shoals, beating its fury against the barren shores, and rushing down the narrow channel at an angle that was frightful and appalling.

Guided by an unseen power, the frail raft rose and fell with the current, whirling round and round like an eggshell, creaking, groaning, and straining at its bonds, like a fettered giant; but the wretched castaways, sprawled in careless attitude across the logs, heard nothing, knew nothing—simply lay with their pallid faces turned toward the blackness and the gloom overhead.

Ah, how pitiful! If they could only have known what was close at hand, fresh life would have flowed into their wasted veins. They would have gone mad with joy.

The roar of the water had now become softened and less violent. The rocks had disappeared, the river slipped like an avalanche through the fast narrowing channel, and at such a prodigious speed that a cold blast of air whistled about the raft.

Chutney, still propped against the canoe, caught its full effect on his face. It stirred up the flickering spark of life within him and he opened his eyes; he thought he saw a faint gleam of daylight.

Like the fabled giant that sprang from an uncorked phial, the gray streak expanded with marvelous celerity, growing longer and wider and brighter until it shone like burnished silver on the hurrying tide of the river.

Guy saw it and that was all. It dazzled his eyes and he closed them. When he looked again the raft was trembling on the edge of the silvery sheet, and then, swift as the lightning flash, a flood of brightness sprang up and around it.

He closed his eyes, but the fierce glare seemed to be burning into his very brain. He could not shut it out, though he thrust a trembling arm across his closed eyes.

The next instant something rough and pliable struck his face with stinging force, and he felt the warm blood trickle down his cheeks. Instantly there came a second shock. The canoe was whirled forcibly from under him, and a heavy blow from some unseen object struck him with stunning violence to the hard logs.

An icy wave dashed over the raft, and then another and another. Smarting with pain, the blood dripping from his lacerated face and hands, he staggered to his knees.

He opened his eyes. At first he could see nothing for the dazzling light that was all around him. Then the blindness passed suddenly away, and he saw clearly.

The glorious, entrancing light of day was shining on the raft, on the sparkling water, on his motionless companions—everywhere.

The raft was dancing on the bosom of a vast and mighty stream that rolled in the blessed sunlight between shores of sparkling green. He saw sloping hillsides and mangrove jungles, wind-tossed patches of reeds and waving palm trees, mountains shooting their rugged peaks heavenward, and billows of forest land rolling off into the distant horizon, while overhead was the deep blue vault of the sky, that perfect sky that had haunted his memory in many a dream—the sky that he had never hoped to see again. The air was redolent with perfume and melodious with the sweet notes of countless birds.

Flushed and trembling, Guy staggered, with new-found strength, to his feet.

"Saved! Saved! Saved!" he cried aloud. "Thank God! Melton! Canaris! Do you hear? The blessed sunlight is shining around us. Why don't you answer? Why don't you shout for joy?"

But no response came, and the five ghastly figures on the raft remained as stiff and motionless as before.

A swift change passed over Guy's face.

"Merciful heavens!" he cried. "Can it be? All dead!"

He gasped for breath, beating the air with stiffened fingers, and then dropped like a log.

* * * * *

The warm sunlight still played on the raft, and the yellow tide of the river lapped the roughened logs with a soft and musical murmur.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

CAPTAIN BECKER LOSES A WAGER.

"No, no, gentlemen. I respectfully beg leave to differ with you. Africa never gives up her white slaves."

Captain Lucius Becker emphasized his words by bringing his fist down heavily on the frail table before him, and replacing his meerschaum between his lips, he glared defiantly at his two companions.

It was a hot and sultry afternoon in March—such a March as only tropical Africa knows—and the place was the German military station of New Potsdam, on the left bank of the river Juba, a few miles from its mouth, in eastern Africa.

On the broad bosom of the river the sun was beating fiercely, and the mangrove jungles and lofty palm trees drooped motionless in the dead calm. Upon the flat roof of the little station, however, the refining touches of civilization had done much to mitigate the severity and discomfort of the heat. An awning of snowy canvas, shaded by the projecting clusters of a group of palms, made a cool and grateful shelter, and under this the three officers had been dining.

Captain Lucius Becker continued to blow out great clouds of white smoke as though he had completely squelched all further argument on the subject under discussion.

The silence was broken at last by Dr. Moebius Goldbeck.

"My dear captain," he said, in slow, measured tones, as he adjusted his eyeglass, "I cannot agree with you. Africa has passed through many changes of late years. These men will surely be heard from again, and may even be freed eventually."

"Yes, yes, you are right, doctor; your views are eminently sound," said Lieutenant Carl von Leyden.

Captain Becker removed his meerschaum from his lips, and shook himself in his chair until his sword clanked on the floor.

"Now listen," he cried. "These men of whom we speak, the governor of Zaila, the English colonel, the captain of the Aden steamer, and the other two unfortunate Englishmen, not one of these men will ever come out of Africa alive, I will wager a hundred thalers."

"Done!" cried Lieutenant von Leyden.

"Done!" echoed Dr. Goldbeck.

Hardly had the echoes of their voices died away when the sentry wheeled about hastily and said: "Captain, something comes down the river. It has just rounded the bend. It looks too large for a boat."

Captain Becker rushed down below, hurried back with a pair of glasses, and took a long survey.

"It is a raft," he cried, turning to his companions. "Men are lying on it; whether dead or alive I cannot tell. Man a boat at once. The current runs swift, and we will have barely time to reach it."

The boat was ready almost as soon as they reached the ground, and under the steady movement of four pairs of oars they shot swiftly out on the yellow tide of the Juba.

In silence they approached the drifting object, the boat's prow cutting sharply the opposing waves.

Now it was twenty yards away—ten yards—five-yards—then the boat bumped gently on the logs and Dr. Goldbeck boarded the raft, followed quickly by his two companions.

"Meln himmel!" he cried. "What can this mean? Six dead bodies! Horrible! horrible!"

He turned pale for a moment. Then, as his professional instinct asserted itself, he knelt beside the motionless forms, and one by one tore the breast covering away and applied his hand to the heart.

"Ach!" he cried joyfully, rising to his feet, "they still live; there still remains a spark of life! To the shore, quick! lose no time, or all will die!"

A rope was speedily hitched to the raft, and the men began to pull lustily for the bank.

"Captain Becker," exclaimed Lieutenant von Leyden, suddenly smacking his knee, "you are two hundred thalers out of pocket. There lie the lost men now. That is Sir Arthur Ashby with the sandy beard, and the others are no doubt his companions."

"Tausend donner! that is true!" cried the doctor. "You are right, Carl. It is miraculous!"

Captain Becker smiled grimly, but said nothing.

A severe pull of ten minutes brought the raft to the little wharf, and in the strong arms of the German soldiers the rescued men were borne tenderly into the garrison-house and placed on cots that had been made up in readiness for them.

Never did Dr. Goldbeck have a more arduous task, but with medicine chest at his side, and two able assistants to carry out his instructions, he toiled unceasingly for hours.

Then success crowned his efforts, and the patients came slowly back to consciousness. For nearly a week they hovered between life and death, but finally all were pronounced out of danger except Bildad, who was struggling in a high fever.

At first they knew nothing, could remember nothing, but gradually memory returned, and they realized the full measure of their wonderful escape.

Guy was the first to rally, and Sir Arthur was the last, but ten days after their rescue all were able to sit up, and after that they gained strength rapidly.

The marvelous tale of their adventures was discussed over and over with their new friends—for most of the Englishmen could speak German—and from Captain Becker they learned the latest news from Zaila, which was to the effect that the place had been retaken by the English after a brief but desperate struggle. This information had been brought to the station by a German gunboat six weeks before.

Guy was very curious to know how far they had drifted down the Juba before they were rescued, but of course it was impossible to tell.

"It's my opinion," said Captain Becker, "that the exit from that underground river is somewhere in the vicinity of the big falls, fifty miles above here. I have heard that there are caverns along the bank from which the water pours furiously."

"That is probably the place, then," returned Guy, "for the bushes hung so low that they dragged the canoe from the raft and tore the skin from my face. I have a dim recollection of all that, but I remember nothing more."

Guy's companions, however, could not remember even this. The struggle with Bildad was the last tangible recollection. After that all was a blank. Although they had regained a fair share of strength, the awful experiences of the cruise down the underground river had left indelible traces of suffering. Colonel Carrington's hair had turned white, and even Chutney and Forbes had gray locks sprinkled through their dark ones. Their faces were hollow, their bodies lean and emaciated, and, in fact, they were changed beyond all power of recognition. Contrary to expectation, Bildad was now also convalescent.

As soon as their recovery was assured, Captain Becker had very courteously sent to the chief station on the Durnford River, some miles south of the Juba, to obtain, if possible, a steamer; and one morning, four weeks after their arrival at New Potsdam, a noble vessel steamed up the river and anchored before the station.

It was the German steamer Rhine Castle, and was at the disposal of Sir Arthur, who had assumed the expense of chartering it on behalf of his government.

The commander of the vessel, Captain Wassman, brought a piece of news that made Sir Arthur desperately anxious to get back to Zaila, and very considerably stirred up the rest of the party.

A certain Portuguese, he said, was in high favor at Zaila on account of services rendered in retaking the town from the Arabs and Somalis, and it was rumored that the government intended to bestow upon him an influential post.

"That must be Manuel Torres," remarked Sir Arthur to Chutney. "Bless me, we'll make it hot for the scoundrel!"

With many regrets they parted from Captain Becker and his friends, and a few hours after the German flag on the garrison house faded from view the Rhine Castle was beating swiftly up the eastern coast of Africa on her two-thousand-mile trip.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

CONCLUSION.

On a warm, sultry evening in the latter part of May the Arabs and Somalis who hovered about the outskirts of Zaila, keeping well out of reach of the newly-erected fortifications which bristled with guns and British soldiery, heard the sweet strains of "Rule Britannia" and "God Save the Queen" floating over the desert.

It was the regimental band of the Ninth Lancers playing in the square of the town on the occasion of the installation of the new governor of Zaila—Colonel Conyers Gordon.

It was Colonel Gordon who had conducted the assault on the town some weeks previous, and in recognition of his valor—for the enemy had made a desperate stand—he was now the newly commissioned governor.

The official documents had arrived that day, and the town was en fete, if we may use the expression; for, in addition to the native population and the soldiery, a number of visitors had come across from Aden to do honor to the brave commandant.

As the band ceased playing, Colonel Gordon appeared on the steps of the residency and briefly addressed the expectant people in a few well-chosen words.

"The tragedy of a few months ago," he concluded, "is still fresh in our minds. I had the honor to know Sir Arthur Ashby, an honor which many of you likewise enjoyed, and the sad fate of that brave man and his companions comes vividly to our minds tonight. I trust that I shall be enabled to discharge the duties of my office with the same unswerving fidelity."

Colonel Gordon sat down, and the band played "Rule Britannia."

At that moment the Rhine Castle was dropping anchor in the harbor.

As the band ceased Colonel Gordon rose again, and the people instantly became quiet. By his side was a short, thickset man with dark, sallow features.

"I beg to call your attention," began the colonel, "to one who has played an important part in our recent struggle—Mr. Manuel Torres, a Portuguese, of whom I can say nothing better than that he deserves to be an Englishman. At the risk of his own life he tried to save Sir Arthur Ashby, and after suffering much at the hands of the enemy, he finally escaped in time to do us valuable service in retaking the town. As a recognition of his aid, I propose to appoint him Assistant Political Resident."

Mr. Torres bowed profoundly, and as the people evinced a decided desire to hear from him, he cleared his throat and began to speak in sleek, oily tones.

He related, with many gestures, a thrilling tale of his captivity among the Arabs, the desperate attempts he had made to save Sir Arthur and the Englishmen from slavery, and how finally he had effected his own marvelous escape.

At this point a sudden commotion on the outskirts of the crowd temporarily interrupted the speaker.

"It grieves me deeply," he went on, "to reflect on the sad destiny of my dear friend, Sir Arthur Ashby, and of those brave men, for whom I had the highest honor and regard. I risked my life to save them. I interceded with the Arab leader, Makar Makalo, but in vain. He was obdurate. To bring them back from slavery I would willingly lay down my life this minute. I would gladly——"

What else Mr. Manuel Torres was willing to do no one ever knew or will know. He ceased speaking abruptly, and his sallow face assumed a ghastly look.

Through the opening ranks of the people advanced a group of pale and haggard men, led by a ghastly figure with sandy side whiskers in a faded uniform that hung about his shrunken limbs.

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed this odd-looking stranger. "It's that rascally Portuguese, Manuel Torres!"

A great silence fell on the people. For one second the Portuguese trembled like a leaf, then he turned and bolted through the residency door, shoving Colonel Gordon roughly aside in his mad haste.

"Stop him! Stop him!" roared the stranger. "A thousand pounds to the man who takes him alive. He's the ringleader of the insurrection!"

Colonel Gordon hurried down the steps in bewildered amazement.

"What does this mean?" he demanded. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" shouted he of the sandy whiskers. "Why, blast your impudence, I'm Sir Arthur Ashby, the governor of Zaila. Who the deuce are you?"

The scene that followed baffles all description. The air rang with frenzied shouts and cheers, soldiers, natives, and visitors surged madly round the little band, and the musicians, quick to grasp the situation, struck up the inspiring strains of "Lo, the Conquering Hero Comes!"

Sir Arthur shook himself loose from the embrace of his enthusiastic friends.

"The Portuguese!" he roared. "The rascal will escape. Pursue him! Capture him!"

Now the people comprehended for the first time. A furious rush was made for the residency, the door was jammed in an instant with a struggling crowd of troops and civilians, and then they swept on through the broad hallway in pursuit of the wretched fugitive.

In five minutes the town was in an indescribable uproar. The vessels in the harbor fired showers of rockets, and the alarm guns boomed hoarsely from the fortifications.

Manuel Torres, however, overthrown at the very moment of his greatest triumph, made good his escape. He bolted through the back door of the residency, evaded the sentries at the town wall, and fled to the desert.

That same night, after a sumptuous repast, Guy Chutney, at Sir Arthur's request, modestly related the story of their adventures to the most interested audience that ever graced the walls of the residency. A breathless silence greeted the speaker as he showed the damnable proofs of Manuel Torres' guilt and treachery, and described with thrilling effect the awful journey through the bowels of the earth. When he concluded the tale that made him a hero in spite of himself, a burst of applause fairly made the residency tremble.

Then Sir Arthur rose to his feet.

"Gentlemen," he said, in a voice which quivered with emotion, "I deem this to be a fitting time to express my—to express our—admiration of my young countryman. All my comrades. I am glad to say, displayed a heroism, during our days of trial and suffering, which has never been surpassed by any men in any clime. But, if one man is worthy of special mention for cool bravery, for dogged perseverance, for unflinching, unwavering fortitude and unselfishness, that man is Guy Chutney. Gentlemen," he continued, raising his glass, "I ask you to drink with me to the health of the bravest man I ever met—Guy Chutney."

Again a frantic outburst of applause shook the building, and the toast was drunk with indescribable enthusiasm. But Guy strove to make himself heard above the uproar.

"It is unfair," he said earnestly, when quiet had been partially restored, "of Sir Arthur to credit me with what I am aware is far more than my just due. Truthfully, it should be said that no one of us surpassed his fellows in displaying the qualities Sir Arthur has just enumerated. Such an experience is enough for a lifetime, but if I am ever again called upon to face such perils as we encountered while under Africa, may God grant that I have for comrades such true-hearted, loyal friends as these."

Carrington, Forbes, and Canaris each spoke briefly in turn; and Bildad, under the undue excitement of some wine he had managed to secure, attempted to perform a Galla war-dance on the table, and was promptly relegated to the guard-house to sober up.

At midnight a steamer left Zaila for Aden with the glad news, and twenty-four hours later the streets of London were blocked with crowds of people reading the amazing telegram that the newspapers had posted on their bulletin boards.

Colonel Conyers Gordon, of course, was not governor of Zaila at all, and though it must have been a sore disappointment to the brave old soldier, he readily and gladly installed Sir Arthur in the residency and assumed his former command of the troops.

Sir Arthur, However, had very different views. "Do you mean to say, Gordon," he demanded, "that the government actually gave me up for lost, and had no intention of sending an expedition after me at all?"

Colonel Gordon hesitatingly admitted that such was the case.

"Then," cried Sir Arthur, "I wash my hands of such a government. I will go home to England, and may the infernal Arabs hang, draw, and quarter me if I ever set foot on African soil again."

"I trust, Sir Arthur," argued Colonel Gordon, "you will not act hastily in this matter. You will admit that the government was somewhat justified in believing your case a hopeless one. The fate of you and your brave companions was thought by everybody to have been nothing short of death. I am sure, had the authorities had the slightest idea that you were living, an expedition would have been sent out. No stone would have been left unturned to rescue you."

"Well," said Sir Arthur, somewhat mollified, "I cannot deny that things pointed to our demise. We expected to see you again as little as you expected to see us, probably."

"I am glad," said Colonel Gordon, "that you have decided to take a more reasonable view of the matter. Will you not reconsider your determination of resigning your post? Let no consideration for me stop you, I beg of you. I should, of course, be glad to accept the position, but yours is undoubtedly the prior right, and your previous experience has amply proven your ability."

"Colonel," Sir Arthur replied solemnly, "I'm going back to England. I'm sick of Africa. I've had a little more than a genteel sufficiency during the past few months, and I'm pining for a sight of dear old England. I'm going home."

Sir Arthur kept his word. On the same day he mailed his resignation, and handed the reins of office to Colonel Gordon.

After careful consideration, Colonel Carrington decided to accept the post of Assistant Political Resident that Gordon offered him, subject, of course, to the wishes of the Foreign Office.

Chutney had at first intended going on to India, but letters from home informing him of the serious illness of his brother decided his return to England, and he sailed from Aden a week later, in company with Sir Arthur and Melton Forbes, who had been recalled by his paper as soon as they learned of his wonderful journey.

Canaris accompanied them as far as Port Said, where he changed to a vessel bound for Rhodes. He was eager to see Greece after his long captivity among the Somalis, and at last accounts he was the proprietor of a celebrated cafe at Athens, having inherited a tidy sum of money from a deceased relative.

Bildad expressed a desire to go back to the Galla country, and Colonel Gordon finally succeeded in obtaining safe passage for him with a caravan bound for the interior.

Manuel Torres met the fate his treachery duly merited. Two days after his escape from Zaila he fell into the hands of a party of prowling Arabs, and was conveyed by them to Makar Makolo, who determined that he should receive fitting punishment for his renegade conduct. Accordingly he sent him under strong escort to Harar, and Rao Khan very obligingly carried out his friend Makar's wishes by cooking the wretched Portuguese in a caldron of boiling oil.

A remarkable thing occurred in the fourth month of Governor Gordon's rulership at Zaila.

A bronzed Englishman arrived one day with a caravan from the interior.

He was speedily recognized as Captain Waller, and he told a strange story of his adventures.

Mombagolo, the burman, who, in company with the captain and the Hindoos, had been taken into slavery by a tribe of Gallas who dwelt far to the west, had been chosen chief of this tribe on the death of its king, probably on account of his stature and strength.

His first royal act was to effect the deliverance of Captain Waller by sending him to the coast. The Hindoos had chosen to remain where they were. Captain Waller eventually returned to England, and Forbes was deeply grieved to learn that he would never see Momba again, though it was some consolation to know that, instead of a slave, he was an African monarch.

Guy reached England barely in time to see his brother before he died. As Sir Lucius Chutney was unmarried, Guy succeeded to the titles and estates.

As a landed proprietor, his duties very plainly lay at home, so he resigned his commission and settled down on the Hampshire estate.

He spends much of his time in London. He and Sir Arthur Ashby are members of the same club, and the two baronets invariably dine together.

"Chutney," Sir Arthur said one day, as he lit his cigar after dinner, "have you ever felt any desire to leave England and resume an adventurous life?"

Chutney puffed a moment in silence.

"Sometimes," he said finally. "Sometimes I feel as though I should enjoy laying aside home comforts, and, gun in hand, enter the trackless forests once more. Somehow civilization palls on a man after years of campaigning. Don't you find it so, Ashby?"

"That," replied Sir Arthur, "is just what I was getting at. Generally I feel a placid contentment with things in general, but once in a while a sort of fever stirs my blood, and I long to get out and rough it somewhere. I tell you, a wild life has a certain charm about it that dies out reluctantly when the fever once gets into a man's blood. Some day I really believe I'll return to Africa, or some other wild land, for big game. I should enjoy it."

Chutney grasped his hand.

"When you do, old fellow, I'm with you," he said. But so far they have not decided on any definite arrangements. They talk it over frequently, but continue to dine at the club.

Sometimes Forbes drops in, and then from soup to the wine the conversation is sure to cling with unwavering fidelity to that topic of deepest interest—the strange and thrilling things that befell them when they were under Africa.

THE END.

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Transcriber's Notes

1. This text appeared under several titles: * as "Under Africa; or, The Strange Manuscript of the White Slave" The Argosy No. 398-411, 19 Jul-18 Oct, 1890 * as "The River of Darkness." The Argosy, May-Nov, 1897 * as "The Underground River. A Tale of Wonderful Adventure in Africa," n.d. (c. 1900). London: James Henderson, "Budget" Story Books No. 603. * as "The River of Darkness; or, Under Africa" Chicago: Thompson and Thomas, 1902 * as "Guy in the Jungle; or, A Boy's Adventure in the Wilds of Africa," Chicago: M.A. Donohue & Co., n.d. (c. 1903) 2. This etext derived from 1902 Thompson and Thomas edition. 3. Table of Contents was not present in original edition. 4. Corrections to the text: p. 36: acident -> accident (delayed by an accident) p. 42: demnostration -> demonstration (hostile demonstration) p. 46: appearedover -> appeared over (suddenly appeared over the sand-hills) p. 55: layind -> laying (laying hold of Sir Arthur) p. 106: "out of reach of these fiends, ages." -> "out of reach of these fiends." p. 113: Arican -> African (The African sun) p. 134: "Must we starve then" -> "Must we starve then?" p. 141: "it seffect" -> "its effect" (declaration had its effect) p. 220: canoe -> raft (raft drifted on through the gloom) p. 226: huried -> hurried (hurried off at once.)

THE END