A thrilling cry went up from the lips of all the spectators at that moment.
The surviving counterfeiters were to be seen running wildly across the valley.
Suddenly there was a low, sullen roar, and the whole valley seemed alive with a blue flame.
Even those on the cliffs were hurled back, and cries of horror went up.
When, the next moment, the exhibition subsided, the bodies of all of the counterfeiters were seen far out in the deadly sands.
Once too often they had dared the deadly perils of Satan’s Hole. It was a horrible, awful thought to the awestruck spectators.
Frank Reade, Jr., stood like one dumbfounded.
Bert Mason was among the doomed ones. In a moment, as it were, the entire gang was wiped out. But Frank was only thinking of poor Astley.
“Come,” said Capt. Elmo huskily, “I believe that valley is a part of hell. Let us get out of here as quickly as possible.”
None had any desire to remain longer in the vicinity of the Sandy Trail of Death. Silently, and with a keen sense of horror they picked up their belongings and left the spot behind them forever.