“I’m coming along,” Bob announced.
“Wish you’d stay here, Buddy. If I have to run for it with some of those people, we might be mighty glad to get off quickly.”
“Well, all right.” Bob slid into the pilot’s seat. “I’ve got a hunch that Martin must be crazy. Wish you had some sort of gun.”
“Second the motion, but I haven’t. I’ll pick up a club.” Austin dropped to the ground, hurried to the edge of the woods, paused long enough to arm himself with a stout club, then leaped on the log and a moment later was hidden from his buddy’s sight as he disappeared into the passage.
“Gosh all hemlock, I’d rather be going along with him than sitting here,” Bob grumbled uneasily as he tried vainly to catch a glimpse of his step-brother. But, except for the swaying of the long vines which partially concealed the entrance, there was no sign that a living soul had entered the terrible passage. Through Caldwell’s mind raced the memory of that awful trip with their arms bound and he felt as if he knew every inch of the route over logs, rocks, traps, streams, holes, snake dens—to Bloody Dam. He gasped, then he shook himself with grim determination. “Nice sort of codfish I’ve developed into—with a back like a jelly fish.”
Caldwell proceeded to upbraid himself roundly for his lack of courage, but the recollection of those white women back there in the settlement, surrounded by grim natives who knew how to read the white man’s clock, and were even now watching the minutes tick away made him shiver apprehensively. When the last one passed, if the boys had not returned with at least some of the women and children, alive and unharmed, the fate of Mrs. Manwell, her kindly husband, the Hardings, and any white men who appeared, was sealed.
“If we do not get there on time they will be sure we sent for the soldiers,” he said softly, and he glanced at the control board, but with an effort managed to restrain himself from looking at the time piece.
He wondered dully what Jim was doing, how far he had gone, and whether he was safe or had fallen a victim to some section of the passage with its numberless pitfalls. Resolutely he searched the sky for a sign of another plane, but saw nothing, although once he thought he heard one. However, he attributed this to his over-wrought imagination. He considered starting the engine to keep it warm, then he remembered that the noise would drown any shouts or instructions Jim might try to call to him. Straining his ears, the boy tried to distinguish some sound, but only the noises of the desolate forest reached him. Not even the song or chirp of a bird relieved the oppressiveness of his surroundings. Cold fear clutched Bob’s heart like great icy fingers, and his teeth chattered, as his brain called up the horror of the position he was in.
He thought again of the white women, waiting tight-lipped for their fate, whatever it might be; he thought of Professor Martin whose stubborness and determination to make the natives obey his orders had brought such difficulties, and this minute threatened the little band he had forced to follow him; then the British officer at the barracks whose wife was in gravest danger; and Jim alone there in the passage.
He shook himself vigorously, stretched his cramped legs, moved from side to side on his seat, and glanced about the spacious cabin which he prayed would soon be filled with the wives and children of the natives. He glanced across the clearing toward the ruin, and wondered what had happened to the Indians they had seen around the place. His eyes sought the tiny pool with its trickling stream moving so quietly one could hardly tell it was there, and wished he dared hop out and drink of its cool water. His throat and lips were dry.