In one of them a jagged hole, five or six feet in circumference, had been broken at the base. Joseph, with his furry pet under his arm, went to investigate it.
A moment later there came a shout from him that brought Wellesley running. "What's the matter?"
"Omur went up the pipe," Joseph said, "but you can get him." There were tears in his eyes. Beseeching tears.
"We'll see," said Lieutenant Wellesley brusquely. He put his head inside the pipe. A tiny circle of light far above him showed at what an awesome height was the upper rim. The inner surface, however, was very rough, and there were plenty of holds for hands and feet. He could not see Omur; only the circle of light, and around it, blackness. Suppose the damned thing bit him when he tried to rescue it! A faint, moaning sound emanated from the vast funnel, doubtless from the updraft.
He found a place for his foot; drew himself up a step; then another. Joseph's white face was staring up at him from below. And suddenly the circle of light was blotted out!
There was a rustling sound like dry leaves in the wind, and a sudden, sharp pain in his temple. Then another at the base of his neck. He fell back and sprang out into the open. The aperture, in an instant, was full of small, needle-like fluttering things.
"Stingbats!" Joseph screamed. "Run!"
Wellesley fled after him, but he was already beginning to feel a sick, draining weakness. Within a few steps his legs had become rubbery. Joseph was out of sight. Perhaps gone for help. But then Joseph did not know that he had been stung.
After a while he came to a small, black pond in his path. He had gotten off the trail. He sank down, there, beneath a fern tree, cursing.