“If we keep to this side of the ridge, and descend these slopes beneath us,” I suggested, “we shall be on the right track.”
Taking the precaution to secure our weapons, we plunged out from our rocky refuge, and under Ned’s guidance began to feel our way down the boulder-strewn face of the hill, keeping as much as possible in a direction opposite to that in which the volcanic fires were raging. There was, of course, no sort of path, and the prevailing gloom made it extremely difficult for us to force our way onward over such a rough country, to say nothing of the stones and mud which continued to fall about us from time to time.
However, our blood was up, and we pushed on strenuously though in silence, hoping every moment that we should get out of that odious rain of volcanic débris. In about ten minutes’ time we succeeded in this, and halted for a minute or two to rest, and recover our breath. The atmosphere being now clearer, we fancied we could detect a somewhat extensive forest beneath us, and determined to make for its sheltering trees as speedily as possible.
There had been no fresh shocks of earthquake, but the volcano seemed by no means to have exhausted itself. A heavy pall of darkness hung in its vicinity, and ever and again explosions seemed to rend the air and to repeat themselves in endless echoing reverberations amid the chasms and rocky ridges of the arid hills.
“Did I hear a shout?” asked Ned suddenly, in an alarmed tone.
Mr. Triggs and I had heard nothing, but I knew well how quick of hearing my coxswain was.
We all listened intently.
“There it is again!” cried Ned; “I believe they’re upon our trail.”
This time my ear caught the sound of a human yell.
A moment later, to my unutterable horror, the baying of a bloodhound became distinctly audible.