第 22 页

With screams of agony that made his hearers' blood run cold, the luckless negro rolled and squirmed like a snake, upsetting the contents of three more vessels.

Twice he struggled to his knees, and twice he fell over again in the fiery lake.

The third time he got to his feet, completely soaked with oil, and blazing like a torch from his ankles to his bushy mop of hair.

With maddened cries, and with the flames streaming behind him, the tortured wretch danced straight forward — which, as he had turned about, happened to be toward his pursuers.

They jumped aside in mute horror, and as they followed the human pillar of fire with their eyes, they saw it reel on the brink of the cleft, and then vanish from sight. A wail of agony, a crash and the awful tragedy was over.

The brief and shuddering stillness that came next was broken by a hoarse cry from Fanshawe, and when his startled companion[s] turned their heads they were tongue- tied and rooted to the spot with the appalling shock of what was before them.

They saw the lake of burning oil spread to the great stack of dried thatch, and wrap it in a volume of dense smoke and flame; they saw the basket-car take fire, and burn with a snapping, crackling noise; they saw the red tongues of flame leap up the ropes.

Then, as the blazing column mounted higher, they saw the balloon take fire, and burst open with a stifled report, and fall in flaming fragments of silk into the hissing pool of oil.

It was a short-lived conflagration; a quick transition from hope to despair.

* * *

Chapter XXXIII

The oil burned itself out, leaving charred bits of the basket and balloon here and there on the blackened flagstones.

The curls of murky smoke drifted away, and the red glare of the thatch pile faded in a heap of smoldering ashes.

And even when it was all over, the little group still stood looking at the ruins, with hopeless despair stamped on their faces.

They were stunned and broken-hearted by this last blow, the consequences of which they shrank from con templating. They knew that it was irremediable; that no valor, or daring, no patience, or hard work could mend the misfortune.

"We've got to face the worst," said Bunbury, with his usual philosophic resignation. "No use to make any bones about it. Here we are, cut off from those howling fiends below, and with no way to get down to them if we wanted to."

"Better if there were," replied Fanshawe. "Better if we could face the enemy, and die fighting. We are doomed to suffer the lingering torments of starvation."

"Is there no food up here?" asked Bunbury.

"Not a scrap," Fanshawe answered. "Not even a drop of water. Under to-morrow's hot sun we will feel the tortures of maddening thirst.

"My poor boys," he added, with a bitter groan. "It is for you my heart aches — not for myself. I would gladly die to save you. But I am helpless — helpless."

The boys came closer to him, and he put an arm around each.

"We don't want to live without you, father," said Roden huskily. "We came to Africa to find you."

"And we do not regret it," said Arthur. "If we had a chance to escape, and that chance did not include you, we would stay here."

Lucius Fanshawe tried to speak, but his voice choked. He drew the boys closer to his breast.

Bunbury turned quickly away to hide suspicious moisture in his eyes. He walked over to the cleft, and peered down for a moment.

"All seems quiet below," he said, when he returned to his companions. "Either there's some deviltry brewing, or the negroes have made up their minds that we are out of reach."

"The latter, most likely," replied Fanshawe, and as he spoke Nero came crawling over to him, with a half-penitent, half-triumphant air.

He stroked and caressed the lion for a little while.

"Good old fellow," he said. "You did right, Nero. You saved my boy's life. But you might have been more merciful with your victim. Is he dead?"

Nero only whined, and crouched down by his master.

"Let's look at the fellow," suggested Bunbury.

"I'd hate to see even an enemy suffer when any relief could be given him."

Fanshawe nodded, and went over to the tower, where he lit the rude lamp, and brought it out.

Then he led the way over to the parapet, and they found Nero's victim lying stone dead. His neck had been broken by a blow from the lion's paw, but he was very little mangled.

The Karibeg was of herculean build, and had evi dently been something of a dandy in his way. He wore armlets and anklets of a copperish metal, and suspended around his neck was a small oval object, crusted with dirt, and of a dull, yellowish color.

Arthur took hold of' it, and the cord snapped at the pull.

"This is a queer-looking ornament!" he said, turning it over in his hand.

"It appears to be a chunk of virgin gold," replied his father, indifferently. "It was probably taken from the mines over yonder."

Arthur mechanically put the thing in his pocket, as he followed his companions toward the tower.

In front of the entrance they all sat down, and the lamp, standing near on a block of stone, illumined their hopeless and despondent faces.

It seemed a ghastly mockery that they should be sitting here alive and well, with no signs of an enemy near, and yet be as surely doomed to death as though they were in it[s] last agonies.

Bunbury put his hands in his pockets, and produced the two bombs which he had kept when the box was pitched into the lake.

"I don't suppose these could be made of any service to us," he said reflectively. "Yet a spark or a concussion put to one of them would end our misery. How ever; that would be a cowardly deed."

"They might serve a better purpose," exclaimed Arthur, with sudden energy. "Why can't we descend to the lower floor of the fort, and take refuge in one end while we blow the other end up?"

"And then rush out through the breach," cried Roden, and try to gain the water- passage. It looks promising, and, besides, I would rather die fighting than starve to death up here. "

"Such an attempt would be simple suicide," replied Lucius Fanshawe, with a bitter smile. "The fort is so old and shaky that an explosion at one end would bring the whole structure down in ruins. We would be crushed under tons and tons of rock."

"I'd risk the chances on that," said Bunbury, as he put the bombs back into his pockets, "and even if the odds were ninety-nine to one——"

He stopped, and looked sharply around.

"Hark! what's that?" he added.

"That" was a curious rasping noise, and it was instantly followed by the simultaneous appearance on top of the parapet of five armed cannibals. As these leaped down upon the stone floor, yelling shrilly, their places were taken by twice the number.

Indeed, along the whole line of the parapet that faced the water-passage black heads and naked bodies were swarming.

It was a stunning surprise, and before the refugees could prepare for resistance nearly a score of Karibegs had a foothold on the roof of the fort.

Nero roared furiously, and Fanshawe made a grab for his spear.

"The daring ruffians!" he cried. "The wall slopes a little, and they have scrambled up it like cats, clinging to the crevices and projections. Fire! The flash of powder may scare them back."

"Little hope of that," muttered Bunbury, as he emptied three chambers of his revolver into the yelling horde.

Then Roden and Arthur fired. They were sufficiently cool-headed to take good aim, and in the intervals of the sharp explosions screeches of agony were heard.

But the cannibals did not waver or lose heart before the deadly fusillade, nor did they give it a chance to take much effect.

They had now mustered nearly two score strong un der the shadow of the parapet, and with frantic yells they advanced.

"Come on!" cried Fanshawe, as the spears began to whizz; "we won't die unavenged. We'll blow ourselves and the fort, and these bloody fiends, to fragments."

Lantern in hand, be led the way into the tower, and then down the steps that vanished through the yawning hole in the floor.

Nero slipped after his master, and Roden and Arthur followed the lion.

Bunbury came last, stopping to empty his revolver at the foe.

The yellow light flashed through the gloom of walls and floors of time-worn masonry, as Fanshawe guided his companions down the first flight of steps, through a big empty apartment, and then down more steps to a long narrow corridor.

* * *

Chapter XXXIV

After traversing this for twenty feet they halted. They could hear far-away noise, like the roar of a storm or of ocean billows, but that was the only indication of danger or pursuit.

"I think I understand the situation," said Bunbury. "Those last shots of mine checked the cowardly rascals. They think we are still in the tower, and they don't like the idea of storming it."

"More likely they are afraid to venture down the hole for fear of an ambuscade," replied Fanshawe. "They have no light with them."

Before any further opinions could be expressed, a shrill yelling and hallooing rang through the pent-in chambers of the fort, and at the same instant a flashing ray of light was seen overhead.

Nero roared savagely, and started forward. It was with great reluctance that he obeyed his master's com mand to turn back.

"There's no mistaking that sound!" cried Bunbury. "The cannibals are coming down the first steps."

"And they've got lights with them," added Roden.

"So much the worse," Bunbury muttered. "They'll soon find us. We may as well make a stand here, and have it over."

"No, this is not the place," cried Fanshawe. "We have come scarcely one-third of the distance to the bottom. Here a bomb would have little effect. We want to blow the whole fort to pieces."

Holding the lamp overhead, he dashed on at a pace that his companions found hard to equal.

In their haste and anxiety they scarcely noticed their surroundings. They turned angle after angle, sped along chambers and corridors, and descended innumerable stone steps.

Closer and louder behind them rang the shouts of the pursuing Karibegs; nearer came the flare and flash of torches.

Nero roared incessantly as he bounded alongside the party. A chance to tear and rend his master's enemies would have evidently been more to his liking.

Another turn, a dash down a flight of steps, a rush along a corridor, and into an open door at the end.

Then Fanshawe stopped, wheeled around, and put the lamp on the floor. He was weak from exertion, and too badly winded to talk. He made eager gestures, and his companions understood.

They sprang at the door, which was of heavy timber, massively put together. With their united strength, they swung it around on its hinges, and slammed it shut in the very faces of the Karibegs, who were swarming along the corridor with blazing torches.

Two heavy bars stood against the wall, and Bunbury quickly dropped these into the sockets on each side of the doorway.

Then the boys caught sight of three or four blocks of stone. They lifted them one at a time, and piled them against the door.

On the outer side, a rush of naked feet was hear[d], and yells of baffled rage penetrated the chamber.

"We're safe for the present," panted Fanshawe. "We have gained a breathing spell. But it will be only a brief one."

"Ay, that's right," muttered Bunbury. "With their clubs and spears the fiends will soon beat the door down. The hinges are none too strong, and the wood looks to be rotten."

"Where are we?" exclaimed Arthur. "Is this the bottom of the fort?"

"Yes, it's the lower floor," replied his father. "It was evidently intended to be used for a last stand in case of an attack. All the rooms to right and left have barred doors."

"And are we really on a level with the ground?" cried Roden. "Only these walls separate us! It is maddening to think that we must die so near to freedom. Is there no way to get out?"

"None, my boy," was the sorrowful response. "The walls are immensely thick. Even with proper tools, it would be a day's work to dig through."

"And what could we accomplish by breaking out?" chimed in Bunbury. "The valley is alive with cannibals, and we would be instantly cut to pieces.

"There's one thing that I can't quite understand, though. That's why the dead and gone people who built this fort didn't provide an outlet of some sort at the bottom. I don't suppose there's a chance of one existing."

Fanshawe shook his head.

"I've been all over the place time and again," he answered, "prying into every nook and corner. If there was an outlet ——"

The rest of the sentence was not heard. It was drowned in a furious and deafening rain of blows on the door, accompanied by bloodcurdling cries.

"They mean business," exclaimed Bunbury. "This is the beginning of the end. When they break the door in I shall hurl this against the wall," drawing one of the bombs from his pocket, and what happens afterward won't matter to us. It will be a revenge like that of Samson, when he pulled down the pillars of the temple!"

"No, no," cried Fanshawe, in a hoarse tone of entreaty. Put that terrible thing away. I have changed my mind. Such a deed of vengeance will be a bad preparation for the other world. Let us wait until the savages have broken in, and then die like men, fighting to the last."

He looked at Arthur, and Roden, and they bravely declared that they were of the same mind.

"I agree with you, comrades," said Bunbury, as he put the deadly canister into his pocket. "I think the more of you for your resolve. Such wholesale slaughter is not to my mind. God will avenge our deaths if need be."

The lamp flickered and hissed, sending a sickly glare about the gloomy apartment. The yelling of the savage foes penetrated the massive walls.

The fusillade of blows came harder and faster than ever. The door bent and quivered as the planks yielded to the crash of clubs and the ripping thrust of spears.

Bits of mortar were dropping from the masonry on each side of the doorway, and one hinge had already parted from its hold.