The rest was easy. In five minutes the blacks had crawled across, with many fearful glances at the upturned snouts of the huge reptiles below; and Don, treading the springy length of plank with sure foot, had transferred muskets and cutlasses to what he mentally termed “Jack's side” of the chasm. They were now ready for a fresh start.
All this time Bosin had watched their movements with an expression of mingled shrewdness and approval in his restless eyes that seemed to say: “Ha! the very thing I'd do myself were I in the fix you're in.” Again he took the lead, like one who had travelled the road before, and was quite satisfied in his own mind that he knew all its little ins and outs.
His knowledge of the way became more apparent still when, after penetrating the heart of the rock for some distance, the tunnel split into three distinct branches. This point Don hesitated to pass; but not so Bosin. Without a pause he took the passage to the right, glancing back as if to assure himself that he was followed. Off this gallery others opened, until it became evident that, as the captain had once affirmed, the rock was honeycombed “from maindeck to keelson.” But for the monkey's guidance Don must have found himself utterly at a loss amid so perplexing a labyrinth. As it was, he pressed forward with confidence.
Danger of discovery, owing to the multiplicity of passages, now increased momentarily. Any of these ghostly corridors might afford concealment to an enemy who, warned of danger by the muffled echo of approaching steps, might steal away, silently and unobserved, and so raise the alarm. Though still in his stocking feet, Don instinctively found himself treading on tip-toe, while the bare-footed blacks—who were even less inclined for a brush with the enemy than he—purposely did the same. Even then their movements, well-nigh noiseless though they were, caused commotion amongst the bats that clung in patches of living fungi to the vaulted roof, and sent them wheeling hither and thither in swift, startled flight.
To succeed in finding his chum, and to liberate him ere discovery came, was almost more than Don dared hope for. For come it must, sooner or later. Only, once Jack was by his side, he cared little how soon or in what manner it came. True, the natives possessed the seeming advantage of overwhelming numbers; but in these rock corridors the nozzle of a single musket was better than a hundred men.
To do him justice, he had thrust the pearls entirely out of his thoughts in his eagerness to set Jack at liberty. “Time enough to think about the pearls afterwards,” he said to himself—forgetting that “afterwards” was at the best but a blind alley, full of unknown pitfalls.
They were now well into the heart of the Elephant Bock, where any moment might bring them face to face with Jack or his captors, or both.
At this point the monkey, who was some yards in advance, suddenly stopped and uttered a peculiar hissing sound. Once before—when, on the rock platform, Bosin had given warning of the approach of the canoes—had Don heard that hiss. There was no mistaking its significance. He motioned to the blacks to halt, and with stealthy tread crept forward alone.
Just ahead a sharp bend in the passage limited his view to a few yards of indifferently lighted wall. Hugging the inner side of this bend, he presently gained the jutting shoulder of rock which formed the dividing line between the vista of gallery behind and that ahead, and from this point of vantage peered cautiously round the projection in search of the cause of Bosin's alarm.
This was not far to seek. Immediately beyond the bend the passage expanded into a sort of vestibule, communicating, by means of a lofty portal, with a spacious, well-lighted chamber. It was not this discovery, however, that riveted his gaze, but a dusky figure crouched on the floor of the vestibule—the figure of a native, reclining on a mat, with his back to the spot where Don stood. By his side lay a sword of curious workmanship, and a huge conch-shell, the pearly pink of its inner surface contrasting strangely with the native's coffee-coloured skin. The weapon and the shell told their own tale: the native was doing “sentry-go.”
Over what or whom? With swift glance Don scanned every nook and corner of the vestibule, and as much of the interior chamber as lay within range of his vision. So far as he could see both were empty, barring only the dusky sentinel. Then he fancied he heard the faint clanking of a chain, though from what direction the sound proceeded it was impossible to determine. Listening with bated breath, he heard it again, and now it seemed to come from the larger chamber. His pulses thrilled, and a determined light shone in his eyes as he turned them once more upon the sentinel.
“I'll jolly soon fix you, old chap,” he said to himself; and noiselessly clubbing the musket he carried, he prepared to advance.
But for the monkey's vigilance he must have come upon the recumbent guard without the slightest warning, for not more than ten paces separated the shoulder of rock—Don's post of observation—from the mat on which the native reclined.
To fire upon him was out of the question, since that would fulfil the very purpose for which he, with his conch-shell trumpet, was stationed there—namely, to send a thousand wild echoes hurtling through chamber and galleries, and so apprise his comrades of impending danger. Moreover, Don had a wholesome horror of bloodshed, which at most times effectually held his trigger finger in check.
A swift, sure blow—that would be the best means of keeping the native's lips from the nozzle of his conch-trumpet. A blow—ay, there was the-rub! For, though the native's back was towards-him, the space by which they two were divided must be crossed; and these walls, dumb as they looked, had hidden tongues, which would echo and re-echo the faintest sound. Could he, then, get near enough to strike?
Inch by inch he crept towards the unconscious sentinel, slowly raising the butt of the musket as he advanced. So intense was the suspense of those few brief moments that he hardly breathed. It seemed as if the very beating of his heart must reach the native's ears. Inch by inch, foot by foot, until——
0213
The native turned his head; but before he could spring to his feet, or even utter a cry, the musket crashed upon his shaven pate, and he rolled over on his side without a sound.
Don did not stop to ascertain the extent of his injuries. Neither did he summon the blacks. Again the clanking of chains rang in his ears, and at a bound he crossed the threshold of the larger chamber, An unkempt human figure started up in the far corner.
“Jack!”
“And is it really you, old fellow?” cried Jack joyfully. “Give us your hand; and how did you find your way here, I want to know?”
“You have Bosin to thank for that,” replied Don, returning his chum's' grip with interest. “When I saw your handkerchief——”
“Ah, the monkey stole it, then! I missed it, don't you know, but never imagined that Bosin took it, though he paid me a visit early this morning. Well, he did me a good turn that time, anyhow.”
“And a better one when he led us back here. But,” continued Don in hurried, suppressed tones, “don't let us waste time palavering, Jack. There's not a moment to lose. I've done for old conchy yonder—knocked him on the head—but the rest may swoop down on us any minute. Say, how are you tethered?”
“Leg,” said Jack laconically, rattling a chain which secured him to the wall. “Stop!”—as Don unslung his cutlass with the intention of hacking at the links—“I'll show you a trick worth two of that. You see that ring-bolt the chain's fastened to? Well, it's set in lead—not very securely as it happens—and I've managed to work it so loose that I fancy a good hard tug ought to bring it away. Meant to make off on my own account, you see, if you hadn't turned up, old fellow. But lay hold and let's have a pull for it, anyhow.”
“Quick, then!” said Don. “I thought I heard footsteps.”
Throwing their combined weight upon the chain, they pulled for dear life. The ring-bolt yielded little by little, and presently came away from its setting bodily, like an ancient tooth, and Jack was free. The chain, it is true, was still attached to his leg; but as it encircled only one ankle, this did not so much matter.
“Don't let it rattle,” said Don breathlessly, “I'm positive I heard footsteps. And here, take this,” thrusting the cutlass into Jack's disengaged hand. “Now, come on!”
Barely had he uttered the words when a hollow, prolonged blast, like that of a gigantic trumpet with a cold in its throat, filled the chamber with deafening clamour. And as the echoes leapt from wall to wall, and buffeted each other into silence, another sound succeeded them, faint and far away, but swelling momentarily into ominous loudness and nearness.
Don clutched his companion's arm.
“The fellow I knocked on the head—he's come to!” he said thickly. “That was the blast of his conch; and this”—pausing with uplifted hand and bated breath until that other sound broke clearly on their ears—“this is the tread of heaven only knows how many native feet. Jack, we're discovered!”
