The Web of the Golden Spider Part 33

"You don't mean to go over the side, m' son?"

"It's only twice the length of a man's body," repeated Wilson. "If that is so, I ought to strike something below--a ledge--that we can't see now."

"Better wait until we can get a rope. If it ain't so, you may drop a mile."

"It would take two hours to go back. I believe that phrase 'the seeming is not always the true' means something. Those things were not put in there for nothing. And it isn't likely that such a treasure as this was hidden where it could ever be found by accident."

He had stripped off his coat and stood waiting impatiently for Stubbs.

The latter delayed.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned if you go down there," he said finally. "If anyone goes, it's me. In these sorter hills ye can't tell how deep a hole is."

"I wouldn't drop any farther than you."

"Maybe not. But if anyone gits foolish round here, it's me." He added, looking Wilson squarely in the eyes, "There ain't no one waiting fer me to come back."

But Wilson refused to listen.

"In the first place, I'm the lighter man, Stubbs; and in the second, I'm the younger. This isn't a matter for sentiment, but bull strength. I'm in earnest, Stubbs; I'm going."

For a moment Stubbs considered the advisability of attempting to knock him down. It seemed foolish for the boy to risk his life to save a matter of two hours. But when he met again the stubborn eyes and the jaw which was locked upon the resolution, he recognized the futility of further protest. He took off his coat and they tied the two sleeves together.

"Once more afore ye start, boy,--won't ye consider?"

"Stubbs, this isn't like you. There is no danger. Get a good brace with your feet. You won't have to bear the full weight because I can climb a little."

Without more ado Wilson let himself slowly over the edge. He slipped the length of the sleeves, his feet dangling in the air over what depth he did not know. He swung his toes in either direction and felt them strike the opposite wall. He lowered himself a bit more, and his toe rested upon what seemed a firm platform. He was on a projection from the opposite cliff face which slanted under. He let go the sleeve and looked down. He found he could step from here to a narrow path upon the nigh side where at this point the two walls came almost together. He was now beneath the place where he had started, which hung over him like a canopy. The walls again separated below, revealing a dark cavern.

At the end of a few steps taken with his face flat to the rock, he found himself again on a narrow trail which threaded its way over a yawning chasm. He moved slowly, shuffling one foot ahead and dragging the other after it. In this way he had gone perhaps one hundred feet when the path seemed to come to an abrupt end. His foot dangled over nothing. He almost lost his balance. When he recovered himself, he was so weak and dizzy that it was with difficulty he clung to the rock. In a moment he was able to think. He had been moving on a downward slope and it was probable that this was only a more abrupt descent in the shape of steps. One thing was sure: the path did not end here, if it really was a path, and not a chance formation. The opposite ledge had constantly receded until it was now some thirty feet distant. The path upon which he stood had narrowed until it was scarcely over eighteen inches wide at this spot. There was one other possibility: the ledge at this point might have crumbled and fallen. In his progress he had loosened many stones which rattled downwards out of hearing.

He secured a good balance on his left foot and cautiously lowered the other. Inch by inch he groped down keeping his arms as far outstretched as possible. Finally his toe touched something solid.

He ventured an inch farther at the risk of losing his balance. He found a more secure footing and, taking a chance, rested his full weight. The base was firm and he drew down the other foot. He was on a wider path than that above. He paused here for the effort had made his breath come short. It was more the mental than the physical strain which had weakened him. It was nerve-racking work. The dark and the silence oppressed him. There was almost a tomb-like effect in this slit of the earth where man had not been for centuries.

Once he had ventured to shout to Stubbs but his voice had sounded so m.u.f.fled and the effort had produced in him such a panicky feeling that he did not try it again.

Once more he shuffled forward and once more his foot dangled over nothing. But he had gained more confidence now and lowered it to find another firm base. Two more steps came after this, and then the path proceeded on the level once more. He had gone some forty paces on this last lap when he was brought up against a face of solid rock. He moved his hands over it as far as possible in every direction, but he could not detect any boundaries. It appeared to be a part of the cliff itself. But once more he recalled the warning, "The seeming is not always the true." Then he tried to recall the details of the directions. His map was about his neck but he was in such a position that it would be hazardous to attempt to reach it. In spite of the many times he had read it, he could not now remember a word. The more he tried, the more confused he became.

After all, he had gone farther than he had intended. The thought of returning came as a relief. The next time he would have more confidence and could proceed with less of a strain. And so, step by step, he began to retrace the path. He was forced to keep his cheek almost flat to the rock. The dry dust sifted into his nostrils and peppered his eyes so that he was beginning to suffer acutely from the inflammation. His arms, too, began to pain him as he had been unable to relieve them at all from their awkward position. The last fifty feet were accomplished in an agony that left him almost too weak to raise his voice. But he braced himself and shouted. He received no response. He lifted his head and reached up an aching arm for the sleeve which he had left dangling over the cliff. It was not there.

With a sinking heart he realized that something must have happened to Stubbs. The coats had probably fallen into the chasm below.

CHAPTER XXI

_The Hidden Cave_

In the face of this new emergency Wilson, as a real man will, quickly regained control of himself. Some power within forced his aching body to its needs. The first shock had been similar to that which a diver feels when receiving no response to a tug upon the life line. He felt like a unit suddenly hurled against the universe. Every possible human help was removed, bringing him face to face with basic forces. His brain cleared, his swollen and inflamed eyes came to their own, and his aching arms recovered their strength. The fresh shock had thrown these manifestations so far into the background of his consciousness that they were unable to a.s.sert themselves.

Stubbs was gone. It was possible, of course, that he lay dead up there within six feet of where Wilson stood,--dead, perhaps, with a knife in his back. But this did not suggest itself so strongly as did the probability that he had been seized and carried off. The Priest, who was undoubtably back of this, would not kill him at once. There was little need of that and he would find him more useful alive than dead. If there had been a fight--if Stubbs had been given a chance--then, of course, the Priest would have struck hard and decisively. If he had been carried away uninjured, Stubbs would find his way back here. Of that he was sure. The man was strong, resourceful, and would use his last ounce of strength to relieve his partner.

Wilson was in a veritable rat trap. One wall of the cliff projected over his head and the other slanted at such an angle that it was impossible to cling to its smooth surface. And so, although within such a short distance of the top, he was as effectively imprisoned as though he were at the bottom of the chasm. There were just two things possible for him to do; wait where he was on the chance that Stubbs might return, or attempt to trace his way further and reach the cave.

If he waited, the dark might catch him there and so he would be forced to remain standing until morning. He hadn't the strength left for that. The other course would also be a bitter struggle to the last remaining spark of energy and might leave him face to face with another blank wall. However, that seemed to offer the bigger chance and would bring death, if death must be, more quickly.

He loosened the map from about his throat and, unrolling it, examined it through his smarting eyes. The directions took him almost step by step to the big rock which had barred further progress. He scanned the words which followed.

"The path is locked," it read, "but it opens to the faithful--to children of the Gilded One. Twelve hands' breadth from the bottom and close to the wall lies the sign. A strong man pressing steadily and with faith against this spot will find the path opened to him."

Twelve hands' breadth from the bottom and close to the wall. But supposing that referred to some real door which had since been blotted out by falling rock--by a later avalanche of which this barrier was a relic? There was but one way to find out and he must decide quickly.

Also, he must memorize the other directions, for he would be unable to consult his map in the darkness of the lower chasm.

"Thirty strides on. If the foot stumbles here, the fall is long. To the left ten paces, and then the faithful come to the warmth of the living sun again. The door stands before. Enter ye who are of the Sun; pause if ye be bearded man or unclean."

Twelve handbreadths up and close to the wall; thirty paces on, then ten; so an opening of some sort appeared and near it, the cave. The cave--it lost its meaning as a treasure house. It was a place to relieve the ache which was creeping back to his arms; which would soothe his straining legs. It was a place to lie down in--this hole, hiding pretty jewels and gold plate.

He raised his voice in a final call to Stubbs. It was like calling against a wall; his m.u.f.fled voice was thrown back in his face. With a start he saw that the light about him was fading. He studied his map for the last time to make sure he had made no mistake, and, folding it, adjusted it once more about his neck.

It was the same laboriously slow process all over again. He shuffled one foot ahead, moved his body squat against the wall, and followed with the other foot. Each time he moved the bitter dust sifted down until it checked his breathing and burned his throat. He had learned to keep his eyes fast closed, but it was a constant effort, for this increased the feeling of dizziness. Always there was a power at his back which drew him out as though he were responding to some powerful magnet. This and the temptation to loosen the tight cords back of his knees--to just let go and sink into relaxation--kept him at a more severe strain than did the actual physical effort.

But more than gold was at stake now,--more than jewels, though they sparkled like stars. The prize for steady legs and unflinching nerves was a respite from Death. If he reached the cave, he would have several days at least before him. Neither thirst nor hunger, fierce masters though they are, can work their will except by slow process.

Against them Stubbs would be racing and he had faith in this man.

He did not fear Death itself. In thinking of the end, the bitter thing it meant to him was the taking off of her. And every day meant one day more of her--another chance of finding her and getting her back to G.o.d's country and the life which awaited them there. It _did_ wait for them; in coming here they had left the true course of their life, but it remained for them to take it up when once they should make the beaten tracks again. Now he was trembling along the ragged edge of losing it all--all that lay behind and all that lay before. But if this was to be so, why had he ever seen that face in the misty dark?

why had he come upon her the second and the third time? why had Chance brought him to her across ten thousand miles of sea? why had it brought him here? Why at the beginning could he not have forgotten her as one forgets those who flit into one's life and out again? He did not believe in a jesting G.o.d.

One foot forward, the body flat against the wall, a little choke from the dust, then the other foot after. A pause to catch the breath, then--one foot forward, the body flat against the wall, a little choke from the dust, then the other foot after. Also he must pause to remember that it was twelve hands up, close to the wall, thirty paces on, then ten.

Odd things flash through a mind long at a tension. In the midst of his suffering he found time to smile at the thought that life had reduced itself to such a formula. A single error in this sing-song, such as ten hands up instead of twelve,--_was_ it ten or twelve? Ten hands up and close to the wall--twelve hands up and close to the wall--they sounded alike. Each fell equally well into the rhythm of his song. He stopped in the grip of a new fear. He had forgotten, and, trying to recall the rest, he found he had forgotten that too. His mind was a jumble so that now he did not dare to put out his right foot at all without first feeling with his toe a little beyond.

But this pa.s.sed soon, and his thoughts returned to her, which steadied him instantly. So he came safely to the single step down and accomplished this. Then the other and accomplished that. At the end of a few paces farther he faced the great rock. It had become dark down here now,--so dark that he could not see six inches ahead. His foot had come against the rock, and then he had felt up with his hands. He found it impossible to stoop sufficiently accurately to measure from the bottom. There was nothing for it but to guess--to try again and again until either it gave or he proved that it would not give.

He placed his hand upon the rock at about the height of his chest and threw his weight forward. It was as though he were trying to push the mountain itself to one side. He tried above, below, to the right, to the left without result. Nothing discouraged, he began again, starting from as low as he could reach and pressing with all his strength at intervals of a few inches. Suddenly, like a door opened from within, the rock toppled to the right where it hung balanced over the precipice, leaving an opening two feet wide. It would have been a tight squeeze for Stubbs, but Wilson easily jammed through. He saw that the path continued at a slightly downward slope.

"Thirty paces on and ten to the left."

He repeated the words parrot fas.h.i.+on and his feet obeyed the instructions automatically. The thirty paces ended so near the edge of crumbling rock that it fell away beneath his toe leaving some two inches over nothing. Had a man walked here without directions, he certainly would have taken this last step and been hurled into the s.p.a.ce below. It was pitch dark where he stood. He felt along the wall for the opening which should take him to the left ten paces. The wall, the path, the depth below the path were all one save to touch alone.

It was as though he himself had been deadened to every sense but this.

During the last few minutes his brain, too, had dulled so that all he now grasped of the great happy world outside was a vague memory of blue sky before which a shadowy figure danced like a will-o'-the-wisp.

But still propelled by the last instinct to leave man before the soul, he put one foot ahead of him, pressed his body flat to the wall, and drew the other after. As he proceeded thus, counting the steps he took, he became aware that the air was fresher. Ahead, he saw an opening which was a little less dark than this which stifled him. It was light, though he saw it only faintly through blurred eyes. It was a gray slit coming together at the top. He groped his way almost to the edge and then to the left he saw a second opening--an opening into another dark. It was the cave. He staggered the few remaining feet and fell p.r.o.ne upon its granite floor.

How long he remained so he could not tell. He was not wholly unconscious, but in a state so bordering upon it that he realized nothing but the ecstatic relief which came to his aching body. Still he was able to realize that. Also he knew that he had reached his journey's end, so far as anything more he could do was concerned. He would wait--wait as long as possible--cling to the very last second of life. He must do that for her. That was all that was left.

His slowly fading senses flickered back. He roused himself and sat up.

In the gloom back of him he made out nothing: the opening was becoming obliterated by the dark without, so that he felt as though in a sealed box--a coffin almost. He felt an impulse to shout, but his dry lips choked this back. He could not sit still. He must act in some way. He rose to his hands and knees and began to grope about without any definite object. There was something uncanny in the thought that this silence had not been broken for centuries. He thought of it as his toes sc.r.a.ped along the granite behind him. Once when he put out his hands near the cave opening, they fell upon what felt like cloth.

Something gave before his touch with a dry rattle as of bones. He drew back with the morbid thought that they really _were_ bones. Perhaps some other poor devil had made his way here and died.

He felt a craving, greater at first even than his thirst, for light.

If only the moon came in here somewhere; if only he could find wood to make a fire. He had a few matches, but these he must keep for something more important than catering to a fear. He turned back to the cave mouth, pressing forward this time to the very edge. He saw opposite him another sheer face of rock which came in parallel to this in which he was imprisoned. His eyes fell below to a measureless drop. But the moon was s.h.i.+ning and found its way down into these depths. With his eyes still down he bathed in this. Then, with returning strength, he turned to the left and his heart came into his throat. There was still more light; but, greater joy than this, he caught sight far below him of a pool of liquid purple. The cold, uns.h.i.+mmering rays of the moon played upon it in silver paths. It was the lake--the lake upon whose borders it was possible she stood at that very moment, perhaps looking up at these cliffs. It looked such a gentle thing--this lake. Within its calm waters another moon shone and about its edges a fringe of dark where the trees threw their shadows.