“He would not permit it, Maurice. He came up at Walla’s feet, but he would not let me wake you. Said you had been made to sleep soundly on purpose, as he needed all the power he could gather to lay the bridge.”
“But how did he do it?”
“Don’t ask me. I was not allowed to witness the operation. All I can tell you is that he went across that cañon as though it was solid rock.”
“Pooh! That’s nothing. They do that floating in the air business right along, on Mars. All it requires is perfect faith; but about my affairs—did he leave any message for me, George?”
“He left his kindest regards. He told me that all had been arranged for your relief.”
“But how? Did he say?”
“Upon that point he was indefinite.”
“Confound his indefiniteness. I want—hold on! The Doctor is waking up.”
He was right. At that moment Philpot’s eyes opened; he stared stupidly, first at me, then at Maurice, then at the rift; springing up at last with a cry of surprise.
“Gad! The bridge! Padma has returned! We are saved!” And without waiting for me to answer he started across the rift.
“Selfish pig!” muttered Maurice in a tone of disgust.
I watched him breathlessly. Secretly I rejoiced that I had not been called upon to be the first, for the bridge was but a shaky affair at best, being simply long strips of hide laid close together with cross strips plaited in. There was no guard of any kind, not even a rope.
It creaked horribly as the Doctor trod upon it; worse still it took to swaying. I turned away in terror, expecting to see him dashed into the abyss.
“He can never do it,” I murmured, when a shout told me that he was safely on the other side.
Then I opened my batteries upon him, upbraiding him for his selfish act.
“Hush! Hush,” whispered Maurice. “For heaven’s sake control yourself, George! Will it pay for us to get up a quarrel at a time like this?”
“Can’t help it, Wylde,” called the Doctor coolly. “If I had thought twice I shouldn’t have done it, but I acted on
