“How long is this likely to last?” Billy asked in a trembling voice of Ben, as the earth fairly heaved under the convulsions that now seemed to be rending its very crust.
“No telling, mate;” shouted Ben, with his mouth at Billy’s ear, “it may last an hour or a day—or not more’n five minutes more. Holy Moses——!”
The abrupt exclamation was called forth by an extraordinary sight.
From the Treasure Cliff, as the boys had christened it—there suddenly shot upward a tall pillar of flame, which died down again as abruptly. A sulphurous reek filled the air at the same moment.
Ben seized Billy by the arm with a grip that pained.
“Come on; run for your life—” he shouted—“the whole blame mountain’s going.”
“Where are we to go?” gasped Billy, who shrank from the idea of the forest; where trees were crashing down every minute.
“Come on, I tell you, don’t stop to ax questions,” shouted Ben plainly excited, and Billy knew,—even in the turmoil in which his feelings then were,—that the peril must be serious indeed that would excite the cool-headed ex-prospector.
“That’s only the beginning,” shouted Ben as they ran, “if we stay here ten minutes longer our lives won’t be worth an old chew of terbacey.”
As he spoke he fairly dragged Billy along with him. Their way lay down the steep hill, and they stumbled and slipped, and fell down and scrambled up again like men fleeing from a remorseless enemy.