Thus he meditated as he stretched himself out to rest. But when he had recovered his breath, love of life rea.s.serted itself.
He would keep on. At any rate, one thing was certain: he could never get back now. Death lay behind him in all its grimness. Ahead, at least, there was the unknown with a fighting chance-one chance in a thousand-in his favor.
Desperately, then, he struggled on, writhing between the narrow walls.
He felt as if the whole weight of a mountain was upon him, crushing his ribs, driving the breath out of his body. The darkness was so dense that it could be felt enveloping him like a velvety pall of blackness.
Again and again he thought himself stuck fast, doomed to an eternal grave in the secret bowels of the earth. But every time he managed to wiggle through the tight place and gain another that was not quite so constricted.
But it was heart-breaking work at best. Then all at once the crack widened very noticeably. Cautiously he drew himself to his feet. He judged that he was standing on a shoulder or ledge of rock, but of course, in the inky darkness, he had no means of knowing.
It was at least good to be able to stand up and feel no longer the crushing of the rock walls, like those of a living tomb.
After a little he began to move along, taking care, however, to keep close to the wall, for he did not know how wide the ledge, as he judged it, might be. For perhaps a hundred yards he progressed thus. Always before he took a step he reached out with one foot before him, fearing to encounter vacancy.
Suddenly he found he was on the edge of a void, and shrank back, clinging to the wall with the desperation of fear. It was some seconds before he dared to move again. He could feel the sweat rolling off him, the cold, p.r.i.c.king sweat of fright.
By a supreme effort he mastered himself. He found a loose bit of rock at his feet. Cautiously he cast it into the darkness in front of him. There was a long silence, and then, as if from miles away, came a tiny tinkle.
Jack shuddered.
He had narrowly escaped pitching head first into a bottomless abyss. He carefully retraced his way down the ledge. Suddenly his feeling fingers discovered another crack. This one ran vertically upward like a chimney, almost, at least so far as he could determine by the sense of touch.
A wild hope surged over him. This crack perhaps ran up to the surface of the earth! Recalling an old school-boy trick, he "spreadeagled" himself into the crack. He reached out his hands to either side of the "chimney"
and lifted himself a little.
Then he wedged his toes in either side. Thus he painstakingly mounted, praying within himself that the walls of this natural shaft might not widen and make further progress impossible.
It was terribly slow work, though. Time and again he was on the point of giving up, but always the tough spirit of his indomitable old sea-faring ancestors kept him at his task.
Foot by foot he toiled upward, till he estimated he had climbed some thirty feet. And then suddenly: Light! The blessed light of day! High above it was, but unmistakably the light of the outside world was streaming into this hideous subterranean chamber. It gleamed down into the shaft he was painfully ascending, shining like a blessed beacon of hope. It appeared to filter through some sort of net-work of greenery.
Wild with hope, he climbed on till at last he burst his way through a canopy of creepers and vines that obscured the mouth of the natural shaft. He clambered out beneath the blessed sky. As he fell exhausted, p.r.o.ne on the rocks, he heard a cry.
It was his own name!
But for the life of him he could not answer. He could only lie there without thought or motion.
CHAPTER x.x.x
IN SEARCH FOR A CLEW
The statement of De Garros concerning his chum struck Sam like a blow between the eyes. Of course he did not place the slightest belief in the Frenchman"s words, but he was sorely puzzled and perplexed.
"Where was this place?" he demanded.
"If you will come with me, I will show you," said De Garros, linking the boy"s arm in his own. "How sorry I am that I did not accompany him myself! But I thought, I sincerely thought, that he was in good hands."
"Who was this fellow that was with him," demanded Sam.
"I don"t know. I didn"t notice particularly. It was no one I had ever seen before."
"What did he look like?"
"As I told you, I did not pay him the attention that I should had I known things were going to turn out like this. He wore a big sun helmet, if that will afford you any clew."
They were walking through the streets now toward the hut of Mother Jenny.
Sam suddenly stopped short and struck his forehead with his hand, as if striving to recollect something. Then he shouted:
"Why, why, it was a young man with a sun helmet who was talking to Jarrold at the hotel this morning."
"So?" exclaimed the Frenchman. "Can this be more of that rascal"s villainy? Has he got a finger in this?"
"I wouldn"t put it past him," declared Sam vehemently. "He hates Jack, and with good cause from his point of view, for Jack checkmated several of his schemes."
"In Paris and again here, Jarrold," muttered De Garros to himself, as if recalling some latent memory. "Some day, my friend, you will meet your reckoning."
"You knew Jarrold abroad?" asked Sam.
"I knew him, yes. I was his victim, almost-but let us talk no more of this. Let us hurry to the place where I last saw Jack Ready."
When they reached the hut with its palm thatch and untidy garden, Sam gave a gesture of disgust.
"And this is the place you saw Jack being helped out of?" he asked.
"It is, my friend."
"I cannot think that he would ever have come to such a hovel of his own free will."
"Possibly not. But you are confronted with the fact that he was here."
"That is true. Let us ask that old hag in the doorway what she knows."
They approached old Mother Jenny, who had hobbled to the doorway and stood watching them out of her bloodshot old eyes, puffing the while reflectively at a home-made cigar, as if ruminating on what the strangers wanted.
"We came to inquire about two young men who were here this morning,"
began Sam.
The old woman"s voice rose to a shrill scream.
"What I know "bout dem, buckra?" (White man.) "Dey come. Dey drink de cola an" den dey pay and go. I know nothing mo"."
"She"s lying," whispered De Garros to Sam.