“Barney,” he cried, “what does this mean? How came you in this position?”
“Shure, sor, I had a fight with a panther,” replied the Irishman. “We wint over the edge wid so much strugglin’, and I caught by luck in these vines. The crayter is dead at the bottom av this place.”
“You have been preserved by Providence,” declared Frank; “but where is the captain?”
“Shure, sor, yez have the best av me there,” replied Barney. “We siperated about midnight, an’ I’ve niver seen him since.”
In a few moments Barney was drawn aboard the air-ship, and then he told his story.
It was a thrilling one.
It seemed that he had fallen asleep at the little camp-fire under the shelf or rock, where he and the captain had hoped to spend the night safely.
Suddenly he was awakened by a terrific screech, and in trying to gain his feet a monster panther had pounced upon him.
He made a desperate fight with his knife, but the animal dragged him a long ways over the rough ground. Then, as Barney made a fresh battle with the beast, they had rolled over the precipice, with what result we already know.
This was all that the Celt could tell. What had become of the captain he could not say. It was a puzzling matter.