The sage gave ear obediently. It was evident that, after a moment of attention, he perceived the noise, for his expression brightened to one of interest. His inference as to the significance of the occurrence was not left long in doubt. He turned presently to Saxe, with a wide grin on his heavy lips.
“Our nimble and indefatigable friend is at his old tricks again,” he declared, in a whisper, without the least hesitation. “There remains for our deduction the precise variety of this latest deviltry.” Having thus delivered himself, the oracle closed his eyes, and, while continuing to listen, scowled portentously in token of absorbed ratiocination, which Saxe was at pains not to interrupt. It was perhaps two minutes before Billy Walker spoke again. When he did so, there was unaccustomed liveliness in the method of his delivery; he displayed an agitation that first startled Saxe, then alarmed him.
“You said that Miss West mentioned another entrance to this cavern; Masters has probably availed himself of that. He has spied on us, and so has learned of our discovery of the treasure here. He has not dared to attack the lot of us openly. Very likely, he believes it will take us a considerable time to get out the chest. He may have come near enough to hear Roy and Dave up there, and from the silence between you and me he has supposed no one left here. He intends to get a hole through the barrier there, then to have the chest open, and to help himself to what he can while nobody’s looking. He may expect to have the whole night to work in. Of course, there’s a possibility he may mean just to get a loophole, and then pick us off one by one. That’s not likely, but he’s capable of anything.”
“He’ll have something of a job to break through there,” Saxe objected.
“Oh, dynamite is a quick worker,” the sage vouchsafed.
“Dynamite!” Saxe repeated, aghast.
“Yes, dynamite,” Billy stated again, with emphasis. “We know that he understands how to employ the explosive on occasion.” He stood up, seized his lantern, and started at a half-trot up the ascent. “Probably, he wouldn’t mind much if some of us got hurt.” He turned his head to shout raucously over his shoulder at Saxe, who below him stood staring in horrified amazement: “But he’ll be at a safe distance, and—so’ll I.” He ran on, wheezing grievously. Yet once again, he turned to roar toward his friend, in a voice of menace: “Run, you blithering idiot—for your life!”
At that, the paralysis of astonishment fell from Saxe. He, in turn, caught up his lantern, and set off racing up the slope. He had gone scarcely a dozen steps when a report sounded behind him. It was not loud—indeed, it was so faint and muffled that, for a moment, Saxe doubted if, in truth, this could be the explosion prophesied by Billy Walker. He halted and looked back. From his position, he could see with sufficient clearness to the barrier. In the dim light, he could distinguish no apparent change in the aspect. Then, of a sudden, his eyes fell on a rush of waters near the floor at the end of the passage. Now that the echoes of the detonation had passed, he heard the hissing of their flow. Even as he stared, astounded, vaguely terrified, though without understanding of the catastrophe, the flood mounted visibly. In a flash of horror, Saxe realized the peril darting upon him. He whirled with a great cry and fled from the death that menaced. A swift glance over his shoulder as he reached the level, showed the boiling element hard on his heels. He shouted a second time, in futile warning to his friends. In the next moment, the light of his lantern revealed Billy Walker, running at a good pace just before him.
“Masters has let in the lake!” Saxe cried frantically in his friend’s ear, as he came abreast.
There was no need of the telling. Even as he spoke, the first waves lashed their feet. No time was given them to mend their speed. Before they could do more than realize the coming of the flood, it had reached to their waists, to their armpits. They had dropped the drenched lanterns—they were swimming blindly on the rushing torrent. But Billy, whose bulk kept him afloat easily, had put out a hand, so that he held fast to Saxe’s collar. Thus, they were borne onward together through the fearful blackness, tossed and torn by the coil of waters. That contact of each with the other was their single comfort.