As the past events became clearer, Alan rose up cautiously, but his head came in contact with the roof of the place he was in. He went on all fours and groped his way round the place. It was very small, perhaps twenty yards in circumference, and perfectly dark. Suddenly his hand touched something, something warm. It was Jez-Riah, and, close beside her lay Desmond. He spoke to them each in turn—shook them, but they showed no sign of having heard him. He listened for their heart beats, but neither showed any sign of life.
The water that had carried them all to this new abode ran near, and Alan dragged the two bodies to the water’s edge. He dipped his hand in the cool liquid and found that it was only an inch or two deep at the most. He made a cup with his hands and dashed the water into his companions’ faces in turn, and at last was rewarded by a heavy sob from Jez-Riah and a groan from Desmond.
“Dez, old man, how are you feeling now? Jez-Riah, are you better?”
So from one to the other he turned, his only thought to bring them back to life and hope.
Suddenly Desmond spoke. “That was a near shave, Lanny.”
“How are you?”
“I feel beastly.”
“Where are we?” suddenly asked Jez-Riah.
“I’ve no idea. The river has either disappeared underground or we’ve been brought up a little side creek and left the main channel itself. There is very little water here—only a few inches at the most and it is running very sluggishly. There is a tunnel to the right up which we must have come, but it is very low; I can hear the sound of swiftly running waters, but I don’t feel strong enough to investigate in the dark.”
“Of course not, Alan,” answered Desmond, and then Jez-Riah said pathetically, “I am hungry, O Ar-lane.”