Sick and faint the comrades stood there, wildly glancing around, listening anxiously for some sound to guide them. But it came not. All was stilled save their deep, husky breathing.
"Come," cried Duplin, with an effort rousing himself, "this is folly. We must work. Dead or alive, we must find Jack, and either rescue or avenge him."
Dreading lest at every step they should come upon the dead and mangled body of their friend hidden among the rocks, the gold-hunters advanced. Here and there a blood-splash guided their eyes. Drop by drop it led them up the hillside. This alone guided them. The flinty ground retained no trace of footsteps.
A gore-stained rock attracted them. Rushing forward, Duplin uttered a low cry. Then he sunk upon his knees and bent forward.
Burr Wythe turned sick at heart, and staggering, would have fallen but for the friendly support of a jagged bowlder. A cry broke from his lips as he started back and removed his hand. It had entered a tiny pool of fresh blood!
CHAPTER VI.
LOST IN THE LABYRINTH.
With a convulsive shudder, Burr Wythe wiped the clotted blood from his hand. Duplin, startled by the cry of his comrade, quickly turned his head.
"What is it, Wythe?"