“Dick, what can it mean?” demanded Roger, uneasily.
“I can think of but one explanation!” declared the other, steadily. “That is not the same spouting water we heard just now! You remember that we decided there might be others of the same kind in this country of wonders.”
It almost seemed as though nature took delight in proving the accuracy of Dick Armstrong’s surmise; for, hardly had he said this, than they heard once again the remarkable throb of rushing waters pouring forth from a fissure in the crust of the earth and, what was more, it came from some point toward the rear!
Roger smiled faintly, while even Mayhew condescended to let some of the worried look pass away from his face.
“I should not like to roam about this terrible country after nightfall,” said Roger, shuddering; “for there is too much danger of stepping into some bottomless pit, or having a deluge of boiling water thrown over your head. It’s a question up here in the winter-time whether you are going to be frozen to death in a bitter storm, or roasted by the fires that are under the earth. I think we must be getting pretty close to where the Evil One lives, Dick. His workshop may be around these hills, for all we know.”
Dick, however, shook his head. He was proof against all belief in the supernatural. Such wonders as had been encountered on the trip he felt sure were after all but the products of an eccentric nature. Though they might strike one as bewildering at first, familiarity would dull this feeling of amazement, though it could never breed contempt.
“We have a short time still before the sun sinks,” remarked Dick; “shall we go on further or spend the night here?”
“I’d rather find a better place if it’s the same to you,” Roger started to say, when to his astonishment Dick suddenly clutched him by the arm, and started to drag him away.
At the same moment Roger became aware of a peculiar and alarming sound, as though loose rocks and shale were slipping down an abrupt slope.