“I guess the old Seal’s fairly trapped,” remarked Silas gloomily; “it would ha’ been better if the plaguey cliff had buried us all, ’stead of shuttin’ us up in this hole.”
As he spoke, Wilson came upstairs.
“You’d better come down, Garth,” the engineer said; “there’s a bad smash astern, and I can’t manage it myself.”
Glad of aught to relieve the awful depression which had succeeded the excitement of the race through the gorge, the inventor followed his friend below, to do what he could towards patching up the damage.
“It’s a terrible outlook,” Mervyn muttered, “to be fastened up here until our provisions give out, and then—death by starvation.”
“A terrible outlook indeed,” granted Seymour. “It’s maddening to think that we have escaped all the perils of the underworld, only to be hopelessly imprisoned in this rocky basin.”
“Say, what’s this steam mean?” asked Haverly, who stood with face pressed to the glass. A mist-like vapour had commenced to rise from the surface of the gyrating water, growing denser in volume each moment, until the walls of the basin were almost hidden.
“Trouble again, I reckon,” the American continued; “I guess we’ve struck little else this trip, so far.”
“Some volcanic disturbance,” exclaimed Mervyn. “I——” The words died on his lips in a gasp, as a fresh development forced itself upon his notice. The water in the basin was rising!
“Wal, that licks all!” cried Silas, as he too became aware of this new movement; “not content with pluggin’ us up here, it’s goin’ to jam us up against the roof.”