The next morning we began the climb of the low range, following a little valley we slowly ascended until we came to where it flattened out; we had reached the top. In front and below stretched a panorama of broken country, low hills alternating everywhere with plains, but the astonishing thing was that the whole country sloped downwards. As far as the eye could reach the hills continued.
"The whole land seems to have sunk," said Tom. "That hill on the horizon line must be thousands of feet below us."
I took out my field glasses and focused them on the horizon line.
"I can't see any sign of the lake," I said as I handed them to the Doctor.
"I don't suppose you can," he remarked, "if that diary is correct it's one hundred and fifty miles from here."
All day we traveled carefully, warily, expecting every moment to have to defend our lives against some hidden peril, but nothing out of the ordinary occurred. During the past weeks we had often discussed the fate of the men who had preceded us into this land, but the subject was baffling, as we had no clue as to the manner of their death.
Now that we had actually seen the country spread out before us, a feeling of vague alarm had taken hold of us—none of us could explain why. The country looked so very peaceful, but I could not help thinking of a story I had read, where ants the size of rats and of unparalleled ferocity inhabited a tract of barren rolling country somewhere on the borders of Afghanistan, and devoured all that came in their path. No animals could escape as they could run with incredible swiftness; consequently the country was entirely denuded of game. I told this tale to my companions, and though they appeared to treat it as a joke, I noticed that their watchfulness increased.
Sometimes we climbed the rounded hills, at others we descended their farther slopes, but always the descent was longer than the ascent. Towards the end of the second day we noticed a distinct change in the temperature. The country was getting warmer, vegetation too, began to increase, scattered pine, tamarack and birch trees became more numerous and game became abundant, (thus exploding the ant theory). Rabbits in particular seemed to overrun the whole country, while deer were quite plentiful. But the face of the country was undergoing a steady change, woods were appearing, taking the place of scattered trees, alder and ash also became abundant and finally I noticed a stunted elm.
"I say, by Jove, this is interesting," said Tom. "See the squirrels and small birds. Why, the country is simply crawling with game."
Being interested in forestry I found this change in forest conditions fascinating in the extreme. The country was, in fact, a paradise; nothing untoward had yet happened, and all sense of approaching disaster seemed to have vanished. The very air seemed clearer. In fact, we acted as if the danger were behind, rather than in front of us; unless the diary lied.
That night we camped by a small stream, and rising early the next morning, had been on the march for a couple of hours when Tom suddenly stopped.
"Do you fellows notice anything?"
We stood still and listened.
"I can't say I hear anything," said I.
"Nor I," said the Doctor.
"That's it," Tom replied. "There's nothing to hear; the game's gone. I haven't seen a rabbit or heard a bird for the last hour." We looked at each other.
"That's true," I said. "I wonder what's the trouble."
We looked carefully on every side; the country seemed the same.
"Nothing's changed from yesterday," said Tom finally.
"The trees are larger," I remarked.
"And there seem to be more creepers," added the Doctor.
"There's something queer about this," sputtered Tom. "Keep your rifles ready."
At noon we stopped in a little grassy clearing.
"Look, there's a rabbit!" I cried. "See the way it's running; something's chasing it."
We sprang to our feet, seizing our rifles. The creature tore past us without even noticing our presence, squealing as if in the most mortal terror, and disappeared in the opposite direction. Then all was still again. Not a sound broke the stillness.
"I don't know," said the Doctor. "I feel as if something were watching us."
"Yes, I feel that same way," said Tom, "but it's only natural. Fear is catching, even a rabbit’s. It was probably only a weasel."
We agreed heartily, too heartily perhaps.
"Let's be moving," I suggested.
Before us the forest appeared much thicker, and the trees much larger, and I pointed out some oak and beech, as well as a few very large elms. The temperature was almost oppressively hot.
That night when we camped we chose an open space and lit a large fire, taking turns to keep watch, but nothing tangible occurred. The night was oppressively still, yet all through the night there were vague sounds of rustling and faint whisperings, now louder, now fainter; that was all. There was an uncanny strangeness about it which made us distinctly uneasy.
The next morning we talked it over, and the Doctor's opinion was that if at any time we were out at night, it would be a good plan to carry torches. This suggestion met with approval, so we spent an hour before starting out in making a few for each of us, and fastened them to our pack sacks.
All next day the temperature kept rising, and as we progressed, the vegetation became more and more tropical. We were now progressing in single file along a trail, made in all probability by the ill fated party which had preceded us, as the forest growth had not yet had time to obliterate the recent traces of man's handiwork.
As night approached we began to look around for an open clearing, for the prospect of spending the night in the thick undergrowth among these giant trees in the presence of an unknown peril, was far from reassuring. To make matters worse the ground was becoming swampy; little stagnant pools and rotting vegetation appeared on every side, making the going more and more difficult.
Suddenly Tom, who was leading, stopped and remarked:
"It's no use going on. This may get worse and worse instead of better, and we can't camp here, so I think we'd better go back to the last clearing we passed. How far do you think it is, Doc?"
"Two miles, I should think."
"All right then, about turn and we'll have to hurry. The sun's just setting."
The darkness came on quickly, the great trees shutting out the afterglow, and we were soon straggling along in a very uneven manner, the Doctor now leading, and Tom bringing up the rear. The uneasy feeling of the previous night began to take hold of us and at the same time our resolution about torches flashed into my mind. Without a moment's pause I stopped and calling to the others, pulled out a torch and lit it. The others did the same.
"That's better." said Tom. "Now we can at least see where we're going."
But the flare and flicker of the smoky torches only seemed to accentuate the
