Chapter VI: Lost in the Labyrinth

With a convulsive shudder, Burr Wythe wiped the clotted blood from his hand. Duplin, startled by the cry of his comrade, quickly turned his head.

"What is it, Wythe?"

"Nothing--I rested my hand in that blood yonder. But what is this--a cave?"

"It must be--and see! There are blood-stains on the inside edges of the rock. Whoever, one or many, have gone in there, taking poor Jack with them, either dead or alive," muttered Paley, as he drew back and carefully looked to his weapons.

"Then out of it they must come," determinedly returned Burr, his eyes glittering.

"But how? If in there, they have the advantage of us in every respect."

"There is only one way. We must enter and do the best we can."

"It looks like suicide, after what we see here; but if you dare risk it, I will not fail you. We can not desert the lad. He would risk as much for either of us."

"Here--let me pass in first. I can get some idea of what is before us, and if they mean mischief, they'll wait to make sure of us both. Do you keep back from the entrance, but ready to assist me if I call."

Pale but resolute, Wythe crawled into the hole, and then glanced quickly around him, as though in hopes of being able to penetrate the dense gloom. That his heart beat quicker than common, is no disparagement to his courage, for there is nothing so trying as facing an unknown danger _in the dark_.

Feeling around he found several pebbles, and flung them violently from him. From their faint echoes, he learned what he desired.

"It's a large cave, Paley," he uttered, as he emerged into the open air. "We must not enter without material for torches. We might pass within arm's length of poor Jack, and not know it."

Thoroughly determined to find their missing comrade, and if possible those who had struck this blow, the two men scarcely gave a thought now to the danger they might be incurring, nor how completely they would be at the mercy of any hidden enemy, while they were bearing lighted torches. So, while Wythe guarded the cave entrance, Duplin hastily collected material for torches.

A few minutes sufficed for this, and then both men entered the hole. Thus shielded from the wind, they soon succeeded in kindling a torch, and then, while one held it aloft, the other kept just without the circle of light, with cocked and ready revolver. In this manner one at least would be running less risk. Duplin, as being the best shot, held the latter position.

The two friends curiously glanced around them. But little was to be seen, save the jagged roof of rock, as the torch emitted but a feeble light.

Still, a few moments showed them that the chamber in which they stood was untenanted save by themselves. It was of considerable size, irregular in outline, rough and jagged, with a low roof or ceiling.

"Look! here is a sort of tunnel," muttered Wythe, waving the light before him. "And--yes! here goes the blood-drops. Poor Jack! if it's _his_ blood, he must be dead."

"Maybe not. A little makes a big show on rock. But let's hasten--I'm eager for the end. Any thing--even the knowledge of his death, is better than this suspense."

"If he _is_ dead, somebody must pay for it!" gritted Wythe, vindictively.

The tunnel was low and narrow, and the explorers had to stoop their heads to avoid the rocky roof. More than once Wythe fancied he could distinguish the trace of tools wielded by human hands upon the soft rock, but other thoughts occupied their minds, though at another time this fact would have excited the deepest curiosity.

The tunnel was winding, now sheering abruptly to the right, then again to the left, and several times Wythe paused in doubt, as _two_ passages met his gaze. But a close and cautious scrutiny would show a drop of blood upon the floor of one or the other, and thus guided, the adventurers pressed on, further into the labyrinth, without a thought of their own peril--thinking only of their lost comrade. From first to last, of that day, they exhibited a strange lack of prudence.

Their progress, owing to these causes, was slow--far more so than, in their impatience to learn the fate of Jack Tyrrel, they believed--and the winding passage frequently caused them to almost retrace their footsteps.

Suddenly Wythe came to the end of the tunnel, and stepped into what seemed a spacious chamber, though he could only judge from the difference in the atmosphere. The torch was of little service, save within a radius of several yards.

A few minutes' scouting proved this also to be unoccupied by those they sought. At irregular intervals, around the sides, were several tunnels similar to that from which the men had recently emerged.

Exchanging glances, the friends saw that each had begun to despair. After this long and really arduous search, they seemed no nearer the end than at first.

"Come," whispered Duplin, rousing himself, "this is only wasting time, when we should be at work. Cheer up--we must find him soon. I know we will--I feel it!"

"I hope you are a true prophet," sighed Wythe, brushing the cold damp from his forehead. "But I fear the worst."

"Give me the light for awhile, and you take my place. We must search each tunnel until we find the right one."

"I fear that will be difficult. I've not noticed any blood-drops for some time. What if we should be wrong? What will become of poor Jack? And--_how are we to find our way back again_?"

Duplin started. For the first time he realized the full peril of their situation. Were they not even then lost? Lost in the labyrinth--in the bowels of the earth! And nothing to sustain life--no food, no water! The thought was soul-sickening!

"We must not think of that _now_. We've enough to trouble our minds without that. It may all turn out right. But mark the passage we came through. With that to start from, we can find our way back by the blood-stains. Drop my hat there--or a bit of rag, anything will do."

Wythe advanced a step, then paused and glanced around him. His face shone ghastly pale in the feeble light of the tiny torch. It seemed that of a dead, rather than a living man.

"I--I _think_ this is the one," he faltered, pointing to a passage.

"My God! don't you _know_? Then we are indeed lost!" groaned Duplin, the cold sweat dripping from his brow.

"We have walked in every direction--I am bewildered. We can do nothing, only trust in Providence."

"And so we will! I don't believe we are to perish in this manner. Cheer up--'twill all turn out for the best," cried Duplin, rallying his courage.

"I'm willing enough to hope for the best, but these events follow close after that man's warning of last night. There may have been more in it than we cared to admit."

"Come--no more o' that, Wythe. You only unnerve us both. Mark this tunnel. We will first explore the one next upon its right--remember that. In time we must strike the right one."

Entering the low-arched passage, Duplin led the way, holding the torch so low that it fell full upon the floor. Leaving all other matters to Wythe, he closely and thoroughly scrutinized the passage in search of the blood-drops that had already guided their course so far.

"I'm afraid we're wrong, Burr," muttered Paley, after several minutes. "I can find no traces."

He had just rounded an acute corner in the passage, and thus cast Wythe in the gloom. Stepping forward, Burr abruptly paused.

"My God! look yonder!" he gasped rather than spoke, one hand extended over Duplin's shoulder.

The latter raised his eyes and then started back. Truly a horrible sight was before them.

A dull, ghastly light seemed to fill the space before them. A light that danced and flickered fitfully--now brilliant, now dull.

There, apparently almost within arm's length of the two adventurers, were half a dozen flaming skeletons, not lying prone upon the floor, but seemingly just starting up from their recumbent position to chastise the unhallowed disturbers of their last repose.

Fiery jets of flame seemed to dart forth from the eyeless sockets, from the grinning jaws, from every bone that helped form the skeletons, and all with that peculiar effect produced by the plentiful use of phosphorus.

As if turned to stone, the two friends stood at the turning, glaring wildly upon the weird tableau.

Then there echoed forth a startling sound, that seemed to proceed from the glowing jaws of the blazing skeletons. A laugh, shrill and unearthly, that echoed thrillingly through the long, narrow passage.

"My God! they move--they come!" yelled Duplin, as he dropped the torch and dashed madly back the way he had come, by some rare chance escaping a shattered skull, from collision with the numerous jagged points of rock.

With that horrible laugh still ringing in their ears, Wythe followed after, half-dead with terror. Gasping, nearly suffocated by the wild throbbings of his heart, Duplin gained the chamber, and then sunk down weak and trembling. Though life depended upon the exertion, he could go no further.

"Burr--where are you?" he gasped, agitatedly.

"Here--thank God we are together!" came the low reply, as Wythe crept to his side. "But the light--where is it?"

"I dropped it--I was so astonished. But we can kindle another. I have matches and you have wood."

"I?--no, I must have lost it as I ran. I had two sticks when we entered, but they are gone now," slowly returned Wythe.

Both remained silent. Each realized the full force of this new calamity. Without a light how could they ever hope to find their way out of this labyrinth? With a light, the task would be hard enough--without one, it become simply impossible.

"We must regain them, even though we have to face that horrible sight once more," muttered Duplin, with a resolution that was simply sublime, when his superstitious nature is remembered.

"Did _you_ hear it, too?"

"The laughter--yes. It was no delusion. Pray God that I may never hear it again!"

"Hark!"

A low, indistinct sound met their ears. It seemed to proceed from the passage they had just left. Its precise nature they could not define, but--perhaps the thought was excited by what had just occurred--they fancied it was the faint echo of that horrible peal of laughter.

"It's coming nearer--what shall we do?" gasped Duplin, tremblingly.

"Remember what Jack showed us. There is some trickery here, I feel sure. If we flee blindly through these passages, we are indeed lost. We must meet what is coming. If really supernatural, we can not run away from it. If human, we can solve the mystery with a pistol-bullet," hurriedly muttered Burr, as his revolver clicked sharply.

His resolution seemed to restore Duplin, and then, in silence they awaited the result, though in painful suspense, for neither was free from a sickening dread. Few men are equally brave in the dark and light.

The suspense was not of long duration. Another shrill, unearthly peal of laughter rung through the rocky chamber, and then, as if by magic, a glowing skeleton with every bone plainly outlined, stood before the two gold-hunters.

Duplin hastily cocked his revolver. It seemed that the sharp metallic _click_ was not unheard, for another laugh, low and taunting, came from where the ghastly object stood. Then a voice--the same that had addressed them at their camp, the preceding night--uttered the words:

"Poor silly fools! Do ye think to alarm the dead by such actions? What care I for mortal weapons? You but precipitate your fate by such rashness. You scorned my first warning--and now you see the results. One of your number is dead--you two are doomed! Doomed to wander on through the bowels of the earth unceasingly, until death takes pity upon your sufferings and touches your hearts with his finger of ice. You were warned--why did you throw the chance behind you? You sealed your own fate. You are doomed--doomed! Ha! ha!" and again the chilling peal rung forth.

And yet, strange as it may seem, these words gave Burr Wythe renewed courage. Though a partial believer in spiritualism, he did not believe that disembodied spirits could speak.

The owner of this same voice had, at the camp, left a substantial proof behind it that scarcely befitted a ghost. And now _this_ voice admitted the identity.

"'Tis some trick, Paley," he whispered in Duplin's ear.

"Fire when I do, and we will have the clue in our hands. For poor Jack's sake, courage."

"I will--touch me when you are ready," came the low, cautious response.

"_Now!_"

As he shouted aloud this word Wythe fired, and almost simultaneously Duplin's pistol spoke. And the effect exceeded their most sanguine expectations.

High above the twin reports, there rose a human voice in a wild yell of pain, then came a rattling crash--then the sound of heavy, repressed footsteps.

Instantly, on firing, Duplin and Wythe sprung aside, and recocked their pistols. But there was no need of a second shot. The victory was theirs.

The glowing skeleton lay upon the ground, shattered to pieces. The skull, like a great ball of fire, was slowly rolling toward Wythe, who eyed it with a shudder of loathing. But all else was motionless and still. The fleeing footsteps that had momentarily caught their ear, was now gone.

"Our spirit was Jack's trickster, after all," at length uttered Wythe.

"We were fools, Burr," laughed Duplin, his natural courage returning. "It's a lesson that will never be forgotten by us; and it was one that I needed, too. I'm becoming a slave to my superstitions. But did you notice which way he went?"

"No. Still, with lights, we can find out, I guess. That cry was one of pain. He must have been wounded."

"He was; perhaps mortally, though I hope not, for that might lose us our hopes of finding Jack. But, come; we must find our torches. There is no time to lose unless we wish to make good that rascal's prediction, and die in here of thirst and starvation. This is the passage--just behind these bones."

Carefully feeling along the passage, they soon succeeded in finding the dried fagots, dropped when they took a hasty flight. One--the torch--was still smoldering, and required but little coaxing before it again blazed up.

By its light, the two friends exchanged glances. They were both thinking of the same thing.

"Yes, we will examine them," exclaimed Duplin, resolutely advancing. "Who knows--we may find some trace of _him_ there."

With far different sensations than those felt when first the weird sight burst upon their vision, the gold-hunters now examined the row of skeletons. They lay side by side, upon a sloping ledge, which, in the first affright, gave them the appearance of raising to their feet. The friends saw that at least two of the skeletons had been removed from the ghastly row.

"They have been placed here with care," muttered Wythe. "See--here are fragments of what was once cloth. The bones look as though covered with skin--as though the flesh had gradually dried away, and the sinews still hold together. That accounts for the perfect skeletons we saw arranged by that rascal--whoever he is."

"This dry, rare air may account for that. But we must not forget the duty we owe poor Jack. He is not here."

"Come, then. We can follow our mummer, if I mistake not. I think he'll leave a plain trail behind him, if there's any virtue in half-ounce bullets."

In a few moments the adventurers were once more in the chamber, and examining the ground round about where the skeleton had fallen. True to their hopes, they found several drops of blood that told plainly their enemy was wounded.

"This is the passage," uttered Duplin. "But it seems to lead back the same way we came."

"We are all turned round. It _may_, of course, but more likely it continues in the direction we first started in. It is our only chance, at any rate."

For half an hour more they crept on, slowly and carefully, knowing that to go astray might result in their destruction. Several branch passages were observed, but close scouting showed them the faint blood-traces, that directed them aright.

But then a circumstance occurred that threatened them with disaster. The second torch had burned nearly down to Wythe's fingers, and he paused to light another. Unfortunately he dropped the splinter, and falling, it became extinguished. Blow as he might the sparks refused to blaze up.

Impatiently he asked Duplin for a match. To his horror, Paley answered that he had none! Whether he had lost them during the flight or not, it was certain that they were then in the labyrinth, without means to kindle a light. Search as they might, not a match was found.

As the significant truth burst upon them in its full force, they seemed like madmen. They raved and cursed until out of breath. Then reason returned. They were only wasting precious strength that might yet be needed to save them from a horrible death.

"Come, Duplin," hoarsely muttered Wythe, "we must be men. We need our senses now, if ever. We _must_ find some way out of this. Come--creep forward with me. Try to keep this passage. Perhaps we may succeed--it is our only hope."

"A slim one," and Duplin smothered back a curse. "I begin to believe that that prediction will come true--that this hole is our _grave_!"

"Don't give way to such thoughts. Hope while we may. The worst, if it _must_ come, will come soon enough."

For an hour--a long, weary hour full of agonizing fears and doubts--the comrades crept slowly on, upon their hands and knees, not knowing whether they were nearing or distancing safety. But then Burr Wythe, who was in advance, gave way to a gasping cry--a cry of joyful thanksgiving.

"Thank God! we are saved! This is the first chamber--I can tell it!"

"But--" hesitated Duplin, "then we should see the light. _Where is the hole we crept in at?_"

All before them was dark and black. They could see nothing. And now Wythe remembered that as they first entered the tunnel, he had glanced back. The hole then shone clear and distinct. It was gone now!

With a cry of apprehension he arose and sprung forward. In a moment he discovered the truth.

This was indeed the outer chamber. And he felt where the entrance had been. _It was now blocked up!_

_They were buried alive!_

Both sunk to the ground, heart-sick and despairing.