Chapter Thirty Seven.
Earth’s Mystery at Work.
Oliver Lane’s hands trembled and then became steady as the fierce-looking rout of nearly nude savages came rushing on. No words were spoken in those few brief moments, but it was an understood thing among them all that they were to hold their fire till the Papuans were close upon their hiding place, and then to draw trigger together, in the full belief, or rather hope, that the volley they would deliver would check the enemy, and the following fire from the second barrels complete their discomfiture.
And so during those moments, as Oliver Lane and his companions watched the on-coming rush—moments which seemed to be drawn-out to quite a reckonable space of time—all waited with levelled piece and finger on trigger for the sudden swerve in amongst them as the savages dashed along the open ground with eyes dilated, teeth gleaming, and a fierce look that betokened little mercy.
But the swerve in amongst the trees never came, no weapons were raised by the on-coming foe, and, to the astonishment of the waiting party, the savages dashed by like a human whirlwind till they were some fifty yards onward toward the sea, when they stopped short and wheeled round to stand looking back as if for the enemy from whom they had fled, while Oliver and his party still crouched there, wondering what was to happen next.
Then came the explanation of the savages’ action. They were fleeing from an enemy, but it was no human foe. Nature was at work once more. There was a peculiar vibration of the earth, a cracking, rending sound, and the earth opened in a jagged rift which ran on steadily toward the enemy, passing the edge of the forest where the friends lay, and starting the Papuans on again in headlong flight toward their canoe. Then came a deep rumbling from the opening, a hot gush of steamy air and a violent report from away in the direction of the volcano, and silence once more deep and profound.
No one spoke for some minutes, as they all strained their ears to catch the returning tramp of the fleeing savages. Then the horror and dread were turned into mirth, perhaps a little hysterical on the part of Oliver and Panton, for Wriggs suddenly rose to his knees, made a derisive gesture with one hand, and then placed it to the side of his mouth and yelled out,—
“Yah! Cowards!”
“Yes, that’s it, Billy,” said Smith, rising to his knees as well, and brushing away some of the insects which were investigating his person. “They were all scared because the mountain grumbled a bit. What would some of the beggars have done if they’d been where we went the other day?”
“Ah, what indeed!” growled Wriggs. “I don’t see as we’ve got much call to be feared o’ such a set as them.”