lization and I was commenting to young Anderson on the likelihood of our escape from the pursuit of de Silva when I caught a look in Hardy's eyes.
"Oh, pshaw!" I exclaimed later, sightly nettled. "You are pessimistic, Hardy. Had de Silva been after us we should surely have heard from him before this."
"No. That isn’t so," retorted Hardy. "Our leaving the river has deceived him, I am satisfied that he planned an ambush farther along the stream. In a short time he'll discover we have given him the slip. Then he'll be after us."
"And just why, Hardy," I demanded, "is this insane Spaniard following us?"
Hardy's expression was quizzical.
"I have a sort of hunch—that’s all," he returned, non-committally.
The next day one of our Indians was missing, He had been sent back over the trail a mile or so to recover a small rifle that had been lost. Hardy himself and young Anderson made the tiresome hike to the rear to learn if possible the whereabouts of the Indian. Later, when the two rejoined us without the Indian, Hardy did not have anything to say.
Anderson told me afterwards that they had found the Indian curled up at the foot of a tree. He was dead without a mark on him.
Depressing as was this development, our little party found scant time to discuss it. The way had grown much more difficult, for our road persistently ascended. Huge trees now gave place to palms, with thick underbrush growing between. We traveled entirely by compass, but missed Ericson, who had been a navigator and had from time to time "shot the sun" to verify our position.
On the fifth day we encountered a tremendous wilderness of bamboo, which grew so thickly that we could only penetrate it by cutting a pathway with the machetes and bill-hooks of the Indians. It took us a long day, with only two pauses of a half hour each to get clear of this yellow-walled obstacle,
Once free of it, we were glad to throw ourselves down for the first real rest which Hardy was willing that we should take. But it proved to be of short duration, because Anderson, eternally on the move, discovered, less than half a mile away, that another path recently had been cut through the bamboo nearly paralleling ours.
That night we slept behind some slight attempt at a barricade. This protection, consisting of a circle of thorn brush piled three feet high, at least sufficed to keep out a few wailing animals that filled the air with weird noises, and most of us rested the night through without fear.
Next morning I discovered the presence of a soil that was like sand. This was consistent with the dryness of the air, but was disconcerting as I knew that the terrain and climate of the spot whither we were bound was of no such character as that which surrounded us.
It was about this time that young Anderson made a second startling discovery, and one fraught with momentous consequences for our expedition. Our compass was out of order. This defection was serious in the extreme. It meant that we were lost, for there was no knowing how long the instrument had been untrue.
The day went badly. The farther we progressed the more sandy it became. We seemed about to enter upon a great desert, and to make matters worse our Indians showed signs of discontent. Our supply of water was low; still we knew that only a day’s march behind us we has passed a stream of clear water. Study of the maps that night failed to account for any considerable expanse of desert, and it was decided to push boldly across on the chance of later picking up our route.
We waited two days while Zangaree and the half-breeds made the trip back for additional water. Then we started. If our suffering in the past had been great, it now increased a hundredfold. The heat, instead of having that suffocating quality peculiar to humidity, was burning in its intensity; and, to add to our discomfort, Hardy kept us going at top speed.
In this the rest of us felt he was justified, as there could be no doubt that de Silva, with a larger party than ours, was in the general neighborhood, and looking for us. Hour after hour, until four days dragged by, we trudged on late into the night, with the aid of an erratic compass, through that Sahara-like sea of rippling sand.
By the severest rationing of our supply it was estimated that we had less than one day’s water. Our situation was serious. To go back was as deadly as to go on.
And it was at this point that our spirits were sent to low ebb by Zangaree’s astounding discovery that we had doubled in our tracks in the night and for two days had been traveling in a circle!
II
I THINK even young Anderson, for the time being, lost heart at sight of that bit of inanimate evidence—a trifle of card board that had been tossed aside—which drove home the knowledge that we were hopelessly lost.
But not for long was that restless youth depressed, and while Hardy and the rest of us sat in solemn council that evening, he wandered off by himself. Perhaps he had been gone half an hour when we heard him shout:
"Water!"
We ran toward him, and presently came to what might be called a minute oasis. Quickly a spade was brought and work was started at the damp spot located in the center.
In the meantime I studied the environs. A few scrubby bushes grew about, while at one side stood a low triangular column of stones. I discovered that each stone had cut in it a series of cuneiform inscriptions which even the untold years of contact with the eroding sand had failed to eradicate.
Quite idly I had laid my arm on the top when a curious thing happened; half of the upper stone, under the slight weight of my elbow, swung down silently, as if on a ballasted hinge, Then I stared into the interior of the column, which I had supposed solid, and saw, to my amazement, that a narrow stairway led down.
It was the work of only a moment for me to crawl in, and presently, in pitch darkness, I was following the steep stairway. My fingers told me that the sides were firm and well-bricked.
I came shortly to what seemed to be a tunnel, and in this I spent some fifteen minutes, finding the air good and congratulating myself on my successful descent and discovery of the unique underground passage.
I was about to start up again to tell my companions of my strange discovery when there was an explosion. It lifted the helmet from my head and was followed by the rattle of stones and debris that deluged and buffeted and pounded me until I sank under the weight of the impact.
When I regained consciousness I lay in the open air. Anderson was bending over me solicitously.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Here you are—all sound except for a cracked arm."
"What happened?" I asked.
He grinned at me. "Why, we were all helping at the water-hole when Van Dusee missed you. He remembered that you had been standing by the stone column one minute; the next you were gone, absolutely vanished, just as if the earth had opened up and swallowed you."
"Which in fact it had," I said, grimly. "But wasn’t the top open?"
