To all of which Miranda gave an untranslatable exclamation denoting sympathy, admiration for the pluck of this unexpected volunteer. Leighton, however, was less easily moved, and it was not until his niece assured him that she would return if the expedition promised to be a dangerous one, that he consented to her passionate plea.
Mrs. Quayleobjected to being parted from Una. She objected vigorously—vigorously, at least, as compared to her usual manner of taking things. She complained that guarding the baggage in a strange country, where it was impossible to make even her simplest wants intelligible, was not the sort of thing she was there for. But she could not turn Una from her purpose; nor was it any easier, once his consent was given, to move Leighton to a reconsideration of the matter. Only one thing was left for her to do. If she wished to keep within reach of Una she would have to accompany her on the expedition—“the picnic,” as Leighton grimly called it. She hated to do this, but, as solicitude for Una was stronger than concern for her own safety, she had ended by tremblingly begging to be of the party.
“Let her come,” said Miranda derisively. “It will not be for long time.”
So Mrs. Quayle, much as she hated adventures, got what she wanted.
Early next morning, mounted on mules and carrying their supply of provisions neatly packed in hampers, they reached Lake Guatavita. Judging by appearances, one would say that they were after nothing more seriousthan a day’s outing. The air was crisp and sparkling, of that crystal clearness peculiar to Andean altitudes. The lake laughed in the sunlight; whatever there was of gloomy legend connected with it slumbered beneath its silvery surface. Even the timorous felt the joy of the place and indulged in hopes of high adventure. Miranda was in the best of humor; Leighton, although maintaining his reserve, relaxed something of his usual severity; while the rest of the party was in high spirits, showing scarcely anything of the mental and physical strain to which they had been subjected during the last twenty-four hours. Only Una appeared anxious. Raoul Arthur, the more she saw of him, disquieted her. She disliked him intensely, she could not tell exactly why. He was assiduous in his regard for her comfort, but, in spite of his outward friendliness, she was haunted by certain hints that had come to her from David, hints that made of Raoul, in some inexplicable way, an active enemy to the man she loved. She was suspicious of him. His presence on the expedition that had David’s rescue for its purpose made her twist everything he did into something treacherous, of danger to all of them. Her uncle, apparently, did not share her feeling. On the contrary, he seemed to rely more and more on Raoul for advice and direction in carrying out the project upon which he was engaged, and thus there grew up between the two men a confidence that Una, had she tried, would have been unable to shake.
Andrew, of course, still smarting from the experience of two days before, could not be expected to make so speedy a return to the scene of his adventure without some trepidation. But whatever sensations thrilled hissusceptible heart, he put on a brave front and did not flinch from the part he was expected to take in the expedition. There was that dreadful lake, there the wall of rock he had described, and there the inconspicuous opening to the tunnel from whose hidden dangers he had been so mysteriously rescued—he faced it all and braced himself for the inevitable explanations. But his knowledge of the place was far less than Raoul’s.
“It was through this opening to Mr. Parmelee’s tunnel that we entered upon the excavation by which we hoped to drain the lake three years ago,” he remarked.
From an engineering point of view the statement was mystifying because the opening of the tunnel was almost on a level with the surface of the lake. Thus, it was difficult to see what would have been gained had the waters of the latter been diverted into the tunnel. It was explained, however, that an intersecting tunnel at a very much lower level furnished the desired outlet, and the miners had planned to connect with this. As Leighton and the rest were not concerned in these bygone matters, the abortive attempts of the mining company to use this subterranean passage in the mountain was not traced out in detail. Time was urgent; there was no telling how long they might be in the tunnel. If they wanted to avoid making a night of it they would have to hurry.
Unloading the mules, therefore, of their provisions, and leaving these melancholy animals in the care of two peons who had come with them from Bogota, the picnickers equipped themselves for their adventure—that is, they fastened the miners’ lamps to their hats. In the case of the men this was not difficult. But Mrs. Quayle’sextraordinary headgear, architecturally deceptive and insecure, proved so hopelessly difficult that its estimable owner was forced to do without the adornment of tin and kerosene provided for her. The more stable bit of millinery worn by Una was tractable enough, and with her lamp attached firmly to her gray felt hat she looked the part she expected to play.
The opening to the tunnel was much as Andrew had described it, an inconspicuous, narrow rift at the base of a great wall of rock. In nine cases out of ten it would pass unnoticed; so small an aperture, concealed by bushes and trailing vines, was safe from the most inquisitive travelers. That so timid a person as the schoolmaster had discovered (no one took seriously his tale of the togaed and sandaled stranger) and forced his way through this opening caused no end of wonder. To accomplish the same feat drew forth many a groan from the corpulent Leighton and Miranda. As for Mrs. Quayle, what with the squeezing and tugging needed to gain an entrance into the region of terrors beyond, and anxiety lest some of her jewelry might be lost in such strenuous effort, that good lady came dangerously near a condition of hopeless panic. Undoubtedly she would have abandoned the expedition then and there had it not been for the jeers of Miranda who assured her she was developing symptoms that called for a generous dose of his infallible pills. Such a goad would electrify the stubbornest of mules and a series of desperate struggles brought Mrs. Quayle victoriously through the tunnel’s entrance.
This first step in their subterranean travels surmounted, the explorers, having lighted their lamps, foundthemselves in a spacious rock chamber, the walls of which rose above them to a majestic height. Andrew, especially, was amazed at what he saw, declaring that it was all quite different from his first experience in the same place. When it was remembered, however, that on this former occasion the schoolmaster had only the feeble glimmer of light that found its way through the opening of the cave to show him where he was, the difference between his two impressions was not surprising. But it puzzled his companions to choose the route they were to follow in their explorations. Here Andrew could not help them. Two passages were discovered leading from the chamber in which they stood. One went straight ahead, offering a fairly easy, unobstructed path to the explorer. The other, a branch from the main tunnel, was narrow, strewn with debris of fallen rock, and altogether forbidding in the glimpse that could be had of the first few hundred feet of its course. One feature, however, belonging to this smaller tunnel gave it the preference. But before discovering this feature and making their choice the explorers thought it best to inform themselves, as well as they could, of the character of the cave itself. In this Leighton naturally took the lead, and from his investigations it was concluded that, unlike other caves, the origin of the Guatavita cave was primarily volcanic and due only secondarily to the action of water.
The implement employed by Nature in fashioning her underground caverns is usually water. Some mighty spring, deep within the earth’s bosom, seeks an outlet for its accumulating current. It forces its way through whatever porous layer of rock comes in its path, and bypersistent action, occupying ages of time, disintegrates and destroys it altogether. There is left, as a result of the subterranean stream’s activity, a series of tunnels, widening out oftentimes into great rock chambers, and extending, in several well known instances, for many miles. Wherever water is the sole architect the lines that it carves, the forms it molds, are smooth, well-rounded; there are no jagged edges, sharp angles in the fairy palaces and intricate labyrinths that it leaves as specimens of its artistic method. The walls of the Guatavita tunnel, however, were eloquent of a totally different force employed in their making. The marks of an angry Titan were upon them; the Titan of Fire. They told of an elemental tragedy, swift and cataclysmic in its action. The deep scars in their surfaces, the rough crags and pinnacles jutting from them, were the epic characters in which the monster’s struggle for freedom were written down for all posterity to study and wonder at.
Thus, Leighton did not hesitate to attribute an igneous origin to the cave, and it was after a close examination of the earth and pebble-strewn floor that the smaller tunnel was chosen as the best for exploration. There were footprints in both tunnels, but in this one they were more numerous than in the other, where they had been made, according to Raoul, at the time dynamite had been used in the excavations. Comparing these footprints, those in the larger tunnel were evidently from ordinary shoes, while in the smaller they bore the impress of sandals.
“Andrew’s man in the toga is the one we want,” remarked Leighton, a decision that added to Mrs. Quayle’sagitation and did not appear to increase the schoolmaster’s desire for adventure. The discovery of the imprint of sandaled feet, however, changed Doctor Miranda’s attitude toward Andrew from banter almost to admiration.
“It is true, what he say, this leetle fellow,” he declared in astonishment. “He follow him here, the sandals—and he is alone. He is brave man, this Parmelee!”
Raoul remained silent and Herran shrugged his shoulders skeptically. After all, it was difficult to believe, on the strength of a mere footprint, that the singular being described by the schoolmaster actually existed and had disappeared, like some wraith, in the depths of the cave.
“That will be a hard path to follow,” said Raoul finally. “I tried it—once.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing—a dead wall.”
“Mercy!” ejaculated Mrs. Quayle, not catching his meaning.
“There was no danger that I could see,” continued Raoul; “but there was hard traveling, and no result worth the effort.”
“Did you notice these footprints when you were here before?”
“It was the footprints that led me on.”
“I don’t see your footprints here. All these marks are from sandaled feet,” retorted Leighton.
The discovery did not attract attention. It seemed of slight significance to the others; but the savant continued his examination of the ground with redoubled interest. Raoul also showed astonishment at the fact pointed out to him, and at first offered no explanation. Obviously, afootprint in a cave, not subject to effacement by wind or weather, should remain indefinitely, unless destroyed by man or animal. But, curiously enough, the sandal prints were not sufficiently numerous to stamp out all vestige of the prints that must have been made by Raoul in his coming and going through the tunnel—if Raoul had really ever been in this tunnel. So Leighton argued, and the conclusion that Raoul had not been there at all seemed logical. Had he deliberately deceived them—a supposition for which there appeared no motive—or was he himself mistaken in the course he had pursued in his exploration some years ago?
“Well, there it is,” laughed Raoul. “Your reasoning is sound. My footprints ought to be here, but they aren’t. I can’t explain it.”
“It is not worth while,” exclaimed Miranda impatiently, adding not over lucidly, “they take them away.”
“Perhaps Mr. Arthur wore sandals,” suggested Andrew, illuminated by a brilliant idea.
“Whatever happened, Uncle Harold,” said Una, who had ventured into the tunnel some distance ahead of the others, “what difference does it make now? We are losing time from our search—from your picnic, Mrs. Quayle!”
“Picnic!” she shuddered. “How can we picnic with dead walls and mysterious footprints all around us?”
“Good!” exclaimed Miranda in response to Una’s appeal. “The womens always are captains—the mens must follow!”
There being no objection to this way of putting it, Leighton and Raoul gave up the puzzle of the footprints and set out seriously to explore the tunnel.
They soon found, as Raoul said, that traveling here had its difficulties. Huge boulders that took some little dexterity and sureness of foot to get over obstructed the narrow passage. For Una, who showed surprising agility, such impediments were not disconcerting; but Mrs. Quayle found them not at all to her liking. Progress with that bewildered lady was necessarily slow and, in some unusually rough places, had to be made by a system of shoving from behind and hauling from above that kept her in a state of breathless agitation. This was increased by imaginary terrors, chief among which was the constant dread of meeting the apparition described by Andrew, whose story had made a deep impression on her mind.
As a matter of fact Andrew’s man in the toga was not in evidence, except as the occasional imprint of a sandal on the floor of the cave suggested him. But the explorers were too busy surmounting the obstacles with which the tunnel was strewn to heed details that otherwise might have arrested their attention. The sharp edges of the rocky wall played havoc with their clothing, drawing from Miranda, incensed at his own rotundity, a choice series of expletives—fortunately in Spanish—and arousing the wrath even of Mrs. Quayle. After the first five hundred yards, however, the passage widened sufficiently for them to look about and take account of the perils—if there were any—facing them.
The endless vista of rock, hewn in every conceivable shape and lighted dimly by the rays from their lamps, was dispiriting, to say the least. With the passing of the tunnel, however, and its alarming sense of premature entombment, even Mrs. Quayle experienced a faint returnof confidence, while the schoolmaster, her companion in misery, began to feel a mild curiosity in the outcome of an adventure for the undertaking of which he had been the unwilling cause. He wondered vaguely to what further depths of this hole in the mountain the more enterprising spirits of the party would lead them.
“I am sure I never came as far as this,” he protested.
“Well, what of that?” demanded Leighton.
“He say he never come here!” crowed Miranda. “Very well, my leetle fellow, you are here now.”
“Yes, but—how far will we go?” he persisted.
“You remember nothing of this?” asked Raoul.
“I—I rather think I stopped in the beginning of the tunnel.”
“But here are the footprints,” said Una eagerly.
“They are made by sandals. I never wear sandals,” said Andrew sadly.
“Of course. They make by the other fellow.”
“By that man who wears a toga?” asked Mrs. Quayle anxiously. “It would be awful to meet him in this place.”
“She is afraid, this old lady—she have nerves!” announced Miranda. “She better go back.”
There being sound sense in the observation, the others stopped to consider it.
“I could never find my way alone through that tunnel,” declared Mrs. Quayle.
As this was quite obvious, something had to be done. No one wished to desert the unfortunate lady; at the same time all, with the exception of Andrew, were anxious to press on without delay. Miranda, in terse Spanish, explained the difficulty to General Herran, whoshrugged his shoulders disgustedly, expressing emphatic disapproval of women as explorers.
“We must do something before we go any further,” said Raoul. “There may be a long journey ahead of us.”
“Do you expect it?” asked Leighton.
“I have no idea where we are.”
“That means——”
“We have passed the dead wall.”
“Merciful heavens!” exclaimed Mrs. Quayle, “we are lost!”
“Hardly that,” said Una reassuringly. “It will be easy to go back the way we came. But this cave is too delightful to leave. I never breathed such air.”
There was ample warrant for Una’s enthusiasm. From the stifling atmosphere of the tunnel the explorers had entered a great rock chamber that widened as they advanced, opening up vistas of majestic spaciousness that contrasted strangely with the straitened path they had first followed. Overhead the outlines of a vast arching roof could be dimly made out by the flickering light from the lamps. At either side the dusky walls, with their flanking pinnacles and fantastic gargoyles, suggested the ornate escarpment of some Gothic cathedral. More noticeable even than these architectural features, was the delightful atmosphere, mild, fragrant, invigorating, pervading the great silent spaces. Usually the air in the famous caves familiar to tourists, although pure enough, is chilly and damp, so much so that the explorer is forced to exercise in order to keep warm. Here, on the contrary, one enjoyed the temperature of a perfect day in early summer—a fact that had called forth Una’spraise, and was silently noted by Harold Leighton as one of the novel features of the Guatavita cave.
“Of course we must go on,” Leighton decided impatiently. “If Mrs. Quayle is nervous, she had better wait for us outside.”
“Perhaps I will be only in the way here,” said that lady contritely. “But what will you do without me, Una?”
“I will take her,” interposed Miranda in a chivalric outburst. “Come!” he added, turning unceremoniously to retrace his steps to the opening of the tunnel, a point that could not be far away, although not near enough to be revealed by the light thrown from their lamps.
In spite of the extended area of the subterranean chamber in which they were standing, it was easy to return to the tunnel by simply retracing the path they were on. This path was marked by a depression in the uneven rocky floor across which it was laid. It was fairly smooth and overspread by a fine sand that bore the impress of many sandaled feet. There was no danger of losing one’s way, and the energetic doctor, hurried along so as to spend the least possible time on his self-appointed mission. He did not notice that the terrified Mrs. Quayle, convinced that his invitation concealed a plot to rob her of her jewels, failed to accompany him. The others, amused at his abrupt departure, patiently awaited his return, watching the speck of light made by his lamp bobbing about in the distance. Presently the light disappeared, and they concluded that Miranda had entered the tunnel. But in this they were mistaken. In a few minutes they were startled by an explosive “Caramba!” followed shortly by the apparition of the doctorrunning towards them, breathless from his exertions, and exploding with mingled wrath and consternation.
“It has gone—lost! I cannot find him!” he shouted in an incoherent torrent of Spanish and English.
“What has gone?” demanded Leighton.
“We are lost! We are lost! The tunnel has gone!”
“Nonsense!”
“It is true! I go there. I not lie. I find the tunnel where we come—and it has gone!”
“Impossible! What did you find?”
“I not find it. It is true! I find there what this fellow say,” he replied, turning savagely on Raoul. “It is—what you call?—one dead wall!”
Mirandawas not dreaming—the tunnel had vanished. That may be a strong word for it; but anyway, whatever had happened, the tunnel was not to be found.
Returning by the path upon which they had entered the subterranean chamber, they were confronted by a wall of rock where the entrance to the tunnel should have been. They were perfectly certain that when they passed out of the tunnel, less than half an hour before, into the main body of the cave, this wall had not been there. Where it had come from, why they had not seen it before, were posers too puzzling to waste time over. No one had seen it, of that they were certain; and they couldn’t have helped seeing it if it had been there. Hence they were forced to the astonishing conclusion that this wall had moved into its present position during the last half hour through some invisible, superhuman agency. The whole thing, in fact, was incomprehensible, ridiculous, absurd. But there it was, for all that—and it had its depressing consequences.
“You know that crocodile on the river,” said Miranda impressively; “he open the mouth—the bird walk in.He shut the mouth—the bird is in one trap. So it is to us.”
Terrified by this picture of what had happened, Mrs. Quayle involuntarily clutched the jewels encircling her neck as if to protect them from some invisible brigand. The schoolmaster, also, seemed to suffer additional discomfort. Miranda’s way of putting it, however, failed to satisfy the others. Leighton stoutly refused to believe in magic. Herran, in voluble Spanish, insisted that magic alone could explain the affair. Miranda repeated his alligator theory.
“This cave is alive,” he added. “You see the mark of the feets?”
“Where is Mr. Arthur?” suddenly asked Una.
They had been so absorbed in the mystery of the vanishing tunnel that the absence of one of their number had not been noticed. Una’s startled query brought them face to face with another puzzle, as baffling and uncanny, in a way, as the wall of rock that had come from nowhere and planted itself between them and the entrance to the cave. Raoul had disappeared; search as they might, call as loudly as they could, no trace of him was to be found. Had he deliberately deserted them, or had he suddenly been spirited away by the same invisible agency that had prevented their leaving the cave? The more credulous of the party believed he had been spirited away.
“But it is impossible,” insisted Miranda angrily. “I see him now—and now he is not here. The canaille!”
“There is only one thing to be done,” declared Leighton emphatically. “We can’t get out of here; we must go on.”
“Yes! Yes!” exclaimed Una.
“Caramba! What for we go on?” remonstrated Miranda. “We are lost, we starve, if we leave this place.”
“You mean, we are lost if we stay here,” reasoned Leighton. “There is nothing to be gained by staring at this rock. The fact that Arthur has disappeared, that the entrance to the tunnel has been closed, that there are fresh footprints besides our own all about us, proves that this cave is inhabited. Whoever they are, we must find these people.”
Leighton’s way of putting things was effective. It at least prevented a panic. Even Miranda admitted the necessity of the course proposed by the savant, and as Herran had nothing else to offer in its place, it was decided to press on with the exploration of the cave without delay.
Fortunately, they had a fair amount of provisions and enough oil to keep their lamps going for several days. Before starting on their expedition—when it promised to be nothing more than a “picnic”—this supply of food and fuel seemed far beyond any possible need. Now, thanks to the fussiness of Mrs. Quayle, who had insisted on these abundant preparations, there was no immediate danger of starvation. Each carried his or her portion of food in a light, capacious sack. These sacks, woven by the natives from vegetable fiber, swung easily from the shoulders. The oil for the lamps was in two cans, one of which Andrew carried, Raoul the other. Whatever had become of Raoul, his can of oil had not disappeared with him. It was found near the spot in the large cave where Miranda had turned back to take Mrs. Quayleto the tunnel. Here, then, Raoul had left them. Hoping for a clew, they examined the ground for his footprints, but could discover nothing. The path beyond showed the impress of sandaled feet only—and Raoul, they agreed, did not wear sandals. Either he had left the path and chosen the rocky floor of the cavern in its stead—in which case it would be impossible to discover his trail—or he had followed them to the tunnel and gone off on one of the side tracks that they had noticed and partially explored there. Why he should have done either of these things was quite beyond them to answer. At any rate, they tried every means to find him, and their failure left them more despondent than ever. All except Leighton and Una.
Failure did not daunt Leighton. He was convinced that by persevering in their exploration they would solve the mystery of the cave, gain tidings of David, and run down Raoul. Una shared his optimistic view, and both chafed at the reluctance of their companions to go ahead with the energy their plight demanded. The fact is, the feeling that they were caught in a cavern of unknown extent, connected with certain mysterious happenings in the immediate past, mixed up in the legendary history of a vanished race, and inhabited even now by strange beings in outlandish costumes, had a blighting effect upon them. Mrs. Quayle refused to be comforted and, as it was out of the question to go on without her, Leighton, like an astute general, proposed having lunch before doing anything else. Every one brightened up at the idea; it was one of those masterstrokes of policy that, when all else fails, saves the day. Miranda declared emphatically that food was “goodfor the estomach,” and, as no one thought otherwise, they fell to with an appetite sharpened by their exertions and made fairly razor-like—although this they did not realize—by the bracing atmosphere of the cave.
There were bollos of corn and yucca—yellow, white, brown—variously flavored, soggy, solid. This was a concentrated food that just hit the need of a party of marooned picknickers. And there were large flat disks of cassava, a native bread that Mrs. Quayle declared, with some reason, resembled chips of wood, more than anything else, in taste and toughness. This, too, furnished the maximum of nourishment in a small space. These foods, with such fruits as the almond-like sapoti, the juicy nispera, the delicate chirimoyo, furnished a meal that aroused Miranda’s enthusiasm, although to the untrained New England palate it was not quite so satisfying as it might be. The thought, too, that after this supply of food was exhausted, there would be nothing to eat, and no way of getting anything to eat, spoiled just that part of the picnic that should be most enjoyable. And then, worse than all, unthought of until now, there was the appalling problem of—water. In the lunch bags of Doctor Miranda and General Herran there were two small bottles of red wine; but when this was offered to Mrs. Quayle that unhappy lady’s thirst for water reached an acute stage. She declared that all wine was poison, and that she would die if she couldn’t get a drink of water. Even Leighton was disturbed. Water they must have, but—did it exist in a cave that was, apparently, caused by fire and not—as all respectable caves are—by water?
“Guatavita!” exclaimed Miranda, smacking his lips after a deep draught of claret.
“Guatavita!” echoed Leighton irritably. “Why not say the river Magdalena? How are we to reach Guatavita?”
“It is near,” was the complacent reply. “It come into the cave.”
“How do you know that?”
“Always there is water in the cave. And here—there is the lake outside.”
“Yes, outside,” said Leighton bitterly.
“But first it is inside.”
Miranda’s confident assertion was worth considering. That there might be—that there probably was—some subterranean connection between the cave and the lake—even if the former did come from fire—was a plausible theory. As he went over the matter in his own mind, Leighton’s respect for Miranda’s common sense jumped from zero to a comparatively high figure. But he was not convinced.
“You forget; we are above the level of the lake,” he argued.
“That is true,” agreed the doctor, who, in the meantime, bottle in hand, had been nervously walking about, peering into the darkness that surrounded them. “Yes, that is true. We come in over there; and always we walk up, up. The lake is always below. This path it never go down. But here—aha! Caramba!—is one other path—and it go down.”
Miranda’s voice shrilled with excitement. He was elated with the importance of his discovery. And it was important. The spot they had chosen for theirlunch was the furthest point they had reached in their explorations, the point where Miranda had turned back to take Mrs. Quayle out of the cave and where they had last seen Raoul Arthur. It was marked by a huge pyramidal rock rising from the floor of the cave. Along one side of this rock the path they had followed went on indefinitely, in a gradual upward incline. It was to the other side that Miranda eagerly called attention. Placing his bottle of claret down on the rock beside him, he got on his knees and, with his nose almost touching the ground, made a minute study of the floor of the cave.
Even Andrew felt the contagion of the doctor’s excitement. Fruits, bollos, cassavas were abandoned pell mell as one and all scrambled to their feet eager to find out what new puzzle Miranda had managed to pick up. The light from their lamps cast huge, uncertain shadows on the irregular masses of rock that everywhere blocked the view. At first there was nothing to be seen that differed essentially from what they had grown accustomed to in this subterranean world. There was the same chaos of jagged pinnacles and bowlders, the same display of irresistible energy that had been let loose and played itself out here ages ago. But in the midst of it all, zigzagging through this maze of dusty forms, there was the new path announced by Miranda. It led away from the central rock, or pillar, where they had taken their lunch, and formed an acute angle with the path they had already traversed. It was not so plainly marked as the latter, and appeared little more than a rift among the rocks that strewed the floor of the cave. But it was a path, there was no mistaking that. Amongthe evidences that it had been recently used was one that particularly delighted Miranda and justified his prolonged microscopic examination of the path itself—the footprints of a man wearing, not sandals, but shoes.
“Raoul Arthur!” exclaimed Leighton.
“Perhaps,” agreed Miranda.
“Where could he have gone?” asked Una. “This path runs in nearly the same direction as the one we followed.”
“We will see.”
As a matter of fact, the two paths, starting together at the central rock and going thence in the same general direction, gradually diverged from each other, much as do the two lines that form the letter V. Then, another difference was noticeable. The first path followed a comparatively uniform level; the second dipped steadily downward. This peculiarity, first noted by Miranda, appealed particularly to Herran. Gloom had been the dominant mood with the general ever since he had entered the cave. He had made mental notes of things as they had happened, but he had not shared in the discussions of the others. This was partly due to his ignorance of English, partly to a sense of responsibility that he felt as a citizen of Bogota whose duty it was to guide a party of foreigners safely through one of the difficult regions of his native land. But now, at last, he had something to say, something that was due from him as their leader. Tugging at his beard in characteristic fashion, he gave the result of his observations in terse Spanish.
“At first we go away from the lake. Then we comeback to it, just a little. Then we go away. Now this path take us right there again.”
“That is it,” agreed Miranda.
It sounded rather mixed up, and no one paid much attention to it. But at least it put General Herran in a better humor.
“Perhaps this will take us out of the cave,” suggested Andrew. “The path is nearly in the right direction.”
“I hope it means water, anyway,” said Una, thinking of Mrs. Quayle.
They gathered up what was left of their provisions and set off again, single file, down the new path, General Herran in the lead, Andrew bringing up the rear. They had not gone many yards before they noticed the marked difference in the two paths. At first the change in level was scarcely perceptible; but now the descent became more and more abrupt, and as there was less sand and gravel for a foothold, they found the smooth surface of the rocks, tilted often at a sharp angle, anything but easy going. Another peculiarity that soon caught their attention was the lessening height of the cave’s roof. Until now this roof had been so far above them that they had to throw their heads way back to see it, and even then it appeared in only vague outlines. Now it took a downward curve that brought it nearer and nearer to them. Following the same descending sweep it was evident that floor and roof would shortly come together and the confines, at least of that portion of the cave, would be reached.
Along with this new architectural feature in the structure of the cave, there was a noticeable change inthe character of the rock forming it. Walls and floor had, until now, been sharp and jagged in contour, dull, almost black, in color. But the unevenness of surface was disappearing. The rocks were smoother, as if worn and rounded by constant rubbing. Vivid colors gleamed from wall and column with a pristine freshness suggesting that this part of the cave belonged to a far more distant period than the great rock chamber in which they had stopped to take their luncheon. Finally, they were surrounded at every hand by those spear-like formations, thrust upwards from the floor or depending from the roof, that give to the interiors of most caves their fantastic appearance—the stalactites and stalagmites about whose origin in the workshop of Nature there can be no doubt.
This change had an invigorating effect upon the explorers. Passing from the unrelieved gloom of the first cavern into this fairy-built grotto, with its bright hues and pleasing shapes, they began to forget their fears and felt instead something like the real enjoyment that belongs to unexpected adventure. Everything in the way of glorious surprise seemed possible. For one thing, Miranda’s confident prediction was apparently about to be realized, a probability that the doctor celebrated by alternate chuckles and grunts of satisfaction.
“If we don’t find water, there is at least no doubt that water has once been here,” declared Leighton. “These stalactites make that certain.”
“You will see—you will see,” persisted Miranda. “It is the Lake Guatavita.”
“How can that be?” argued Leighton. “No opening of the lake into this cave has ever been discovered.”
“You will see.”
One might almost imagine that the intricacies of the cave were as familiar to the doctor as the formula for his celebrated pills. But his confident attitude was only one part genuine to three parts bravado. He enjoyed opposing a scientist showing such supreme self-possession as Leighton, and he delighted in startling statements of fact that merely bewildered his hearers. But he was by no means sure in his own mind of the truth, or even the probability of the theory he was advancing. General Herran, however, who had heard as far back as he could remember the strange tales of mystery regarding Lake Guatavita, and had often speculated with other Bogotanos on the disappearance beneath its waters of the fabulous wealth of the ancient Chibchas, was keenly alive to the possibilities lying before them now that they were on the very spot haunted by so many fascinating traditions of his race. Like most natives of Bogota the Spanish blood in his veins was mixed with the blood of the Chibchas—and it was an infusion he was proud to own. Hence, he readily believed that at any moment they would stumble upon a perfect mountain of treasure, all the lost gold and emeralds that Spanish romancers had dreamed about and travelers of the old heroic times had risked their lives for.
They had now reached the end of the precipitous incline down which the path had led them, thankful to exchange the slipping and sliding, to which the tilted rocks had treated them, for the firm footing offered by a comparatively level floor. Here the roof hung only a few feet above their heads, whence it curved downward,glistening with the delicate fretwork that the subterranean torrents of bygone ages had carved upon it, until it became a part of the rock-strewn ground beneath. The chamber thus formed became a long, spacious corridor, one side of which was open to the vast amphitheater they had just left, the other side stoutly hemmed in by a maze of stalactites and stalagmites looming up as sentinels in front of a wall that could be dimly seen behind them. Down the middle of this corridor lay the path they had been following, wider now and showing the imprint of many sandaled feet. Before them, at the end of the corridor, they could distinguish the outlines of another wall, apparently marking the limit of this portion of the cave.
“There is your lake,” said Leighton ironically to Miranda, who shrugged his shoulders in reply.
“At any rate, Uncle Harold,” said Una reproachfully, “there must be an opening here. And the air is just heavenly! Instead of walking, one could dance.”
The others appeared to feel the truth of Una’s observation, for they moved along with a briskness, a snap, they had not shown before. This was particularly noticeable in Mrs. Quayle, who seemed to be propelled by some inner gayety of spirit that quite changed her usually sedate manner and appearance. The transformation was not lost on Una, who was both amused and puzzled by it.
“Look at Mrs. Quayle’s jewelry!” she exclaimed. “It is dancing about as if it were moved by a breeze from somewhere.”
“What do you mean? I can’t feel any breeze,” declared Leighton. “The singular fluttering of Mrs.Quayle’s jewelry simply means, I suppose, that the wearer is, as usual, agitated.”
That Mrs. Quayle was agitated, and not in the joyous frame of mind that Una at first supposed, began to be painfully evident. Ever since she had come into the cave agitation had been a chronic condition with her. But in this instance it hardly explained the eccentric activity that had suddenly developed among the ancient heirlooms that she guarded so jealously. The large gold pendants that dangled from her necklace beat an unaccountable tattoo upon her neck and shoulders, while the massive brooch fastened to her bodice showed an obstinate tendency to break away from its moorings. Even the gold rings on her fingers seemed possessed with a rebellious spirit, a mischievous desire to dance in unison with brooch and necklace, while two heavy bracelets, made of links and chains, clicked and snapped like castanets under the prevailing terpsichorean influence.
For several minutes before Una drew attention to these strange antics Mrs. Quayle had been unhappily aware of the insurrection that had broken out among her treasures and had clutched frantically at them in an unavailing attempt to quiet their ill-timed frenzy. She dabbed at them with one hand and caressed them with the other, only to find that as soon as they were freed from her restraining touch they flapped and jingled and tugged at her with renewed energy. Finally, with the eyes of all the party upon her, the terrified lady gave up in despair.
“I don’t know what is the matter with them,” she wailed; “they never acted this way before. I am not agitated,” she added irritably, “as Mr. Leighton says.And I don’t think it is a breeze either. It takes more than a breeze to make bracelets and brooches dance. They are just possessed, and for no reason at all. Oh, why did I wear these precious things on this terrible journey!”
Doctor Miranda, with the steadfast gaze of an exorcist, planting himself firmly in front of her, his arms crossed on his chest Bonaparte-fashion, added to Mrs. Quayle’s dismay.
“I think she have the malaria,” he announced solemnly. “I give her my pills——”
“I won’t take your old pills,” was the spirited reply. “They nearly did for poor Mr. Andrew. I think they may kill him yet. There is nothing the matter with me. I want to get out of this cave—and I’m going to this very minute.”
Never in the annals of her long career as housekeeper and self-effacing lady’s companion had Mrs. Quayle been known to give way to such open defiance of any one belonging to the opposite sex. And, as if to show that she meant every word she said, she brushed past the astonished doctor and strode ahead of the others along the path leading down the corridor. To no one was her behavior more astonishing than to Leighton, in whom the reserve of the scientist was sorely strained by this sudden show of daring from a creature whose timidity was proverbial. As leader of the expedition, and obeying also the skeptical bent of his nature, the savant felt that his own dignity was involved.
“Mrs. Quayle is perfectly right,” he announced coolly; “we must lose no more time in these trifles. What if her jewelry does show a disposition to dance? A woman’sjewelry is always ridiculous—and Mrs. Quayle’s has always been a puzzle besides.”
But the rest of the party soon found that Mrs. Quayle was not an easy leader to follow. Where before she kept them back by her ineffectual efforts to get over the various obstacles encountered in their explorations, and had needed their help at almost every step, she now set them a pace that atoned for her former lagging. Whether this amazing activity was due to a sudden attack of fever, as Doctor Miranda maintained, or whether it came from a frantic desire to escape from a region that filled her with superstitious terrors, Mrs. Quayle showed no sign of giving up what she proposed to do, whatever that might be. On the contrary, as the far end of the corridor grew more distinct she sped along faster than ever. Her rebellious jewelry fluttered and twitched and danced more vigorously, until it fairly stood out before her, straining and pulling her along, breathless and hysterical, as if drawn by some irresistible force.
“I can’t stop it! I can’t stop it!” she gasped.
To which Miranda, puffing along in her wake, replied with dramatic emphasis: “This little woman must be stop!”
But this was not easy, even for a doctor with unlimited experience in quinine. The smooth, tapering surfaces of the stalactites, standing on guard in long rows down one side of the corridor, glinted derisively as the explorers rushed past them frantically trying to curb the frenzy that had seized this perfectly harmless woman who was now leading them on to a goal that might have all kinds of disaster in store for them. As they drewnearer the end of the corridor, the expected opening that was to deliver them from their subterranean prison was not visible, at least to the hasty glance that could be spared from the absorbing pursuit of Mrs. Quayle. Nevertheless, the awkward rapidity with which they were hurrying on to their fate was to be rewarded, apparently, by the discovery of something that was different, at any rate, from the wilderness of rocks that hitherto had baffled them in this gloomy underworld—and it was not General Herran’s mountain of gold and emeralds, either.
Something made by man, and not by nature, was here. This was unmistakably revealed in an odd sort of structure towards which they were hurrying. At last they were confronted, they believed, by the clew to the mysterious beings who inhabited the place, whose presence had been indicated by the footprints, by the man in the toga, seen, or imagined, by Andrew, and vaguely suggested by the weird disappearance of the entrance to the tunnel through which they had hoped to make their escape. Here all these things that had filled them with alternate anxiety and curiosity were to be explained. Unfortunately, Mrs. Quayle’s impatience to get on gave them no opportunity to reconnoitre, at a safe distance, the object they were approaching. Leighton especially, accustomed to the careful methods of science, would have preferred a more deliberate and cautious mode of travel to the brainless hurry into which his housekeeper had plunged them. As it was, the object looming before them, so far as they could snatch time to make it out, resembled a huge stone windlass. Even the cylindrical drum and the long curved handle hanging at the side of one of the tall uprights were of stone. Certainly, awindlass like this—if it was a windlass—had never been seen before. It could not be the work of modern times—it was much too clumsy for that. And of stone! Perhaps it belonged to the Stone Age. It was conceivable—and the notion stirred the depths of the savant’s soul with delight—that here, in this subterranean chamber of the Andes, they were about to stumble upon an archæological find that would revolutionize the current theories as to primitive man and his development. But—was it a windlass? The two uprights carrying the long horizontal drum at the top, instead of in the middle, were some ten or fifteen feet high. With such an abnormal height, and such singular construction, the THING might be intended to serve as a gallows quite as reasonably as a windlass. Whoever would have believed that they had the gallows in the Stone Age! There, sure enough, was the rope dangling most suggestively from the crosspiece—or drum, whichever it might be. But then, a rope was the conventional adornment, whether for gallows or windlass. As they came within fifty yards of it, the THING looked unquestionably more and more like a gallows, less like a windlass. It stood within ten feet of the wall, through a long, wide aperture in which one end of the rope disappeared. The other end, attached to what appeared to be a great oblong stone, lay coiled upon the ground.
Not until she had almost reached it did Mrs. Quayle realize the oddity of the structure towards which she had been racing. Then its resemblance to a gallows suddenly flashed upon her. With a gurgle of horror she threw herself upon the ground, unable, apparently, so long as she remained upon her feet, to contend againstthe invisible influence that forced her to run fairly into the arms of this terrifying object. Prostrate between two rocks lying across the path, her wild flight came to an end. Here her companions gathered around her—Miranda, puffing and panting from his exertions, determined to allay the violent attack of fever that he still believed was the cause of the lady’s unaccountable paroxysms; Leighton, torn between the psychological interest of the case and the archæological puzzle awaiting solution; Andrew, his huge hands waving about in helpless dismay, muttering incoherent advice to any one who would listen, and Una, anxious to soothe an agitation that, she conceived, was due merely to a case of nerves.
“She will be all right—soon she will be all right,” declared Miranda, intent on his professional duties as he knelt on the ground beside Mrs. Quayle. With which comforting assurance he seized one of her hands, and with his other hand tried to force open her mouth.
“I am all right,” she shrieked, tearing herself out of his clutches. “There’s nothing the matter with me. Something is pulling me to that terrible thing over there. It seems to be my jewelry. My necklace is cutting my head off. This brooch!—oh! it’s awful! What shall I do? What is the matter?”
“It is very simple,” declared Leighton sternly. “Take off your jewelry if it bothers you. I don’t see why you should be wearing it, anyway.”
Mrs. Quayle clutched wildly at her necklace and brooch, loath to part with them and evidently regarding the people gathered around her as little better than a lot of brigands who had lured her here to rob her of hertreasures. Every one else heartily agreed with Leighton’s proposal.
“Caramba! That is true!” shouted Miranda delightedly. “This necklace, it choke her too much. I take him off of her.”
Before Mrs. Quayle could protest further, Miranda seized her by the throat, hauling at the massive necklace in an effort to find the clasp that held it in place. The task proved difficult and promised to develop features that savored more of surgery than anything else. The trouble was not so much from the defensive tactics employed by Mrs. Quayle—who contrived to elude Miranda’s grasp with surprising agility—as it was with the necklace itself. Never was a simple piece of jewelry more rebellious. It slipped through the doctor’s fingers and jumped about and tugged at its victim’s neck in the most baffling and erratic manner. But Miranda, growing more eager and determined, triumphed at last. Holding the snakelike coil in both hands as in an iron vise, he tore the chain apart with a masterly jerk.
And then an odd thing happened. Bounding to his feet, elated with his success, and holding the necklace towards his companions as if it were a hard-won trophy, Miranda suddenly spun around like a top, his arms shot straight out in front of him, and in this posture, before any one knew what he was about, he fairly raced towards the ominous apparatus at the end of the corridor and hurled himself on the oblong stone beneath it.
Foronce Doctor Miranda had nothing to say. To the eager queries of those about him he returned a grimace and a scowl of rage. Then he asked savagely for Mrs. Quayle.
“There is her neckalace,” he said indignantly, letting go his hold on that extraordinary piece of jewelry and scrambling to his feet with as much dignity as was left to him.
“Will you tell me what all this means?” demanded Leighton sternly.
“How I know?” retorted Miranda, glaring venomously at him. “I pull the neckalace from the neck, and it fly from me. When I follow, it fly more fast—and it get stronger and it fly harder every time until it touch the rock. Then it stop and not come loose.”
Sure enough, on the greenish-black rock over which they were bending, the necklace was spread out to its full length. With a quick jerk, Leighton dislodged one of the ends from its resting place. Letting it go, it returned to its original position with the sharp snap of a steel spring.
“A magnet! The most amazing magnet ever heard of!” exclaimed Leighton.
“A magnet that pull gold!” scoffed Miranda. “That is the foolishness!”
But Leighton was right. Each time the necklace was pulled away it was drawn back to the rock by a strong, invisible force. Repeated trials brought the same result. Leighton’s curiosity was excited as it had never been before; but his most careful examination of the strange phenomenon failed to detect anything more than the fact that the substance exerting this unknown force was not stone but something more nearly akin to metal. It was neither so heavy nor so hard as iron. To the touch its surface faintly resembled the adhesive softness of velvet, although a blow from a stone, causing a clear, ringing sound, left not the slightest mark upon it. In the main, this block of metal—or whatever it might be called—was a deep black, tinged with a variegated shade of green that played over it according to the angle at which the ray from a light held above it was reflected. Dark lines of green followed the indentations traversing its surface. Cylindrical in shape, it weighed, according to Leighton’s estimate, at least a ton. Imbedded in a deep groove around its center was a rope, measuring two inches in diameter, of pliable fiber, resembling the long lianas that festoon the trees of a tropical forest. This rope lay in a seamanlike coil on the ground, with the further end attached to the transverse beam of the scaffolding overhead.
“It is a magnet, nothing else,” reiterated Leighton; “a magnet of a kind utterly unknown to science. All we can say is that this black metal has an affinity for gold—unless it turns out that Mrs. Quayle’s jewelry is merely iron gilded over.”
This doubt as to the genuineness of the housekeeper’s treasures was promptly denied, however, by Una, who guaranteed their sterling quality.
“Let us test the rest of her jewelry,” proposed Leighton.
To this further demand on her property Mrs. Quayle, wedged in between two rocks on the path where they had left her, too terrified to move, offered only a feeble protest. It mattered little to her, in her present condition, if her bracelets and brooch followed the necklace to their doom. One by one they were, accordingly, removed by Una, who, probably because she was less excitable than Miranda—and because, too, she had profited by his untoward experience in the same undertaking—was able to handle these pieces of jewelry without mishap. The force with which they were pulled towards the Black Magnet, however, and the tenacity with which they stuck to it, gave ample evidence that they answered to the same influence that still held the necklace.
“That is enough,” said Leighton triumphantly. “The thing is proved. This is a gold magnet. If we lived in the Middle Ages we would call it the Philosopher’s Stone. The theory that such a substance exists has attracted scientists who were more given to dreaming than practical observation. In this age we have neither looked for it nor believed in the possibility of its existence. And here it is!”
“What it make here?” demanded Miranda. “Tied by a rope to the machine—some one use it.”
The inference, logical enough, certainly, increased Leighton’s excitement. That the magnet was known and used by the inhabitants of the cave—if there were inhabitants—wasevident. Under certain conditions a bar of metal that could attract gold with such force as that displayed by the Black Magnet would be of untold value. Here, where there were no evidences of mining operations, and attached to this primitive machine, it was difficult to explain what it was actually used for.
Leighton, more and more mystified, determined that the best way to solve the puzzle was to operate the machine in the manner indicated by its structure. It was not, as he pointed out—but as they in their first excitement imagined—a gallows. Instead, it was a winch, built in the most simple and archaic fashion; and as the Black Magnet was attached to it, the evident purpose was to hoist that huge body from the ground. Before testing this theory, Mrs. Quayle, who had recovered from her collapse sufficiently to join the others, insisted that her jewelry should be released from the magnet. Suspicious of the intentions of some of her companions, she was determined to regain possession of her treasures at once. But, as it was apparently impossible to wear her jewelry with comfort, or even safety, in the immediate vicinity of the Black Magnet, necklace, brooch and bracelets were removed to a distant corner of the corridor and there placed beneath a pile of stones. This done, the four men started to work the two long handles of the winch. At first these were turned with difficulty, the resistance proving, at least to Leighton’s satisfaction, that the machine had not been used for a long time. Gradually, however, the coil of liana was transferred from the ground to the transverse beam overhead until it pulled taut with the magnet beneath.
Then came the real trial of strength. The magnetwouldn’t budge. Miranda puffed and grumbled over the task, declaring it impossible. The rest stopped and rubbed their arms ruefully. But Leighton was inexorable. Encouraging the others, and keeping them at it, by dint of increased exertion—to which Una brought additional assistance—the great Black Magnet was finally dragged from its moorings and held suspended just above the ground. It formed a perfect cylinder, about four feet long by a foot and a half in diameter, and must have weighed, they estimated, considerably over a ton—ten tons, vowed Miranda. On a winch of modern design this weight would not have been difficult to lift. But the hoisting apparatus they were using lacked the ordinary adjustments for counterbalancing such weights; hence, the muscular force needed proved no small matter.
“It take twenty men to lift this magnet,” growled Miranda.
“Twenty men could do it more easily than four men and a woman, undoubtedly,” replied Leighton. “But four can do it.”
And he was right. Inch by inch the magnet rose from the ground—for what ultimate purpose was not very clear, any more than that it was thought necessary by Leighton, in order to discover the use to which this strange bar of metal had been put, first to test the appliance obviously intended to bring it into action. It reached a height of one foot from the ground, then two, then three feet; then it stopped. There were groans and smothered imprecations, and it looked very much as if the huge bar of metal would come crashing down to the ground again. But the men, urged on by Leighton, didnot give in. And then—there was a grating noise, as if some hidden mechanism in the scaffolding had been set free. After which a strange thing happened. The transverse beam at the top of the windlass detached itself from one of the uprights supporting it and, using the other upright as a fulcrum, slowly swung to the wall of the cave, where it rested in a socket, bringing the magnet that was suspended from it, directly over a shelf-like projection beneath.
“Keep on! Keep on!” cried Leighton encouragingly. “Now we will see.”
Thoroughly aroused, the others redoubled their exertions. The magnet remained stationary for a few seconds, the liana supporting it tightening with every revolution of the drumhead at which the men were laboring. Then it slowly disappeared downward, the liana uncoiling itself, thus reversing the movement that before had carried it upward. There was a gradual increase in the momentum of its descent, followed by the splashing sound caused by the impact of a heavy body upon the surface of a pool of water; after which the liana was paid out until it reached its full length—when it suddenly slackened and came to a full stop.
“There, Mrs. Quayle, is your water,” announced Leighton.
“Water!” sneeringly echoed a voice from the darkness behind them. “Say, rather, there is the secret of Guatavita!”
“Raoul Arthur!” exclaimed the others.
Letting go the handle of the windlass, they rushed to the spot where the Black Magnet had vanished. There,at one side of the rocky projection, stood Raoul, pale and haggard, the light in his lamp extinguished.
“I suspected this,” he said, as if his sudden reappearance among them were the most natural thing in the world. “I knew from the direction of the path that it led back to the lake. I have been trying to reach this place for years. Oh, yes! I had heard something about it before—I don’t deny that. But, of course, I expected to stay by you. So, when you started to leave the cave I came back, expecting to rejoin you. As I was examining the machine I was attacked by two men, thrown to the ground and left unconscious. I came to myself a few minutes ago—in time to congratulate you, it seems, upon solving the mystery of the cave.”
“That is strange,” said Leighton coldly. “You left us, without a word, at a time when you were needed. The attack that you say was made upon you we should have heard. But—we have heard nothing.”
“Believe me, or not, as you like; it is true,” was the sullen reply.
“Why do you say we have the secret of Guatavita?”
“Look!”
Raoul pointed to the projection in the wall behind which the Black Magnet had disappeared. It was not a shelf, as they had at first supposed, but the opening of a shaft, or well, that slanted downward at an angle that in the course of fifty feet, or less, would reach considerably beyond the vertical line of the cave’s wall. In shape this shaft was oblong, slightly larger in length and in breadth than the Black Magnet. It was evidently of artificial origin, its four walls being perfectly smooth and without irregularities of line. Even by one who hadnot seen the magnet descend into this shaft, its intended use as a sort of runway for raising and lowering heavy bodies would be quickly recognized. But where it led to was another matter. One thing was easily discovered: where it reached a point some twenty feet below the level of the cave’s floor the shaft was filled with water. Beyond this, of course, nothing could be made out. It was to the bottom of the pool thus indicated that the magnet had plunged.
“It is a well hewn out of the rock by Indians—or perhaps by Spaniards digging for gold,” said Leighton.
“I believe that we are the first white people who have ever stood in this place,” said Raoul; then added, “unless David Meudon was here three years ago.”
“But what is it about?” demanded Miranda impatiently. “What for is the magnet, and this well, and this machine?”
“Pull up the magnet and see for yourself,” was the laconic reply.
“Caramba! That will be impossible,” protested the doctor, not relishing the prospect of another turn at the machine.
“It is the logical thing to do,” agreed Leighton.
The rest shared Miranda’s aversion to another bout at the winch; but Leighton, backed by Raoul Arthur, finally persuaded them that their only hope of escape from the cave depended on keeping at this puzzle until they had solved it, and that the first step in this direction was to hoist the Black Magnet from its watery resting place at the bottom of the shaft. Reluctantly obeying the command, they again seized the long handle of the windlass. This time it was fortunate they had Raoulto help them, since the resistance offered by the magnet, which now had to be hauled up an inclined plane by means of a rope nearly one hundred feet in length, was considerably greater than before. The windlass creaked and trembled as revolution after revolution of the drumhead slowly brought the great black bar of metal nearer to the surface. They could hear the far off swirl of the water as the ascending liana vibrated through it. Minutes that seemed to lengthen into hours passed without appreciable result. Then, at last, they heard the water rising as the magnet reached the mouth of the shaft. There was an additional strain on the liana, followed by the noise of a commotion in the subterranean pool as the liquid streams poured back from the emerging body.
But still the end to their work was not in sight. With every turn of the handle the weight of the body at which they were pulling seemed to increase. Mrs. Quayle, sole spectator of what was happening, watched the opening of the well with dismal apprehension, convinced that some dreadful transformation had taken place in its hidden depths. When the top of the magnet finally rose into view she shrieked hysterically. To her notion the great black body had an uncanny look; it had turned into a devil, for aught she knew, filled with evil designs against them. Anything that was supernaturally horrible, she believed, could happen in this cave—and there was enough in her recent experiences, indeed, to give some color to her belief.
But, devil or djinn, the water dripped and splashed in sparkling runlets from the shining body of the Black Magnet that had gained in luster since its submersion in the well. It seemed more alive than before, more capableof exerting the mysterious force that had played such pranks with Mrs. Quayle’s jewelry. As it cleared the top of the well the arm of the windlass to which it was hung, as if obeying some invisible signal, detached itself from the socket in the wall and slowly swung back into its original position between the two uprights of the machine. Here, as before, a reverse motion took place. The Black Magnet was poised for a moment in the air. It then descended to the ground, resting, finally, in the same spot where the explorers first discovered it.
A sigh of relief escaped them. Hoisting heavy weights was not much to their taste and they were glad the task was over. Then they rubbed their eyes, half expecting to see something miraculous, some sudden transformation as a result of their labors. But the Black Magnet, except for the brilliance due to its bath in the depths of the earth, looked exactly as it was before. This, it must be confessed, was disappointing to those who had been promised great rewards for toiling so patiently at the windlass. Raoul had declared the experiment would solve the secret of Guatavita. But they failed to see how a wet rock—or bar of metal, whichever it might be—with mud sticking to it, had any connection with a secret. Raoul, however, was not disconcerted. Getting to work on the magnet, he examined minutely every inch of its surface. At first he found nothing. Then, to the amazement of the others, he extracted from one of the large fissures in the magnet a thin disc encrusted with the microscopic growths that form on metals that are long subjected to the action of water. This disc proved its metallic nature by the force needed to release it from the magnet. Much of the brown matter sticking to itwas wiped away with a cloth, the more tenacious growth beneath was rubbed and scraped with a sharp stone. When the scouring was finished Raoul triumphantly held up the disc. It was a dazzling plate of gold, thin and flexible, rudely carved to resemble a human being. In size it was not more than the palm of one’s hand, somewhat of that shape, a trifle longer and narrower, with a projection, intended to depict a man’s head, face and neck, like a pyramid standing on its apex, upon which were traced in embossed lines three loops to represent the mouth and eyes, with another line running down the middle, long and straight, to represent the nose. The body of the figure was similarly carved—raised lines folded over the stomach for arms, with various loops and coils around the neck and chest, intended, doubtless, to indicate the ornaments and insignia of rank worn by the image or, rather, the human being or god for which it stood. All this was done in the finest gold tracery, which, if it lacked some of the subtleties of the goldsmith’s art as we know it, was expressed, nevertheless, with admirable delicacy and firmness. In the head of the figure was a round hole showing, doubtless, that the disc was worn as a pendant by its owner, or was hung as a votive offering before his or her household deity.
Leighton had seen figures of like character and workmanship in Bogota, where they were exhibited as ornaments worn by the ancient Chibchas. Usually they were said to have been brought up by divers from the bottom of Lake Guatavita. Hence, there was little doubt as to the origin and antiquity of the disc presented to them by the Black Magnet. But how this disc came to beat the bottom of a well in this vast subterranean labyrinth was not so easily answered. If this disc was the much talked of clew to the lost treasure of the Chibchas, and to all the other mysteries that seemed to crop up at every step the further they went into this cave, it was not an easy one to run down. And then, Miranda, who had insisted all along that by following the direction in which they had been going they were bound to reach the lake, blundered upon the answer to the whole question.