He moved the tiny lever that permitted the water to leak drop by drop over the lumps of carbide to form the acetylene gas which burned with a clear white light until water or carbide—or both—were exhausted and the gas ceased to form, but the flame still burned feebly and threatened to go out altogether.
Abington glanced at his watch and gave a low whistle. No wonder the lamp was going out! His watch said that the hour was eleven thirty-five, though he would have sworn it was crazy if the lamp had not begun to fail.
He must have been prowling in there for three or four hours. That was as long as the lamp would burn with one filling of water. The previous evening he had wanted to make sure of a steady light in case they were disturbed during the night and he had put in fresh carbide and filled the small tank with water just before going to bed.
“Damned idiot! Brought the carbide can along, and no extra water!” he anathematized his carelessness.
After all, he was not so culpable, however, for he had intended to use the lamp for only a few minutes, to study the carvings on the cave roof. The can of carbide, lying beside the lamp, had gone into his pocket from force of habit, a good habit, too. If only he had slipped the quart canteen over his shoulder! But Abington’s work had taught him to manage comfortably with very little water and who would burden himself with a canteen when he was merely going to climb fifteen or twenty feet?
He shut off the lamp entirely, since it was folly to waste the flame while he sat there thinking over the unpleasant predicament in which his scientific zeal had led him. That little cat claw of light might serve to help him over a bad place, he reflected. As he sat there, he could recall several places which he would not care to negotiate in the dark. Furthermore, there had been trickles of water in some of the passages and one cavern held a pool.
It occurred to him that Bill would probably be worried. It was the first time he had thought of Bill since he started this strange underground journey. He remembered now that he had not seen Bill in the cave when he left it that morning. “He’ll think the gosh-awful got me in the night!” Abington grinned to himself.
Abington hated to go back without having discovered the secret of these writings, but common sense told him that the thorough exploration of this place was likely to take some little time. The problem now was to find his way back to the cave. He had little doubt that he could retrace his steps, though he realized that it would take some time, feeling his way along in the dark, as he would be compelled to do unless he found water.
He stood up, stooping under the low roof, and stared unseeingly into the blackness whence he had come, trying to recall the nearest point where he could find water. It was some little distance back, he knew. He had been climbing considerably in the last half hour or more and the walls were dry.