On these he quickly satisfied his hunger, pausing only for a few moments, then pressed forward at the utmost speed of the elk upon the trail of the savages.
Never once were the hounds at fault in the course of the chase. The magnificent brutes were as certain of the trail as though the wolf-men had been within sight all the time. Past cavern after cavern in the hills they swept, Seymour exhilarating in the mad gallop. His mail was not the easiest of riding suits, yet he was gradually becoming used to it, and the prospect of a scrimmage with the savages in the near future filled him with a wild delight. He even went so far as to break into the first few bars of an old hunting song, but checked himself as he realised the folly of thus advertising his presence.
Suddenly the hounds stopped before a great double gateway of stone, set in the face of the cliff, and began to scratch furiously at its base.
“Quiet, you brutes!” Seymour cried, dismounting; repeating his command in Ayuti as he saw that the hounds did not understand his English words, whereat they immediately ceased their efforts.
“No chance here,” he said to himself, examining the gates. “I must go round the back way, I suppose.”
With some difficulty he got the hounds to leave the neighbourhood of the gateway, and pushed on towards the gully, through which he and Haverly had passed to the rescue of Mervyn. Here he left his animals, and plunged into the tunnel, the light from his jewel enabling him to make rapid progress. Soon he stood once more upon the ledge above the den of Rahee, gazing down into the temple which he had hoped never to look upon again.
Removing his mail hose that he might descend the more easily, he slung them around his neck, and scrambled over the brink down to the enclosure. Thankful he was to see that the bars had been lowered over the mouth of the spider’s cave, that Rahee was again a prisoner.
As he crossed the den the hideous brute leapt forward, his remaining eye glaring ferociously. Furiously he gnashed his great jaws, and shook the metal rods which imprisoned him; but they defied even his great strength.
“Steady, you devil!” cried the baronet, as he drew on his hose; then shook his axe menacingly towards the spider.
The action only increased the diabolical creature’s rage, and he reared to his full height against the barrier in his mad but futile efforts to reach his foe. But Seymour’s mission was of too great importance for him to waste time over the sacred beast. Leaving him to rattle the bars at his leisure, he threw open the gate of the enclosure, and passed into the amphitheatre. Across this he strode boldly, axe and shield in hand, the bundle of weapons intended for the use of his friends being slung at his back.