IN CAVERNS BELOW

By STANTON A. COBLENTZ

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Wonder Stories March, April, May 1935.
It was published later using the title Hidden World.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

If we were told to list a dozen writers whom we considered great science-fiction authors, we should certainly place the name of Stanton A. Coblentz high up in the list.

When Coblentz writes a short story, it is excellent, but when he composes a novel, such as the present one, you will have to go far and wide to find a better story.

We sincerely believe that "In Caverns Below" will go down in science-fiction history with the other novels of Stanton A. Coblentz and will be re-read by the ever-growing multitude of science-fiction fans during future decades.

Here we find everything that distinguishes our author's work from all others—what more can we say?

It is now five years since Philip Clay and I were given up by the world as lost, five years since we plunged into that appalling adventure from which, even today, we have barely begun to recover. During nine tenths of that time, we dwelt far from the sight of our fellow men in a remote and incredible land of wizardry and terror; we made discoveries which, we are certain, have never been surpassed since Columbus voyaged westward to the New World; we encountered perils that we still shudder to recall, and experienced triumphs that make us sigh regretfully in recollection. And it is only by the rarest of good fortune that we survive to tell the story to those who, long ago, wept at the news of our passing.

One fact in the case, and only one, will be remembered by the public. In the autumn of 1929, newspapers throughout the country reported that Philip Clay and Frank Comstock, mining engineers and boon companions, disappeared in the depths of a silver mine in Nevada. It was generally believed that a cave-in of unexplained origin had been responsible for their death, and that they had been crushed beyond recognition, for no trace of their mutilated bodies was ever found. The world, with its insatiable appetite for tragedy and horror, was naturally interested for a time, but as the days and weeks wore by and no further news was forthcoming, public attention was diverted to other affairs, and Comstock and Clay were forgotten....

Yet it is I, Frank Comstock, who write these words. It is I, Frank Comstock, who a few months ago returned as if from the grave, to announce that Clay and I had not been killed in the mine disaster. It is I, Frank Comstock, who have come back to record my experiences, and to proclaim that, even in this twentieth century, there are more worlds about us than our philosophy has ever taken into account.

Let me therefore go back over these harrowing five years and try to report, as simply and accurately as I can, each episode in the whole chain of extraordinary events.

It will be needless to linger over the preliminaries, to tell how Clay and I, chums at college, had been partners since our graduation from Western Institute of Mining twelve years before, how we had pooled our fortunes and joined our lives and spent all of our time in mutual experiments and enterprises in the back-regions of Montana, Idaho, and other states of the mountain belt. Passing over all this, let me tell how, in September, 1929, we were called to pass judgment upon the old Carlson Flat silver mine, which an eastern syndicate was just reopening in a particularly remote region of central Nevada. I recall how, for two days, we trailed with our pack-team over the desert mountains, our nostrils assaulted by the fine alkaline dust and our eyes wearied by the never-ending gray and yellow of the sagebrush. "A God-forsaken country!" muttered Clay, his fine blue eyes lighted with a reminiscent gleam, as he thought of the wooded mountains of the north. "Heavens, but I'll be thankful when we get out of here!"

Little, however, did he realize how long it would be before we would get out!

At last, to our relief, we reached Carlson Flat—as desolate a spot as was imaginable, at the edge of a narrow barren plateau just beneath a projecting stony ridge that beetled a thousand feet above us. Fortunately, the location mattered little, since we spent most of the time underground; but we did not particularly relish our task in that old, long-abandoned mine, whose shafts were not only unusually dank and narrow, but exceptionally deep. For some reason that I cannot explain, a premonition came to us both; it was as if some voice from within us cried out, "Flee! Flee, before it is too late!" We seemed to read some nameless menace in those dark sloping galleries, lighted only by the fluttering illumination of our torches; and, accustomed though we were to underground labyrinths, we somehow could not laugh away the sense of peril that confronted us in every foot-fall and shadow.

"Guess we're growing soft-headed in our old age!" suggested Clay, with a forced attempt at jocularity.

But I still recall how his rugged face, indistinctly visible in the glare of the flashlight, took on a troubled expression as he uttered these words; and I know how his unspoken fears communicated themselves to me in a shudder of apprehension.

None the less, being reasonable beings, we would not let our misgivings deter us from investigating the mine. Would that we had taken warning from our own sense of danger! For, on the third day, we were hurled into catastrophe.

It was then that we had decided to inspect the furthest and deepest section of the diggings. Accompanied by two or three workmen and an official of the company, we made our way tortuously through galleries that seemed miles long, and penetrated the dim, dank descent hundreds of feet beneath the desert floor. As we groped and fumbled silently downward, I was in far from a cheerful mood, for that weird, mysterious feeling of peril was still with me, the feeling of walking into a trap! Besides, as if to lend a basis of reason to my forebodings, what was that sudden faint trembling of the earth that I seemed to feel every now and then, that occasional rude jarring of the gallery floor, as if from the concussion of a distant explosion?—or was it only my imagination?

"Did you feel that?" I demanded of Clay, upon being shaken by the severest of the tremors. But he merely snapped, "Feel what?" and the pale light of the torches did not reveal the workings of his features.

"Seemed like an earthquake to me!" I muttered, as the ground beneath my feet once more gave a slight, almost imperceptible fluttering.

"Earthquake? Nonsense!" flung back Clay. "How could it be? We're way out of the earthquake belt, aren't we?"

I mumbled in the affirmative, but was not reassured.

Nevertheless, we said no more about the matter, and a few minutes later we had reached the lower limits of the mine. Forgetting my fears, I had pushed on with Clay ahead of our companions and was just turning my flashlight on an ore-producing ledge at the bottom of the gallery ... when suddenly there occurred that event which only too completely justified my alarm.

Like many of life's crises, it was all over in a minute. Yet it seemed infinitely prolonged, seemed packed with the experience of hours, of days, almost of years. I can still relive the dagger-shaft of terror that shot through me when the earth, without warning, gave a quick convulsive lurch, like the deck of a vessel in a storm at sea; I can still hear the sharp frightened exclamation from the throat of Clay and the startled shouts of our companions from down the tunnel. Once more I listen to the crunching, grinding, and groaning of the earth and the low rumbling from far subterranean depths; I am again pitched headlong to the floor as the ground beneath us heaves and threshes; I catch the panic-gleam in the eyes of my companion as he tries vainly to clutch a projecting spike of rock; then for an instant, as the commotion momentarily subsides, I almost succeed in regaining my feet, only to be hurled down again with a fury that leaves me bruised and bleeding.

As I strive for the second time to pick myself up, my ears ring with a tumult as of an avalanche. With terrorizing force, the crash and thunder of falling rock breaks upon my stunned senses; the roof of the gallery has collapsed, and Clay and I are cut-off from our companions in a chamber only a few yards across, at the extreme end of the tunnel!

Prisoners, both of us! By the wavering rays of a flashlight, we see ourselves entombed in a stone-walled cell deep underground! But even as this realization sweeps across our minds, still greater dread overwhelms us. Our world again sways like a drunken sailor, there is a fresh roaring in our ears, a huge rock is dislodged and crashes down from the roof with a howl of demoniac menace, and then, at our very feet, the tortured earth groans and opens, and a huge black fissure spreads out beneath us!

Desperately, like mountain climbers on a crumbling precipice, we strive to maintain our balance on the narrow floor of our prison. But we are as helpless as babes. We see the fissure widening, spreading out like the pitchy jaws of doom; we know that, in an instant, we will no longer have a foothold; then, at the moment of supreme horror, the light in Clay's flashlight flickers and goes out, and we are plunged into utter darkness....

At the same time, clutching instinctively at the overhanging rocks, which delay, but cannot halt our flight, we feel ourselves slipping. I hear once again Clay's cry of consternation; I hear the uproar of sliding earth and rock; I feel my arms and shoulders bruised and mangled; I have a sense of suffocation, a sense of being buried beneath tons of dead matter; then, all at once, a veil of quietness, of vacancy, of oblivion blots out my consciousness.

CHAPTER II

A Mysterious Light

I have always marvelled that Clay and I lived through the cataclysm. But probably we owe our survival to the fact that the fissure, far from being perpendicular, sloped at an angle of only thirty or forty degrees, so that, while rolling over and over in our descent, we were at least spared a direct drop.

At all events, we finally did come to a stop without receiving any fatal hurt. It may have been minutes, or it may have been hours, before I recovered consciousness; but when at length I came to myself, it was with a dull aching in the head, and with a sensation of soreness in every limb and muscle.

"Where am I?" I gasped, still but hazily aware of what had happened, and with the sickly, absurd feeling that perhaps I had died and was reawakening in the Afterlife. And it was only the sound of another human voice that brought me once more to my senses.

"Where are you? Would to God I knew!—down in hell, I guess!" came in mumbled accents from an unseen figure.

"Much hurt, Phil?" I jerked out, striving vainly to locate my friend amid the impenetrable blackness. And, as I spoke, I moved to a sitting position and made my first effort to extricate myself from the rocks and dust that buried me almost waist-deep.

"No, not hurt much!" came Clay's drawled reply. "A few little cuts and bruises, more or less, and one black eye. But what does that amount to? Couldn't use the eye down here, anyway!"

And then, after a moment of silence, he asked, "How about you, Frank? Hope you're not banged up too much."

"No, I'm all right," I protested, as stanchly as I could, considering that I felt as if I had been run through a threshing-machine.

"We'll sure be able to collect big damages!" proceeded Clay, as optimistically as though we had already made our escape. "But say, old pal, you certainly were right about the earthquake! That one was a whopper! I didn't know they had them around this part of the country!"

"Neither did I!" I declared. And, even as I spoke, a violent shudder once more went through me. The earth was again trembling!

"Guess the climate here isn't any too healthy!" decided my friend, while from somewhere amid the darkness, I heard him shaking off the débris and struggling to his feet. "Don't know where we are, Frank, but I wouldn't mind being anywhere else! Come! Where are you, old fellow?"

As we had lost the flashlights in our fall, it took us several anxious minutes to locate one another amid that tar-like blackness. Several times we stumbled over unseen obstacles, and more than once we followed a false lead; but at length, guided by the sound of each other's voices, we brushed shoulders in the darkness. And thenceforth, like lost children, we held hands lest we lose track of each other.

Where had we fallen?—to what hidden cavern deep in the earth's maw? This was the question we asked ourselves many times, as we groped our way down the sloping floor, we could not guess whither. Yet each moment we were making discoveries. After a few minutes, as we shuffled cautiously forward, we had passed the débris-littered area and found a smooth stone floor slanting beneath our feet. And we discovered that, a yard or two to each side of us, was a polished stone wall!

"Holy Jerusalem!" whistled my companion. "Who'd have thought the mine reached down this far?"

"Mine?" I returned, derisively. "Your misfortunes must have gone to your head, Phil! When did you ever see a mine with polished walls?"

"Well, what is it if not a mine?" he flung back in gruff challenge. "What is it? Just tell me that!"

Not being able to answer, I remained silent. But a strange suspicion, which had been forming in my mind, was gradually deepening; and involuntarily I shuddered once more and pressed closer to my friend—nor was I reassured by the renewed trembling of the earth which from time to time interrupted our ruminations.

I am afraid that grim conjectures came into the mind of Clay also, for he remained tense and silent for many minutes as we continued to fumble, like blind men, down those uncanny subterranean corridors.

"The devil take us both!" he at last muttered, with an attempted levity that did not serve to conceal his alarm. "You'd think we were going straight down to Dante's Inferno! Why, I can almost feel the little imps dancing in the darkness all about us!"

"The imps be damned!" I snapped in unseemly irritation.

"Most likely, that's what we'll be," he returned, wryly. And then, in soberer tones, he spoke again.

"But seriously, old man, where do you suppose we are?—in the pit of some extinct volcano?"

"Possibly—but that doesn't explain why the walls are so smooth and even."

"No, it doesn't. However, mightn't it be the channel of a dried-up subterranean river? In the course of ages, the water might have washed the walls smooth."

"It might have," I conceded, briefly. Yet deep within me, there was the feeling, the persistent feeling, that it was not water that had hollowed out the passageway.

For ten or fifteen minutes we plodded on without a word, moving at a snail's pace in our anxiety, and not aware of any change in our environment. The walls were still as polished and regular as ever; the blackness was as absolute and as unbroken; the occasional jarring of the earth continued at uneven intervals, growing a little more pronounced than before, but disturbing us less, since we were now becoming used to it.

Then, unexpectedly, the gallery curved, turning almost at right angles; and, as we felt our way around the bend, it curved again at an even sharper angle; then it curved once more, while, as if to add to our bewilderment, we discovered several side-galleries branching off in various directions.

At the same time, the thuddings of the earth grew more severe than ever and they were accompanied by rumblings, roars, and reverberations of terrifying force and insistency. Crash after crash burst upon our ears as if from some remote storm-center—crash after crash that echoed and re-echoed eerily in that narrow corridor, until our ear-drums ached from the strain and our agitated hearts pumped with a thumping rapidity.

What could it be?—some volcanic disturbance in the heart of the earth? So we were inclined to believe as, sweating with fear, we halted for a consultation. In another moment, might we not feel the reek of sulphur in our nostrils and gasp our last beneath the suffocating fumes?

For several minutes we conferred, but could reach no conclusion. Standing there against the invisible cavern wall, with the earth almost constantly quivering and with low, gruff, distant detonations dinning upon our ears, we found it difficult, almost impossible to exchange ideas. That terror which is close to madness was upon us both; and since the most difficult thing to do was to do nothing at all, it was not long before we were on our way again.

A moment later we were to receive a sharp surprise. Groping around another bend in the gallery, we were startled to see, far ahead of us, an indistinct patch of light. Vaguely rectangular in shape, and of an unearthly greenish hue, it wavered and flickered strangely, at times almost disappearing, at times flaring to a hectic, momentary brilliance, shot through with flashes of red, orange, and violet. And, simultaneously, the far-off thunders grew more deep-throated, with occasional snarls and reports as of siege-artillery.

"Sacred Catfish!" muttered Clay in awe-stricken tones. "You could almost believe the old yarns about Satan and his court of devils!"

I must confess that, hard-headed man of science though I pride myself on being, a wave of superstitions fright went through me at these words; some old ancestral terror had gripped me until my legs shook and all but sank beneath me. Nevertheless, I strove desperately to rally what remained of my strength.

"Court of devils?" I tossed back, mockingly. "The only devils are in your imagination, Phil! It's clear enough what's wrong; the earth is suffering from a little fit of indigestion, something out of gear down here in her volcanic entrails. Most likely it'll clear up any moment."

Hardly were these words out of my mouth when the earth gave a lurch so violent that we were both knocked off our feet. And for one instant, the light from down the gallery became a sun-like illumination, by whose glare I caught a glimpse of Clay's harried face, scarred and red with newly clotted blood, with one eye half closed, and with a long gash across the great dome of his forehead.

Probably I did not present a more inviting sight, for, as we both picked ourselves up from the cavern floor, he exclaimed, "Say, old fellow, I ought to have your picture now! The way you're looking, you'd scare off a brigade of fighting Hottentots!"

Not thanking him for this compliment, I started away again along the gallery, whose walls were now and then dimly visible by the flickering light from ahead. All lingering idea that it was the channel of a subterranean river was now dissipated! To our astonishment, we saw that the ceiling formed a perfect triangle, an inverted V like the roof of a house! Here was the handiwork of man—or else we were both dreaming! But what man before us had penetrated to these abysmal labyrinths?

But it was useless to speculate. Let us go forward and find out! It is difficult for me today to say how Clay and I, fear-stricken and wounded, found courage to press on through that hideous, down-sloping cavern, where at any moment we might expect annihilation. Perhaps it was that we realized the impossibility of retracing our footsteps through the darkness; perhaps it was that the light ahead, mysterious and frightening as it was, seemed less to be dreaded than the gloom behind; perhaps it was that curiosity, which so often is the father of recklessness, led us on moth-like toward the seduction of the far-off radiance.

In any case, we did continue to move forward, though very slowly and cautiously; and as by degrees we approached the light, we were relieved to find that the earth trembled less violently and less often, and that the illumination down the passageway grew more steady and distinct.

"See, Phil, I told you the earthquakes would be over soon!" I reassured my companion; and he, not venturing a reply, merely quickened his footsteps, as if in tacit agreement.

Little did either of us foresee how much more violent, how much more amazing, how much more terrifying our adventures would be after we had gained the longed-for haven of the light.

CHAPTER III

The Brink of the Abyss

At last we were drawing near the mysterious light. It had now ceased to flicker and shone with a steady greenish-yellow glare, so bright as to illuminate the gallery with a weird radiance, wherein we could clearly distinguish each other's features. The source of the light, however, remained an enigma; while we, pressing on with increasing boldness, were resolved to discover its nature or perish in the attempt.

In a few minutes we had reached the end of the corridor, and, turning sharply, we found ourselves in a wider passageway penetrated by scores of cross-galleries and ending, about a hundred yards beyond, in a perfect blaze of greenish light.

"Lord in Heaven!" exclaimed the awe-stricken Clay, as we reached the new thoroughfare. "Are we dreaming?—or am I simply crazy?"

"Guess we're both crazy!" I muttered. And then, shielding my eyes from the glare and nerving myself for a supreme effort, I said, "Come on; let's find out what's what!"

"Might as well die exploring!" he conceded grimly as we resumed our pilgrimage.

I now noticed for the first time that Clay was walking with a slight limp; I also noticed that his rude mining costume was not only soiled with great streaks and blotches of black, but was ripped and torn in a hundred places, exposing the bare skin every here and there, so that he looked a perfect ragamuffin. But my own clothes, I could see, were in an equally sorry condition.

As we slowly covered the hundred yards to the end of the second gallery, Clay's mind seemed to center on somber thoughts. I could see the bleak furrows on his long, lean, battered face; I could read his disconsolate expression as, with a great hairy hand, he thoughtfully stroked his dishevelled red locks. But I was little prepared for his next words.

"Say, Frank, if anything happens to me, see that my old mother back in Denver gets my watch as a remembrance. And tell her I was thinking of her at the last—"

"The devil I will! Tell her yourself! What's getting into you, Phil?" I interrupted, almost savagely. "Haven't you as good a chance as I of getting out of this infernal mess?"

"I suppose I have, at that!" he acknowledged, wryly. "Guess it's both of us, or neither!"

At this point our conversation was interrupted by our arrival at the end of the second gallery, where we were to make a discovery compared with which our previous surprises appeared insignificant.

I remember that it was Clay, who, preceding me by half a dozen feet, was the first to stop short and gasp out his astonishment.

"God above!" I heard his swift exclamation; and I observed how, stricken all but speechless, he gaped open-mouthed into the green-lighted vacancy beyond. "God above!" he murmured a second time, before a dumbfounded silence overwhelmed him.

At a bound I had gained his side; and I too, as I gazed in bewilderment before me, seemed to have lost my tongue. "Merciful Heavens!" was all I could mumble in my amazement. "Merciful Heavens, what's this?" And I rubbed my eyes and pinched my sides, to make sure that I was not dreaming.

How shall I describe that stupendous scene which suddenly unfolded before us? Surely, the discoverer of a new planet could not have had a deeper sense of awe and wonder! For it was literally a new world that we beheld. The gallery had ended as if on the brink of a precipice; we were staring down, through yellowish-green abysses, into a chasm as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon of Arizona—as wide and deep, but by no means as irregular—by no means so narrow at the bottom! Unlike the great gorge of the Colorado River, it showed no unevenness of structure; sheer stone walls, straight and precipitous as the walls of a room, shot down beneath us a mile deep; sheer stone walls, equally precipitous and straight, rose opposite us at a distance of more than a mile, and between them spread the bare, level floor of the cavern, which reached to our right and left to an incalculable remoteness.

An unspeakably weird sensation overcame me as I gazed, in the thunderstricken silence, at that tremendous excavation. There was such an atmosphere of unreality about it all that only by degrees did my startled senses absorb the details—the gentle curve of the ceiling, which, arching but a few hundred feet above us, revealed fantastic figures, vaguely man-shaped, that stood out sharply in cameo—the multitude of greenish-yellow bulbs which, square or rounded or elongated into rods and spirals, studded the walls by the thousand and hung in long strings from above—the small round openings like the portholes of a vessel, which dotted the opposite side of the cavern in inestimable myriads, confronting us in scores of horizontal lines, and the little door-like apertures that opened at regular intervals all along the cavern floor.

Long and intently we gazed into that miraculous abyss; many minutes must have passed while we stood there spellbound. It was I that first regained some measure of composure; with a shock, I saw my companion standing entranced, so near the brink of the precipice that I trembled for his safety.

With a hasty gesture, I pulled him back a step. "Better watch out, Phil!" I warned, "else I won't have even your watch to bring back to your mother!"

Like a man in a daze, he wiped a grimy hand over his carrot-colored hair. "Good thing she can't see me now!" he gasped. "Lord preserve me! she'd be offering up prayers for the soul of her poor boy lost in Hell!"

"Lost in Hell is right!" I acknowledged, grimly.

"If I hadn't bit my lips to make sure I was alive, Frank," he continued, with an ugly grimace of his scarred face, "I'd think we had both died and were wandering around somewhere in the devil's back yard!"

Before I had had time to reply, fresh alarm swept aver us both; once more the earth wavered violently and the distant thunders and detonations burst out with renewed fury. At the same time, a shaft of violet light, from some unknown source, shot across the cavern with lightning swiftness. Then, in the barest fraction of a second, waves of orange light and of vermilion followed; then, while Clay and I stared at each other in consternation, the greenish-yellow luminaries all flickered and seemed about to be extinguished. Simultaneously, our ears were struck by a distant blast of sound, a little like the notes of a bugle; and the next instant, as the greenish-yellow lights regained their former brilliancy, a scene of startling activity became visible on the cavern floor.

Had we obeyed the dictates of our hammering hearts, we should have turned and fled. The impulse to flee was, indeed, powerful within us; but partly because we did not wish to seem cowards in each other's eyes, and partly because of our insatiable curiosity, we fought down our self-protective instinct, flung ourselves full-length upon the gallery floor, crept to the edge of the abyss, and gazed across. And there, in that recumbent position, like small boys secretly watching a ball game, we witnessed a spectacle so unimaginably strange that I cannot recall it even today without a shudder of the old horror.

CHAPTER IV

Thunderbolts

From our vantage-point near the cavern roof, we could not clearly follow all that was happening a mile beneath; however, we were able to observe more than a little. In the beginning, we were astonished to see the doors at the base of the excavation all thrown open, to admit a multitude of black ant-like mites, which we did not at first recognize as human beings. So minute were they, in view of their distance, that they might have been mere swarming insects. To discover much about their appearance or costume was out of the question; nevertheless, we were not long in learning their nature, for they immediately drew themselves up into precise rectangular formations, each of which was divided into scores of long, mathematically even columns.

"By Heaven!" I gasped, as I lay peeping across the edge of the abyss. "If it isn't an army!"

"Sure enough, an army!" agreed Clay, his mouth agape till the lower jaw seemed ready to drop off. "I'll swear they look like the devil's own recruits! Just see the banners gleaming!"

By straining my eyes, I could distinguish flashes of yellow and purple, as from the waving of battle flags.

"Say, look down there!" my companion ejaculated the next second, leaning over the edge of the void until I feared he would take a mile-long fall. "There's not one army! There's two!"

"Sure you're not seeing double, old pal?" I demanded. And then, at the risk of losing my own balance, I leaned out fully as far as Clay, staring into the dreadful chasm directly below.

It was indeed as my friend had said! Just under us was a second army, its innumerable multitudes arrayed in neat rectangles, and its banners flashing in vermilion and green!

From the opposite sides of the cavern the two great masses of men, each composed of scores of thousands of individuals, were approaching one another with slow and gracefully coördinated movements. Had they a hostile intent?—or were they merely on friendly parade? So quietly were they advancing that both Clay and I leapt to the latter explanation. It would not be long before we would learn our mistake!

"By my grandmother's ghost, Frank! Where do all those fellows come from?" exclaimed Clay, turning toward me with eyes bulging in wonder and alarm. "What would you have said only yesterday, old chap, if some one had drawn you a picture of all this?"

"I'd have said he was dafter than a mad hatter!"

"Chances are we'd have had him locked up!" agreed Clay. "Say, do you know—"

But he was not to complete his sentence. For at this point a never-to-be-forgotten demonstration burst forth.

It was as if the entire cavern had shot all at once into flames. It was as if a thunder-storm of unparalleled fury had flared simultaneously at a hundred points. There came a wave of dazzling white light which flashed across the cavern on a jagged course and all but blinded us; then, while our stunned senses reeled beneath the blow, we were smitten by a clap of thunder so severe that our ear-drums fairly rang. Almost instantly, other detonations followed, with a banging as of tremendous explosions; and new lightnings streaked and blazed, with red and green and orange coruscations as their long twisting lances zigzagged from wall to wall. At the same time, the ground began to shake once more, to shake so violently that we had to cling desperately to a rocky ledge; and from moment to moment the tremors increased in severity. At last we could understand the source of the earthquakes!

New lightnings streaked and blazed with red and green and orange coruscations as their long twisting lances zigzagged from wall to wall.

Speechless as deaf-mutes, Clay and I stared across at one another in horror. But in his startled eyes I read a message: "Come, let's go!" And his hand was motioning away down the gallery.

Gladly I would have followed his suggestion. But I was as if glued to the ledge. My panic-stricken muscles would not obey my will; I quivered, rose to my knees, and then dropped down full-length once more, terrified lest the heaving earth should pitch me over the cavern edge.

Yet terror could not subdue curiosity; I still gazed down at that fantastic cavern floor, over which the colored lightnings flickered. And what a ghastly discovery I made! Where were those orderly armies that had thronged across the abyss a minute before?

For a moment, I merely gaped wide-eyed, wondering if my senses were deceiving me. The armies had both vanished! In their place were multitudes of black specks strewn pell-mell about the cavern floor, in all manner of distorted positions, some of them bunched together in great dark heaps, some of them clustered amid little new-made crimson patches!

"Do you see? Do you see?" I exclaimed, when a lull in the thunder once more permitted conversation. "Shot to tatters, the whole lot of them!"

"Shot to tatters!" Clay echoed, his bruised face performing wry antics as he spoke. "Wonder what the whole infernal mess was all about."

"Marvelous, anyway, how they use their lightnings to kill," I commented.

"Marvelous the way both sides won!" he snapped back. "Doesn't seem to be much left of either of them!"

In this statement, however, Clay was mistaken. We were soon to learn that all too much was left of both factions.

While the lightnings still leapt and vaulted through space, crossing and criss-crossing the atmosphere with dagger-flames of blue and yellow, there rose a low, regular, distant rumbling—a rumbling too even and continuous for thunder, and yet more ominous-sounding than thunder, since it gained each moment in force and volume and had a monotonous, rhythmical, thudding effect reminding one of the motor of some great machine.

"God be merciful, what's this coming?" suddenly cried my companion, pointing far down the cavern. "See, Frank! Can you make out what it is?"

At the renewed risk of falling over the edge, I peered in the indicated direction; and, as I did so, I received perhaps the severest shock I had yet had on this day of horrors. "Lord Almighty!" I gasped. "It's a battleship on wheels!"

"It's not one of them! It's two!" shouted Clay.

And indeed, two monster shapes, each as large as the dreadnoughts of a modern navy, were gliding toward us out of the greenish-yellow glare far to the right. With long, pointed, steel-like prows, thin tapering sterns, and squat funnels belching smoke and steam, they had the shape and appearance of warships, except that they displayed no masts or gun-turrets. But little dark tubes curving from their sides looked very much like guns.

"See the wheels," yelled Clay, trying to make himself heard above the increasing uproar of the monsters' approach; and I observed how scores of wheels, each of them twenty or thirty feet across, were arranged all along the sides of the great machines, bearing them forward with the speed of an ocean liner.

"Seems to be in a hurry!" I yelled back, as I noticed with what steady roaring haste the vessels pressed forward.

But I had no time to wonder what the machines might be, or what incredible people, populating the abysses of the earth, had developed such giant mechanisms. Before I had half recovered from my surprise, I was aware that Clay, no longer able to make his voice heard above the din of the approaching monsters, was nudging my elbow and pointing in great agitation to our left.

"See! See there!" I read the unexpressed words on his lips. "Just look at that! Just look! Just look!"

Well might he be agitated. From far down the cavern to our left, three more land-battleships were rumbling toward us, shooting out flashes of red and white lightning like a challenge, while hastening to meet the other Titans as though intending a head-on collision.

CHAPTER V

Separated!

Straight on and on the two sets of battle-monsters came, their ugly pointed forms half-concealed in puffs and streamers of black smoke. Waving at the stern of one group, we could distinguish banners of yellow and purple, while the other group displayed green and vermilion flags; but otherwise it was hard to tell them apart. On the decks of all the vessels alike we could see swarms of animated black specks; from the curved tubes at their sides we observed darts of lightning intermittently shooting; and meantime their rumbling and roaring made a pandemonium as of a thousand locomotives in simultaneous action.

As they drew near each other, the two groups did not relax their speed. Indeed, their pace was only accelerated! With the velocity of motor cars on a highway, they raced to within a few hundred yards of each other, as if intending to ram and destroy. There came a prodigious hissing of steam as they rolled toward the death-grip; for a moment, the five rushing monsters were obscured amid clouds of vapor, through which the blue and yellow lightnings flared in innumerable bolts. Then our aching ears caught the shock of a concussion so severe that for a second we were stunned; then other shocks, equally severe, followed one upon the other, as though a mile high giant were delivering blows with a sledgehammer; then, while the earth reeled and staggered, we were too dazed to be aware of anything except a stupendous uproar and commotion.

But by slow degrees, the din subsided. By slow degrees, the wavering ground regained its balance. Bewildered and still trembling, Clay and I nerved ourselves to peer out again across the cavern edge. Yet for a minute we saw nothing; the depths of the canyon were blanketed in a fuming yellow vapor which obscured everything like a heavy fog and tormented our nostrils with acrid odors.

Owing to our physical discomfort, we did not know how or when the mists were dissipated. But when at last Clay leaned across the cavern edge once more, he uttered a surprised "Battle over! Say, it looks like a tie!"

"Like a tie?" I echoed, staring into the pit. "But where under Heaven—where under Heaven are the fighters?"

"There aren't any more fighters!" mumbled Clay—and this was the literal truth. The great battle machines, which had snorted and thundered so violently a few minutes before, were no longer to be seen! Instead, we looked out upon a spectacle of wild devastation. The rocky ground, plowed up and torn as by Titanic dredges, had been beaten into ridges and furrows like the waves of a stormy sea; the opposite canyon wall had been wrecked as if with dynamite, and great masses of broken boulders were heaped up where the porthole-like openings had stared.

But were there no signs at all of the land-battleships? Yes—here and there along the scarred and charred pit-floor, we saw twisted rods and wires! Here and there were bent and dented iron plates; here and there were contorted coils, broken rods, fragments of wheels and axles—mute testimonials to the fate of those five battle monarchs!

For a long while we gaped in silence at that desolate battlefield. How inconceivably powerful were these mysterious people of the depths! What gigantic forces they controlled to be able to blow up huge steel vessels like toys! In contemplation of such unheard-of might, I felt overwhelmed with awe, and I felt crushed, humbled by my own feebleness.

But quite different was Clay's reaction. I saw his lower lip curl in a faintly contemptuous expression as he spoke.

"You know, Frank, what I'm beginning to think? These caves are inhabited by a lot of crazy men—blank, raving lunatics, the whole set of them! Why, if they had the sense of a two-year-old, they'd know enough not to fight when they'd all be blown to smithereens!"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" I conceded, begrudgingly. "But how could we expect to have any wars at all, if every one had the sense of a two-year-old?"

Clay opened his mouth to reply. But before he could utter a word, an event occurred that turned our thoughts to other subjects.

From the cavern walls opposite us, where the little round openings had not been blown away in the recent engagement, a shaft of red lightning leapt, striking not many yards below us with an ear-splitting din. And almost instantly another bolt shot out, and another, and another still, each of them coming nearer us than the last, while our ears rang with the heavy explosive uproar. That we were not killed instantly was due more to luck than to our swift action.

Yet we were not slow about rising and fleeing. Startled as we were, we realized the nature of the onslaught. We had been seen, mistaken for enemies, and fired upon! Hostile marksmen, armed with thunderbolts, were seeking our lives!

Even as we sprang up and away, a deafening crash resounded at our heels, and we knew that the ledge where we had lain had been hit and shattered. The next instant, as we darted along the gallery, an even louder crash burst forth, and a huge rocky mass, dislodged from the gallery roof, came roaring and clattering down almost at our feet.

In that desperate crisis, it was each for himself. As if by instinct, I knew that if I remained in that main passageway a second longer, I would be struck and killed; as if by instinct, I turned in my flight and darted off into the shelter of one of the many side-galleries. And such was the impulse of my terror that I did not halt even when reaching this relative safety, but kept on at full speed down the vaguely lighted corridor, until at last my panting breath and pounding heart forced me to stop.

Then, wheeling about, I was swept by a new rush of alarm. Where was Clay?

In the fury of my panic, I had forgotten him. And now he was not to be seen!

"Phil! Phil!" I cried, suddenly aware of an aloneness, an isolation such as I had never felt before. "Phil! Phil! Phil!"

But my words rang uncannily down the dim gallery, with echoes like devil's mockery. "Phil! Phil! Phil! Where are you, Phil? Where are you?" I shouted again and again. But still only the echoes came back to me, like the voice of my own despair, "Where are you, Phil? Where are you?"

And then, as I still called without reply, there came a thought that all but paralyzed me with dread. What if my friend had not been so fortunate as I? What if he had been hit by one of the death-bolts?

As this new fear shot over me, I raised my voice more loudly than ever, "Phil! Phil! Phil! Answer me, Phil! Where are you? Where are you?" As though the sound of my own shouts would still the tumult storming within me!

Furiously I retraced my footsteps. Back along the side-gallery I dashed, back to the main corridor where I had last seen my old chum. "Phil! Phil! Phil! Where are you?" I still shouted as I approached; and my heart sank as my voice, husky from the strain, cried out those unavailing words.

Then, with a final throb of expectation, I entered the corridor and started out across its greenish-yellow spaces. And, as I did so, I gave a gasp, and hope died within me. The gallery was empty! Clay was nowhere to be seen!

CHAPTER VI

Catastrophe

For a long, blank moment of dismay and horror, I stood staring out across that deserted passageway. I was as one who, in mid-ocean, suddenly feels the waves foaming over him with no sign of a rescuing sail. Not until this instant had the full terror of my plight overwhelmed me; not until this instant had I felt utterly hopeless and helpless. Now that Clay was gone, it was as if the very under-pinnings of my world had been torn from beneath me.

Yet my alarm was not for myself. It was of Clay that I was thinking; it was Clay's tormented face that flashed before my mind as if surrounded by a red glare of danger. And the conviction came to me, irrational yet irresistible, that he had either been slain or was in mortal peril.

Goaded by that dread, I shook myself out of the inaction that had seized me as I regained the main gallery. I forgot my personal risk; I scarcely cared whether or not a death-bolt felled me; I began running furiously up and down, as recklessly as one who courts his own destruction. Still no trace of Clay! Surely, he would not willingly have deserted me! But had he too rushed into one of the side-corridors? Then why had he not returned? Had he not heard my shouting? Would he not shout for me as well?

While these and other questions shot across my mind in baffling succession, I peered fruitlessly into the shadows of half a score of side-galleries; and into each of them I called as loudly as my cracked and broken voice would permit; "Phil! Phil! Phil! Where are you? Where are you, Phil?"

But still only the mocking echoes came back to taunt me.

Had I been a more cautious man, I would have been less ready to cry out into those mysterious depths. For, while I accomplished nothing for Clay, I was weaving a grim net of danger about my own head....

I had called into the tenth or eleventh passageway, when an answering yell met my ears—not the welcome voice I craved, but a high-pitched cry in some unknown tongue, a cry of such unspeakable shrillness and ferocity that I stopped short as if paralyzed and felt my knees faltering beneath me and my hair bristling.

Almost at the same instant, a grisly apparition glided forth amid the dimness of the side-gallery. I say apparition, for, although it was solid flesh and blood, it flashed upon me like a ghost—worse than a ghost!—like the phantom of death himself! Imagine a man-sized figure, robed from head to foot in black, and with a sable hood, the shape of a fool's cap! Imagine a face of spectral, chalky white! Imagine a toothless mouth leering with wide-gaping jaws; imagine the creature starting forward with black-gloved hands extended, and with that hideous shriek still shrilling from its lips; imagine—

But I did not take time for further observation. Despite all the strain I had endured, my legs retained their vigor. Not for nothing had I been on the track team at college! But alas!—as I rushed like a hounded deer along the main gallery, I was dashed to grief. I do not know what betrayed me—perhaps a crevice in the floor, perhaps only a pebble; at all events, I pitched ingloriously head over heels and came painfully to a halt.

Hastily picking myself up, regardless of a bruised shin and aching knee-joint, I was about to resume my flight—when I found my pathway blocked. All about me, at distances of from ten to twenty yards, were dozens of beings so strange that they might have been dwellers of another planet.

They were riding cross-legged on curious low cars of about the size and shape of children's coasters—little wheeled vehicles, three or four feet long, a foot high, and a foot wide, which, with a buzzing of motors, darted back and forth nervously, frequently colliding with one another in their haste. This it was which explained their rapidity in over-taking me.

But more astonishing than the machines were the creatures themselves. For a moment, as they ringed me about in a gaping crowd, I had the uncanny sensation of being imprisoned by phantoms. Like him who had started me on my flight, they were all black-clad from crown to heel; they all had faces which, snowy white, seemed scarcely human in their bloodless pallor. Their hair, protruding in long tufts from beneath their cone-shaped hats, was either paper-white or gray; their eyes, narrower than those of most men, gave the impression of being not fully open, and were curiously pink or salmon-colored; their noses were flat and stubby, their chins weak and almost unnoticeable, while their narrow chests were so stooped and pinched that I could have believed the whole lot of them to be consumptives.

Had it not been for the latter features, I might have mistaken them all for women; for they wore long skirts which came down well below the knees. The impression of femininity, moreover, was re-inforced by the V-shaped slits in the backs of their costumes, and by the black pencilling of the eyebrows, which were overlooked by little snake-like curves, painted as if for artistic effect.

But at the first horrified glimpse, I did not observe all these details. I merely noticed how the creatures surrounded me, keeping at a distance of not less than ten yards, while rolling restlessly back and forth in their little cars; I noticed how several of them carried long dragon-shaped banners of green and vermilion, and how others bore little pistol-like implements, from which every now and then a forked lightning-shaft flashed toward the ceiling. And as I gazed out at the strangers, every other thought was lost in the despairing sense that I was trapped.

Yes!—I was trapped as completely as though they had me in irons. The circle about me was unbroken, and there was no way of escape!

Several minutes went by, during which nothing of importance happened. The creatures stared at me, almost glared at me, with every expression of interest; some of them jabbered to one another in those peculiar high-pitched voices so unpleasant to my ears; others pointed at me with curious gestures that may have indicated surprise, derision, or anger; one of them even stepped forth a little and addressed me in particularly loud and rasping tones, of which I could understand not one word.

But when I, in my turn, called out to them as a test, "Who are you? Where am I?" they answered with a round of such unpleasant, grating laughter that I resolved to hold my tongue thenceforth. Evidently English was not spoken in the caverns beneath the earth.

I do not know whether the people interpreted my words as mockery, or were incensed by my failure to answer them intelligibly. In any case, I could see an expression of hostility, of suspicion deepening in their salmon eyes, and knew that I had provoked their disfavor. But I was little prepared for their next action. From a rifle-like machine in the hand of the foremost man, a coil of wire leapt forth; and, before I realized the intention or had had a chance to evade it, the coil had fallen over my neck and was tightening about my shoulders, drawing my arms together against my sides and binding me as helplessly as a lassoed steer.

Naturally, I struggled, but the chief effect was to provoke more of that unpleasant grating laughter. The metal, which was thick as my index finger, would not yield to my most frantic efforts. The more I writhed, the more deeply it cut into my flesh; and the more deeply it cut into my flesh, the more heartily the chalky-faced folk laughed at my groans.

Then after a minute or two, my captors began pulling at the wire. While some of the little coaster-like machines rolled behind me, and some rolled ahead, but none approached within ten yards, I was led away down one of the side-galleries, like a dog at the end of a string, toward a fate I could hardly conjecture.

CHAPTER VII

Deeper and Darker

In the course of my thirty-eight years, I have made more than one hair-raising expedition. I have clung to the slippery sides of precipices; I have rolled in a ship at sea, with the decks all awash beneath the mountainous waves; I have been lost in the burning desert and all but blistered to death; I have roamed glacial barrens, and remote caves, and serpent-infested jungles. But never have I been stricken with such fear, never have I suffered such nightmare agonies as during that journey at the end of a wire, among the clattering groups of pit-dwellers.

So bewildered was I, so frightened, and at the same time so angered, that for a long while I kept little track of where we went. I only knew that we were making our way down, down, down, among a multitude of galleries that curved, and curved again, and branched and inter-branched with baffling intricacy—galleries illuminated with a greenish-yellow glow by the multitudes of orbs placed at regular intervals along the walls and ceiling. It seemed that we travelled for miles, while my captors, on their queer wheeled machines, rolled ahead of me and behind, but never came within yards of personal contact; and minute by minute the wire cut more deeply into my skin, checking the circulation and making it hard for me to hold back a cry of pain.

After a time, however, I began to take closer note of my surroundings. I remember, for example, catching a glimpse of a huge, rapidly revolving wheel, larger than a barn-door, from which a strong draft of cool air was blowing; I saw through a half-closed door into a hall filled with machines as high as a five-story building; I was dazzled by flashes of sun-brilliant lights, and once or twice my ears were smitten with thunderblasts; I crossed a bridge over a subterranean torrent, in which I could see half-submerged, illuminated vessels; I passed walls lined with little round lighted windows, within which I could distinguish shadowy figures moving; I shuffled along corridors where long pipes, coils, and strands of wire ran along the walls for great distances.

Absorbed in these sights, I had regained something of my composure before there occurred an event which, for a time, unnerved me completely. Coming to the end of a narrow passageway, we found ourselves facing a thoroughfare which, to my unaccustomed eyes, seemed like a parade-ground of demons. Along a gallery fifty or sixty yards across, a multitude of little cars were shooting back and forth with prodigious rapidity. None of them were any larger than the tiny coaster-like machines of my captors, but all were moving with such speed that it was difficult, and at times impossible, to follow their movements. Worst of all, they seemed to pursue no regular route, but looped and curved at all crazy angles, and so many were the near-collisions that it made me dizzy merely to look at the vehicles.

Across this mad avenue my captors set forth with the utmost nonchalance, weaving their way in and out as unconcernedly as though not in danger of being knocked to eternity. And I, though I strained back at my wire till the blood came, was forced to follow. Imagine my terror! The diabolical little machines, like bolts out of a cannon, came racing toward me from all sides, and none would relax its speed as it approached! I felt one of them flitting just to my rear with a rush of wind; another almost scraped the tips of my shoes as it darted in front of me; a third would certainly have ended my days on earth had it not swerved by a fraction of an inch just as it was about to destroy me. Little wonder that, by the time I had reached the further side, I was near to nervous prostration!

I was just heaving a sigh of relief at my deliverance, when there came a loud crash from behind me; and, glancing back, I saw two of the little cars jumbled together in a distorted heap, their drivers sprawled with outstretched limbs along the cavern floor. One of them, lying motionless in a pool of blood, was evidently already beyond help; the other was twisting and groaning miserably. But the other riders were shooting back and forth with the same reckless haste as ever, and no one seemed to pay the unfortunates any attention.

Amid all my trials, I had one cause to be thankful: we were to cross no other driveway that day! Fifteen minutes later, we had reached our destination; we emerged into a long, straight cavern, with walls several hundred feet apart and a vaulted ceiling fifty yards high; and one of my captors, flinging open a little door at one side, motioned me to enter.

Not being allured by the vague, indistinctly lighted interior, I stood still and made no attempt to obey—at which my master went off into a fit. A reddish tinge transformed the normal chalky white of his face; his black-gloved hands shook wrathfully and he uttered a howl of shrieking command.

Although I did not understand the words, I could guess their meaning; however, I still held my ground, disobedient and determined.

At this, my tormentor, growing more angry still, consulted briefly with one of his fellows; then, with a resolute motion, he seized a long two-pronged pole from the cavern wall and thrust this weapon forward so as to catch me between the prongs.

Thus held, I was helpless; and though I howled my resentment, I was shoved through the door like a captive beast. The next moment, I heard the heavy hinges rattling to a close, and with a bang like thunder, the door slammed in my face. At last I was in prison!

By the pale greenish-yellow light, I found myself in a room about twenty-five feet square, with only one small window, and with a low ceiling that curved down almost to meet the floor. One or two stone benches and tables, but no chairs, were scattered about this compartment; while, at the further end, half a dozen white-faced and black-robed creatures were cowering miserably.

But when, with the friendliest of intentions, I approached these fellow-sufferers, they cringed and withdrew into the remotest corner, trembling, and uttered sharp, menacing exclamations of fear. Why were they so afraid of me? Was it that they had never seen a man of my race?

Being denied their company, I deposited myself on a stone bench across the room from them, and, with my head buried in my hands, began drearily reviewing my predicament. Who were these chalk-faced people? How did they manage to live here beneath the earth? Why had no one ever heard of them before? What did they intend to do with me? What had happened to Clay? Was he alive or dead? These questions, and a thousand more, flitted through my mind in a mad, almost delirious succession, while, at the same time, I became increasingly aware of a great fatigue, and increasingly conscious of being hungry and thirsty.

My head was aching and my tongue was growing dry within my mouth by the time the prison door opened once more and one of the chalk-faces entered and deposited a bowl of water and some marble-sized purple capsules on a table a few yards from me.

To my surprise, my cell-mates all at once made a dash, as if to seize these articles, but withdrew in a panic when I stepped forth, and I was left in undisputed possession of the prizes.

At one gulp, I consumed the water; then, feeling somewhat better, I took up the purple capsules and examined them with interest. As I did so, a grim suspicion came into my mind. I do not know what it was that gave me this idea—perhaps the vivid color of the pellets; it flashed over me that these were poison potions, intended as an easy means of disposing of me. Probably it was from this fate that my cell-mates, unfriendly though they seemed, had wished to save me in rushing for the capsules.

What was more natural therefore than that, horrified by my suspicions, I should seize the capsules and dash them along the floor? But what was more astonishing than the actions of my cell-mates, who, with wild whoops and cries, leapt after these scattered purple globules? I noticed how they all showed an almost ravenous greed, each fighting to be first; I also noticed how, as if stricken blind, they began to grope strangely as they drew near the objects, feeling with clumsy hands across the floor and apparently finally locating them by touch alone.

Surely, it was not the dimness of the light that caused this queer conduct, for they had seen the capsules plainly enough at a distance!

It was at this point that I made my first great discovery about the chalk-faces. They were unable to see things clearly close at hand! Doubtless, their long residence underground had affected their vision.

It was at this point, also, that I made my second great discovery. The purple pellets were good to eat! That was manifest, for my cell-mates, having seized them, thrust them eagerly into their toothless mouths and smacked their lips in relish.

Cursing my reckless folly in throwing the capsules away, I made a rush toward my cell-mates, and, by grasping desperately, managed to seize the last of the globules barely in time to save it from the chalk-faces. And then tentatively I put it into my mouth, ready to spit it out at any indication of poison. But I might have spared my fears. It had a delicious nutty flavor, and was evidently concentrated food of a high quality, for I felt a new surge of strength in my veins the moment I had consumed it.

It was well that I had taken even this small amount of nourishment; I was to need all my spare energy in the dread ordeal that lay ahead.

CHAPTER VIII

Beneath the Ray

In the first dismal moment of my imprisonment, I had anticipated days, weeks, or even months of confinement. But I might have spared my fears. I was soon to be released—although under the last conditions I would have chosen. And the period of my incarceration, though brief in duration, was to be savage in the torments it inflicted.

Two or three hours after I had been jailed, the prison door was shoved violently inward to admit such a ferocious-looking gang of invaders that my cell-mates all murmured in fright and huddled together at the extreme end of the room. I too gave a little gasp of alarm, then tried hard to make myself inconspicuous in a dark corner under the low-hanging ceiling. In astonishment only exceeded by my apprehension, I saw a troop of ten beings, who had evidently made every effort to appear inhuman. The head of each was enveloped in a triangular mask of steel which came to a hatchet-like point in front and displayed hideous gaping apertures for the eyes, mouth, and nostrils; their bodies were encased in dark cloth covered with thin flakes of steel which clattered as they walked; their feet, which carried long spike-like spurs both in front and behind, were clothed in iron-plated boots that ran almost to the knees; their right hands bore shining weapons, shaped a little like sawed-off shotguns, the ends of which scintillated with flying sparks.

But perhaps the most remarkable thing about them was the manner in which they walked. They all stepped forward with movements so stiff and regular that I had a fleeting suspicion that they were animated machines; their arms swayed up and down, up and down, in perfect time with those of their companions; their feet always left the ground with a peculiar high-swinging motion, like that of prancing horses, although their pace was by no means a prancing one; the sound of their footsteps reminded me of cavalry trotting.

Of course, I recognized their nature very quickly. Their automatic and mechanical movements made it evident that they were soldiers.

At a steady pace, they approached my cell-mates, who were shaking and howling with dread; then abruptly they halted, and their leader pointed at one of the poor wretches and snapped out a sharp order.

Instantly the victim uttered a cry, as of lamentation and dismay; then, sagging to the floor, he was seized by one of the warriors and dragged away, while the whole party left the room at their odd prancing march.

As the door rattled to a close behind them, my remaining cell-mates all dashed toward the one small window, fighting and wrestling with one another to gain a favorable position. And all the while, from the lips of them all, there issued the dreariest, most doleful wails that ever grated on my ears.

Noting their excitement, and not wishing to be left behind if there was anything to see, I too darted toward the window. And lo and behold!—the effect was magical! Avoiding contact with me as though I were a plague-bearer, the chalk-faces all made way before my coming, and, whimpering with fear, retreated to the further end of the room. Thus I was left in undisputed possession of the view!

It was a strange sight that I beheld as I peered out between the iron bars—a sight in some ways more appalling than even the clash of the land-battleships. Glancing out into the broad, high corridor just outside our prison, I saw my late cell-mate being borne away to the opposite wall, where he was tied against a stone column shaped like a gallows. Then, while a group of about fifty chalk-faces gathered around, gibbering and gesticulating, one of the soldiers uttered what sounded like a warning cry, at which the spectators all withdrew to a respectable distance, and a curious-looking machine was wheeled on to the scene.

Not until its brown cloth cover had been removed, and it had been put into operation, could I guess its nature. Although it rested, like a camera, on an iron tripod, it was unlike any other machine I had ever observed; it consisted, in the main, of a series of prisms and lenses, of various shapes and colors, some of them transparent and but a few inches across, but the foremost of them rounded in form, stained a deep opaque blue, and fully a yard in diameter. Behind the lenses, there were numbers of bulbs and wires, and of battery-like tubes; while the whole instrument, when in operation, made a constant whirring sound, a little like a motion picture projector.

What interested me most of all, however, was the weird light which, issuing from the foremost lens, was not scattered or diffused like most rays, but drew sharply to a focus twenty or twenty-five yards ahead of the machine, making a long cone of the most uncanny violet illumination I had ever seen.

Even now, I was not certain of the dread purpose of the apparatus. But from the hush of awe-stricken expectancy that had come over the spectators, I surmised that something extraordinary was in store. Nor was I to be disappointed. One of the soldiers, operating the machine, turned the violet light-rays on and off two or three times as if for practice, then gradually moved the instrument so that it pointed directly toward the wretch tied against the stone column.

There followed a moment of silence, during which the operator looked through a little glass tube, as if to make sure of his position and distance; then he raised his black-gloved hand in an urgent gesture, and the silence became more absolute than ever, except for a moaning sound from the tied man; then he took out a little instrument like a watch and gazed at it intently, as if keeping careful count of the time....

The next instant, while I still wondered what was to happen, I heard the low regular whirring of the machine. The cone of violet light shot out, its focus directly at the prisoner's heart. Then the man sagged and would have fallen except for the ropes that held him. A strangled cry issued from his throat; dark foam appeared upon his lips; his face, for an instant, became ghastly purplish red, then turned gray and colorless....

Three or four seconds, and all was over. The victim gave a last convulsive quiver; the violet light no longer played; the whirring sound had ceased. But one of the soldiers, whistling a tune, cut the lifeless form free; and the people, with a loud babbling chatter, surged back and forth across the gallery as if nothing had occurred.

The explanation now was clear enough to me. I knew that the machine generated not only violet but ultra-violet rays of a penetrating power to reach the heart and check its action by tearing down the tissues.

Having seen enough for one day, I sank back upon a stone bench, clasping my aching forehead with both hands and telling myself that I had fallen amongst the most barbarous race ever known. True, they were wonderfully advanced scientifically, but would any civilized people execute a man with a death-ray? Would they not, rather, resort to humane devices, such as hanging, the guillotine, or the electric chair?

While absorbed in these ruminations, I was startled to see the prison door burst open once more, admitting the squad of ten soldiers who advanced with the same machine-like movements and prancing steps as before, singled out another of my cell-mates, bore the cringing victim away, and promptly executed him by means of the violet-ray.

Four times in the course of the next hour they returned, and each time withdrew one of my fellow prisoners, who shortly afterwards said his last farewell to this world.

What had these men done to justify such treatment? Surely, they were criminals of a desperate calibre!

With this reflection, I sought to console myself and to drive out a terrorizing premonition. But it was by no means consoling to find myself at length alone in the prison, while the last of my cell-mates was being crumpled to death by the violet rays.

Would I now be left to myself? Fervently I prayed to remain undisturbed for a time, so that the pulsing in my head might subside. But my prayer was not to be answered. Immediately after disposing of the last chalk-face, the soldiers returned. I heard the banging of the door, as it swung on its hinges with a rattling like the thunder of the gates of doom; I heard the warriors, with their clattering steely garments and triangular hatchet helmets as they solemnly approached; I saw their leader lift a black-clad hand and point in my direction with a motion as automatic as it was inexorable; and, cowering in the furthest dim recess of the prison, cornered beyond hope of escape, I felt as if I had already heard the summons of the Last Bugler trumpeting in my ears.

CHAPTER IX

Intervention

Had I been a condemned criminal sentenced to the electric chair, my torments would have been less hard to bear. For then, at least, I would have known that I was suffering justly; I would have been surrounded by people of my own kind and race; I would have had time in which to prepare myself, and I would have had to face no such diabolical instrument as the violet-ray. Oh, how I loathed the sight of that machine. Even today I cannot think of it without an involuntary start of fright! Yet, apparently, there was no power on Heaven or Earth to save me from it. Coolly, deliberately, with the most matter-of-fact manner, my oppressors dragged me out of prison, pulled me at the end of a wire to the stone column that had witnessed the six executions, and, still not approaching me, hurled some heavy iron strands around the column in such a way as to hold me tightly against it.

Now it seemed to me that I was living through some horrible nightmare, persecuted by devils. I saw the ghastly black-and-white figures of the spectators crowded at a safe distance, their salmon eyes glittering with pitiless curiosity; I saw the ten soldiers with their hatchet helmets looking on like the creatures of some delirious vision; I saw the death-machine being moved into place and watched the operator as he peered through the little glass tube as if to make sure of his aim. Then, while I gave a convulsive shudder and grew limp with fright, the executioner lifted his hand to signify that all was ready....

The following seconds seemed each as long as whole hours. For the first time since my childhood, I had an impulse to pray; my lips opened, as if to gasp out a supplication to that Supreme Power in whom I no longer believed; but nothing except a cracked, dry sound came forth, and I half imagined I already heard my own death-rattle. In that final second, I seemed to live through my whole life again, as the drowning are said to do; I was a child in my mother's arms; I was a youth at college; I was a grown man making love to that auburn-headed one who might even now be my bride, if—

But at this point my remembrances ceased. My ears caught the tell-tale whirring of the death-machine; my eyes beheld the cone of violet light, its thin point tapering toward my breast; and, straining with a last futile effort against the imprisoning wires, I thought that my days on earth were over.

Several seconds, long-protracted, tortured seconds—went by. I was aware of a faint warmth, a slight tickling sensation above the heart—and that was all. Was my death to be painless?

Then, in a wild rush, hope came flooding back upon me. Might I not, after all, be saved? Was I immune to the effects of the rays?

Yes!—the miracle had happened! Suddenly the whirring of the machine ceased, the violet-ray snapped off, and the spectators, surging back and forth with excited cries, showed that they shared my own surprise at the failure of the execution.

But was I actually saved? Again I heard the fearful buzzing of the machine; again the cone of violet light pointed toward me; again I felt that ticking sensation in my breast. But I still defied the rays of death!

After the third fruitless attempt, the chalk-faces seemed ready to abandon the effort. I saw the soldiers gathered in a little knot as though in conference; I heard the spectators noisily talking with explosive exclamations; then, after a minute, to my great relief, one of the helmeted ones reached out with a long forked pole and loosened the wires that bound me.

A moment later, I was a free man! Still mystified as to the reason for my escape, I felt impulsively at my chest, wondering if I had not been wounded, ever though I felt no pain. And, as I did so, sudden light dawned upon me. Beneath my coat, which had been punctured with a little round incision like a bullet-hole, I felt a small familiar bulge. And reaching into an inner pocket, I drew forth a little leather-covered notebook! A deep, charred perforation, reaching almost through the heavy back cover, showed what it was that had checked the deadly rays!

Had my enemies taken the trouble to search me in advance, I would not have escaped so easily. Only their irrational dread of approaching me could account for this omission!

But let me not exult prematurely! Now that the cause of the interference had been discovered, what was to prevent my captors from subjecting me once more to the violet rays?

Evidently, the same idea occurred to them as well. Seeing me take the notebook out of my pocket, they uttered shrill exclamations of interest, and the soldiers motioned me to surrender it. At first I refused, but they bound me again with wires shot from one of the rifle-like machines, forcing me to drop the book, which one of the chalk-faces instantly drew toward him with a pronged pole.

But as he could not see clearly at close range, he placed it twenty or thirty feet away, and examined it through a sort of binoculars, while one of his companions turned the pages. I do not know what he found to interest him, for all that it contained was some mining notes with some printed matter bearing statistical information, such as the names and populations of leading cities, the capitals of states, etc. Besides, it was to be presumed that he could not read English! Nevertheless, he uttered significant grunts as he looked from page to page, and one would have thought he had gained invaluable knowledge!

All this was, however, of little consolation to me, for I still expected to be executed the next minute. And was I not justified in this expectation, judging from the way the operator of the death-machine was testing the apparatus, turning the violet-ray on and off every few seconds as if for practice?

Indeed, had it not been for the arrival of Professor Tan Trum, my execution would have been postponed but a few minutes.

I mentioned the name of this renowned individual as I afterwards learned it; for, at the time, of course, I knew nothing of his distinguished reputation. I was only aware of the approach of a chalk-face of unusual appearance. He was much taller and thinner than any of his companions, being well over six feet in height and lean in proportion, and he bent far forward as he walked. His gray hair fell in long braids and curls from his massive brow; his embroidered robe rippled almost to his ankles; and his face, instead of being cleaned-shaven like that of his fellows, showed a long grizzled beard, neatly parted in the center.

At his approach, the others withdrew, not exactly with deference, but with a little of the awe of children at the appearance of some authoritative adult, while he, not heeding them in the least, pushed his way to the front of the crowd, took out his binoculars, and peered at my notebook from a convenient distance.

As he did so, I could see his little reddish eyes beaming enthusiastically. But I was little prepared for the whoop of joy which he let out, or for his excited leap and rush in the direction of my notebook. Approaching it, he had to grope like a blind man, since he had even more trouble than his countrymen in seeing near at hand. However, he finally managed to locate it, and, hugging it to his side as though it were some rare art treasure, he uttered another cry of delight.

The next moment, I noticed that his eyes were fastened upon me, but I felt more friendliness than hostility in his glance; indeed, it turned out that, for the first time since arriving in these nether depths, I had found a defender. I realized that I personally interested him less than did my notebook, yet he was so grateful that I could have kissed his hand when he motioned to my captors, speaking sharply and angrily, and they once more untied my bonds.

Yet I was to be disappointed if I imagined the ordeal to be over. I was, indeed, relieved of the fear of instant execution; but other trials and perils followed immediately. No sooner was I released from the wires than the Professor issued an order and several of the little coaster-like cars were wheeled up. What was my horror when I was motioned to take my place on one of them! However, it was useless to protest. Upon my refusal to obey commands, I was pitched on to one of the vehicles with a two-pronged pole and was made to understand that any attempt to escape would be severely treated. So I lay on the car at full length, clinging to a little board projecting in front, instead of squatting with crossed legs, in the manner of the natives. Loud was their laughter to see me take this position, and great was their surprise that I appeared to have no knowledge of the steering mechanism; but they solved the difficulty by hitching my machine with a wire to another, which forthwith dragged it away.

The ride that followed did not last more than ten minutes, but it was an expedition through Hell itself. My mind kept no clear track of details; I only know that we roared through narrow tunnels, lurched at breakneck speed around curves, shot across causeways and bridges, raced along avenues where other cars swept past in a gray whirl of speed, and finally came to a halt with such abruptness that I was pitched forward off my perch, and was only saved from serious injury by falling on Professor Tan Trum, who drove the car ahead of mine.

Not being versed in the native language, I did not know what epithets of abuse he used; but the sparks that flashed from his salmon eyes, and the sharp tones of his indignant voice, testified to his anger as he picked himself up, nursed a bruised arm, and brushed out the rumpled embroidery of his gown. But, infuriated as he was, I could see that his first thought was for my notebook, which he still firmly clutched. Finding this unharmed, he seemed consoled for his injuries.

We were now joined by half a dozen more chalk-faces, including several soldiers, who had followed us on other cars, and the whole party, without delay, started down a brilliantly lighted gallery toward a great shining hall. As always, most of the chalk-faces kept at a distance from me, some of them trotting half a dozen yards behind, and others as many yards ahead; but Professor Tan Trum, surprisingly, seemed willing to walk at my side—an act of friendliness which filled me with deep gratitude.

As we drew near the hall, my companions slackened their pace; when we had come within a stone's throw of the entrance, I was startled to see a row of soldiers, their faces hidden in triangular helmets, their right hands clutching pikes twenty feet high. They all stood stiff as stone and made no response to our salutes; in fact, such was their lifeless rigidity that at first I supposed them to be, not living men, but statues.

However, after one of our attendants had spoken, slipping a little something into their hands, two of the soldiers proved themselves to be human after all; they moved aside a few feet, making room for us to pass; and, while their pikes gleamed high above us, we entered the hall beyond.

I was now surprised to see my companions drop to their knees and move forward on all fours in a grovelling attitude which I could not be persuaded to imitate until a sharp cuff on the small of the back taught me discretion. Even Professor Tan Trum had fallen into a most ungainly and unbecoming posture; his lanky form, as he crept forward foot by foot on his hands and knees, impressed me as so ridiculous that I could not restrain a burst of laughter, which cost me a second and even more severe cuff on the back.

But what was it that filled the chalk-faces with such humility? Had they entered the shrine of a god—or the throne-room of their king? After a moment, I accepted the latter explanation, although nothing very kingly-looking met my eyes. There was, to be sure, plenty of pomp and display; the walls of the hall, which was at least a hundred yards across, were emblazoned with multitudes of brilliant white, red, and yellow lights; enormous dragon-shaped banners of green and vermilion hung from the high fretted ceilings, interspersed with long strings of swords, pikes, and helmets; in the center, on a raised platform of polished red sandstone, sat the most remarkable individual it had ever been my fortune to behold.

Let me say, to begin with, that he was the smallest man I had encountered outside of a circus. He may have been four feet high, but I doubt it; his lean and weazened frame may have been as stout as that of an eight-year-old, but again I doubt it. The legs, thin as those of a paralytic, were little more than two dangling sticks; his arms were scarcely better developed; his head was bald, his mouth toothless, and his fingers without nails; his eyes were covered with instruments like binoculars, through which he could see only with difficulty; his ears were hidden by a mass of wires, and by black projections like telephone receivers; his nostrils were encased in rubber-like tubes, connecting with steel tanks which, as I later learned, contained oxygen; his mouth, likewise, was fitted with breathing tubes, which I saw him remove only in order to talk, which he did by means of a megaphone.

In other words, the poor creature seemed to have scarcely one of his natural faculties intact!

Yet, to judge from the way in which he was dressed, he was a personage of note. I shall spare the reader an account of his apparel, except to say that, unlike his fellows, he was robed not in black, but in resplendent green and saffron, with a purple crest upon his hairless pate, and with a string of huge rubies dangling about his neck. Personally, I did not care for the color scheme, but he himself was apparently well pleased with it, for all about him, in a gleaming circle, a row of large mirrors was displayed, and through these he was feasted with a constant view of himself and could catch every turn and nod and twist of his imperial countenance. Moreover, other mirrors, spaced at intervals about the room, caught the reflections of the ones nearest him and magnified them so that, in no matter what direction one looked, one was sure to catch the image of that green-and-saffron figure.

It was appropriate that throughout the greater part of the room, except for the reflection of the central dignitary, there should be nothing at all. But just around him, with a mincing and obsequious manner, twenty attendants stood in waiting on the sandstone platform; whenever he made a move or a gesture, were it only to smooth out his dress or scratch the back of his neck, at least half of them would rush up to serve him. I well remember their consternation on one occasion when their master, with the most undignified suddenness, bent forward and sneezed; for a moment, not knowing what was the trouble, I thought I was witnessing a riot as the twenty attendants, like one man, leapt forward to readjust the nose-tubes, which had been blown out of place.

All this I observed while my companions and I, on our hands and knees, crept up to the throne of the potentate. Why should the chalk-faces, absurd as they were, do reverence to such a monarch? I wondered, for I now had no doubt that this was their royal lord. But knowing that there is no accounting for political tastes, I dismissed the mystery as beyond solution; and, for the sake of good form, I remained crouching in a respectful attitude after we had finally halted twenty yards from the throne.

For half an hour we remained on all fours, miserably waiting—at least, I was miserable. During all this time the sovereign seemed to take no note at all of our existence, but remained seated in a sort of dreamy trance, as if brooding on the mystic bliss of Nirvana. Unfortunately, it was the rule among the chalk-faces that subjects could not speak until spoken to; hence we might have remained stooping there all day, and still not have gained an audience, had the dignitary not eventually caught sight of me and become interested.

So interested was he, in fact, that he rose from his seat and tottered to the edge of the platform—a distance of fully six feet, which he accomplished with the utmost difficulty, while three attendants supported him on each side. Then, for at least a minute, he stared at me intently through his binoculars until, exhausted from the effort, he had to be carried to his chair and fanned back to life again.

This process consumed at least ten minutes, during which we all had to remain in the same uncomfortable attitude. But at length the regal one, restored by the fanning of his servants and strengthened by hypodermic injections, was revived sufficiently to be able to speak through the megaphone which a slave lifted to his mouth. Of course, I did not know what he said, but the words were high-pitched and squeaky and rasped upon me like the edge of a file; but the effect was, at least, most welcome, for all of us, with sighs of relief, were able to rise to our feet.

Now Professor Tan Trum, after a flourish and a low bow, waved my notebook high in the air for all to see and launched forth into speech. And what a speech it was. The words seemed to trip and fall over one another, as they came out in a rattling torrent; many minutes went by with scarcely a pause for breath, while all the other chalk-faces made scarcely an effort to conceal their yawns. At last even the monarch, apparently, could endure it no longer; he lifted his arm in a gesture of command, motioned for the megaphone, and snapped out two short words—which instantly put an end to Tan Trum's discourse.

Not until much later did I learn that the ruler had granted everything the professor had asked, nor did I know how deeply everything that had happened affected myself. But his speech, as I afterwards read it in the court records, ran something as follows:

"Lord High Dictator Thuno Flâtum, sovereign of the great empire of Wu and illustrious ruler of the Underworld and the Overworld, I prostrate myself before you! Long may your distinguished might endure! Long may your power cause the nations to shake! I come to you today on a momentous mission, and I trust you will let no thought of my personal unworthiness deter you from that just decision for which you are so rightly renowned. Know, O Thuno Flâtum, that this day a stranger of queer and unprepossessing appearance has been found in our midst. His dark skin and gray eyes proclaim him to be a member of one of those colored races of which ancient traditions tell. But he was at first mistaken for a spy sent out against us by our enemy, Zu, in the war now being waged. This view was re-inforced by the fact that he was found in the Scouting Galleries, just above Black Ravine, where the forces of Your Highness have this day won such a glorious victory. Hence he was sentenced to be executed, in accordance with that good old maxim, 'In wartime, kill first and investigate afterwards.'

"But, as fortune would have it, I arrived in time to save him. Your Highness will observe the curious little book which I carry in my hand; this proves him to be not a spy after all, but a creature of some outside race who arrived in some manner beyond our imagining. It is preposterous, of course, to suppose that he came from the Overworld, which, as our scientists have conclusively proved, is incapable of supporting life, since all living things would be instantly killed by the sunlight and fresh air. But may he not have come from caverns deep down in the earth's center, where we have never penetrated?

"This is my theory, Your Highness, and it is supported by the queer writing in his book, which I take to be the hieroglyphics of the crude and undeveloped race of which he is a member. As a philologist, I cannot but be interested, and as a student of primitive writing, I consider that here is an unparalleled opportunity for scholarly research. So I request, Your Highness, that you permit me to take him to my own home, where I will care for him and will attempt, in case his mind be capable of absorbing a few simple facts, to educate him in the rudiments of our language, so as better to study his habits in the interests of science. I will deliver a full report in not less than three octavo volumes, before the Royal Institute of Anthropological Abnormalities, and meanwhile will put up a bond to take every reasonable care of the prisoner and not to let him bite any one or escape...."

Such was the opening of Professor Tan Trum's speech, which continued in the same vein for thirty pages. It is little wonder, therefore, that the patience of Dictator Thuno Flâtum finally weakened, and that, with his permission, I left the hall in the company of Professor Tan Trum, to be launched by him into a new and unpredictably strange career.

CHAPTER X