CHAPTER XXI
_The Hidden Cave_
In the face of this new emergency Wilson, as a real man will, quicklyregained control of himself. Some power within forced his aching bodyto its needs. The first shock had been similar to that which a diverfeels when receiving no response to a tug upon the life line. He feltlike a unit suddenly hurled against the universe. Every possible humanhelp was removed, bringing him face to face with basic forces. Hisbrain cleared, his swollen and inflamed eyes came to their own, andhis aching arms recovered their strength. The fresh shock had thrownthese manifestations so far into the background of his consciousnessthat they were unable to assert themselves.
Stubbs was gone. It was possible, of course, that he lay dead up therewithin six feet of where Wilson stood,--dead, perhaps, with a knife inhis back. But this did not suggest itself so strongly as did theprobability that he had been seized and carried off. The Priest, whowas undoubtably back of this, would not kill him at once. There waslittle need of that and he would find him more useful alive thandead. If there had been a fight--if Stubbs had been given achance--then, of course, the Priest would have struck hard anddecisively. If he had been carried away uninjured, Stubbs would findhis way back here. Of that he was sure. The man was strong,resourceful, and would use his last ounce of strength to relieve hispartner.
Wilson was in a veritable rat trap. One wall of the cliff projectedover his head and the other slanted at such an angle that it wasimpossible to cling to its smooth surface. And so, although withinsuch a short distance of the top, he was as effectively imprisoned asthough he were at the bottom of the chasm. There were just two thingspossible for him to do; wait where he was on the chance that Stubbsmight return, or attempt to trace his way further and reach the cave.If he waited, the dark might catch him there and so he would be forcedto remain standing until morning. He hadn't the strength left forthat. The other course would also be a bitter struggle to the lastremaining spark of energy and might leave him face to face withanother blank wall. However, that seemed to offer the bigger chanceand would bring death, if death must be, more quickly.
He loosened the map from about his throat and, unrolling it, examinedit through his smarting eyes. The directions took him almost step bystep to the big rock which had barred further progress. He scanned thewords which followed.
"The path is locked," it read, "but it opens to the faithful--tochildren of the Gilded One. Twelve hands' breadth from the bottom andclose to the wall lies the sign. A strong man pressing steadily andwith faith against this spot will find the path opened to him."
Twelve hands' breadth from the bottom and close to the wall. Butsupposing that referred to some real door which had since been blottedout by falling rock--by a later avalanche of which this barrier was arelic? There was but one way to find out and he must decide quickly.Also, he must memorize the other directions, for he would be unable toconsult his map in the darkness of the lower chasm.
"Thirty strides on. If the foot stumbles here, the fall is long. Tothe left ten paces, and then the faithful come to the warmth of theliving sun again. The door stands before. Enter ye who are of the Sun;pause if ye be bearded man or unclean."
Twelve handbreadths up and close to the wall; thirty paces on, thenten; so an opening of some sort appeared and near it, the cave. Thecave--it lost its meaning as a treasure house. It was a place torelieve the ache which was creeping back to his arms; which wouldsoothe his straining legs. It was a place to lie down in--this hole,hiding pretty jewels and gold plate.
He raised his voice in a final call to Stubbs. It was like callingagainst a wall; his muffled voice was thrown back in his face. With astart he saw that the light about him was fading. He studied his mapfor the last time to make sure he had made no mistake, and, foldingit, adjusted it once more about his neck.
It was the same laboriously slow process all over again. He shuffledone foot ahead, moved his body squat against the wall, and followedwith the other foot. Each time he moved the bitter dust sifted downuntil it checked his breathing and burned his throat. He had learnedto keep his eyes fast closed, but it was a constant effort, for thisincreased the feeling of dizziness. Always there was a power at hisback which drew him out as though he were responding to some powerfulmagnet. This and the temptation to loosen the tight cords back of hisknees--to just let go and sink into relaxation--kept him at a moresevere strain than did the actual physical effort.
But more than gold was at stake now,--more than jewels, though theysparkled like stars. The prize for steady legs and unflinching nerveswas a respite from Death. If he reached the cave, he would haveseveral days at least before him. Neither thirst nor hunger, fiercemasters though they are, can work their will except by slow process.Against them Stubbs would be racing and he had faith in this man.
He did not fear Death itself. In thinking of the end, the bitter thingit meant to him was the taking off of her. And every day meant one daymore of her--another chance of finding her and getting her back toGod's country and the life which awaited them there. It _did_ wait forthem; in coming here they had left the true course of their life, butit remained for them to take it up when once they should make thebeaten tracks again. Now he was trembling along the ragged edge oflosing it all--all that lay behind and all that lay before. But ifthis was to be so, why had he ever seen that face in the misty dark?why had he come upon her the second and the third time? why had Chancebrought him to her across ten thousand miles of sea? why had itbrought him here? Why at the beginning could he not have forgotten heras one forgets those who flit into one's life and out again? He didnot believe in a jesting God.
One foot forward, the body flat against the wall, a little choke fromthe dust, then the other foot after. A pause to catch the breath,then--one foot forward, the body flat against the wall, a little chokefrom the dust, then the other foot after. Also he must pause toremember that it was twelve hands up, close to the wall, thirty paceson, then ten.
Odd things flash through a mind long at a tension. In the midst of hissuffering he found time to smile at the thought that life had reduceditself to such a formula. A single error in this sing-song, such asten hands up instead of twelve,--_was_ it ten or twelve? Ten hands upand close to the wall--twelve hands up and close to the wall--theysounded alike. Each fell equally well into the rhythm of his song. Hestopped in the grip of a new fear. He had forgotten, and, trying torecall the rest, he found he had forgotten that too. His mind was ajumble so that now he did not dare to put out his right foot at allwithout first feeling with his toe a little beyond.
But this passed soon, and his thoughts returned to her, which steadiedhim instantly. So he came safely to the single step down andaccomplished this. Then the other and accomplished that. At the end ofa few paces farther he faced the great rock. It had become dark downhere now,--so dark that he could not see six inches ahead. His foothad come against the rock, and then he had felt up with his hands. Hefound it impossible to stoop sufficiently accurately to measure fromthe bottom. There was nothing for it but to guess--to try again andagain until either it gave or he proved that it would not give.
He placed his hand upon the rock at about the height of his chest andthrew his weight forward. It was as though he were trying to push themountain itself to one side. He tried above, below, to the right, tothe left without result. Nothing discouraged, he began again, startingfrom as low as he could reach and pressing with all his strength atintervals of a few inches. Suddenly, like a door opened from within,the rock toppled to the right where it hung balanced over theprecipice, leaving an opening two feet wide. It would have been atight squeeze for Stubbs, but Wilson easily jammed through. He sawthat the path continued at a slightly downward slope.
"Thirty paces on and ten to the left."
He repeated the words parrot fashion and his feet obeyed theinstructions automatically. The thirty paces ended so near the edge ofcrumbling rock that it fell away beneath his toe leaving some twoinches over nothing. Had a man walked here without directio
ns, hecertainly would have taken this last step and been hurled into thespace below. It was pitch dark where he stood. He felt along the wallfor the opening which should take him to the left ten paces. The wall,the path, the depth below the path were all one save to touch alone.It was as though he himself had been deadened to every sense but this.During the last few minutes his brain, too, had dulled so that all henow grasped of the great happy world outside was a vague memory ofblue sky before which a shadowy figure danced like a will-o'-the-wisp.But still propelled by the last instinct to leave man before the soul,he put one foot ahead of him, pressed his body flat to the wall, anddrew the other after. As he proceeded thus, counting the steps hetook, he became aware that the air was fresher. Ahead, he saw anopening which was a little less dark than this which stifled him. Itwas light, though he saw it only faintly through blurred eyes. It wasa gray slit coming together at the top. He groped his way almost tothe edge and then to the left he saw a second opening--an opening intoanother dark. It was the cave. He staggered the few remaining feet andfell prone upon its granite floor.
How long he remained so he could not tell. He was not whollyunconscious, but in a state so bordering upon it that he realizednothing but the ecstatic relief which came to his aching body. Stillhe was able to realize that. Also he knew that he had reached hisjourney's end, so far as anything more he could do was concerned. Hewould wait--wait as long as possible--cling to the very last second oflife. He must do that for her. That was all that was left.
His slowly fading senses flickered back. He roused himself and sat up.In the gloom back of him he made out nothing: the opening was becomingobliterated by the dark without, so that he felt as though in a sealedbox--a coffin almost. He felt an impulse to shout, but his dry lipschoked this back. He could not sit still. He must act in some way. Herose to his hands and knees and began to grope about without anydefinite object. There was something uncanny in the thought that thissilence had not been broken for centuries. He thought of it as histoes scraped along the granite behind him. Once when he put out hishands near the cave opening, they fell upon what felt like cloth.Something gave before his touch with a dry rattle as of bones. He drewback with the morbid thought that they really _were_ bones. Perhapssome other poor devil had made his way here and died.
He felt a craving, greater at first even than his thirst, for light.If only the moon came in here somewhere; if only he could find wood tomake a fire. He had a few matches, but these he must keep forsomething more important than catering to a fear. He turned back tothe cave mouth, pressing forward this time to the very edge. He sawopposite him another sheer face of rock which came in parallel to thisin which he was imprisoned. His eyes fell below to a measurelessdrop. But the moon was shining and found its way down into thesedepths. With his eyes still down he bathed in this. Then, withreturning strength, he turned to the left and his heart came into histhroat. There was still more light; but, greater joy than this, hecaught sight far below him of a pool of liquid purple. The cold,unshimmering rays of the moon played upon it in silver paths. It wasthe lake--the lake upon whose borders it was possible she stood atthat very moment, perhaps looking up at these cliffs. It looked such agentle thing--this lake. Within its calm waters another moon shone andabout its edges a fringe of dark where the trees threw their shadows.He thrust his body out as far as possible to see more of it. The lightand the color were as balm to his eyes. But it brought back anotherfever; how he would like to thrust his hot head into its depths anddrink, drink, drink! The idea pressed in upon him so strongly, withsuch insane persistence, that he felt as though if he got very nearthe edge and took a firm grip with his toes, he could reach the waterin a jump. It was worth trying. If he took a long breath, and got justthe right balance--he found himself actually crouching. He fell backfrom this danger, but he couldn't escape his thirst. He must findwater. The dry dust had sifted into his throat--his lungs.
His thoughts now centered on nothing else but this. Water stood foreverything in the world--for the world itself, because it meant life.Water--water--nothing else could quench the fever which tore at histhroat like a thing with a million sharp claws--nothing else couldclear his brain--nothing else put the strength back into his legs.
Back into the cave he pressed--back into the unknown dark. The flintysides were cool. He stopped to press his cheeks against them, thenlicked them with his dry tongue. Back--back away from the temptationto jump, he staggered. Another step, for all he knew, might plunge himinto some dark well; but even so, it wouldn't matter much. There mightbe water at the bottom. Now and then he paused to listen, for itseemed to him he caught the musical tinkling of dripping water. Hepictured a crystal stream such as that in which when a boy he used tofish for trout, tinkling over the clean rock surface,--a sparkling,fairy waterfall where at the bottom he might scoop up icy handfuls.
He tried to pierce the dark to where this sound seemed to be. Hestruck one of his precious matches. The flame which he held before himwas repeated a thousand times, in a shining pool to the left. With athroaty, animal-like cry, he threw himself forward and plunged hishands into the pool. They met a cutting surface of a hundred littlestones. He groped all around; nothing but these little stones. Hegrabbed a handful of them and struck another match. This was no poolof water--this was not a crystal spring--it was nothing but a littlepile of diamonds. In a rage he flung them from him.
Jewels--jewels when he wanted water! Baubles of stone when hethirsted! Surely the gods here who guarded these vanities must belaughing. If each of these crystals had only been a drop of thatcrystal which gives life and surcease to burning throats,--if onlythese bits could resolve themselves into that precious thing whichthey mocked with their clearness!
Maddened by the visions these things had summoned, he staggered backto the opening. At least he must have air--big, cooling draughts ofair. It was the one thing which was left to him. He would bathe in itand drink it into his hot lungs. He moved on his hands and knees withhis head dropped low between them like a wounded animal. It was almostas though he had become a child once more--life had become now soelemental. Of all the things this big world furnished, he wanted nowbut that one thing which it furnishes in such abundance. Justwater--nothing else. Water of which there were lakes full and riversfull; water which thundered by the ton over crags; water which floodeddown over all the earth. And this, the freest of all things, was takenfrom him while that for which men cut one another's throats was flungin his face. Yes, he had become just a child once more,--a childmouthing for the breast of Nature.
When he reached the opening he dropped flat with his head over thechasm. His blurred eyes could still see one thing--the big, cool lakewhere the moon laughed back at herself,--the big cool lake where thewater bathed the shores,--the big cool lake where Jo slept.
Jo--love--life--these were just below him. And behind him, withinreach of his weak fingers, lay a useless half billion in preciousstones. So he fought for life in the center of the web.
The Web of the Golden Spider Page 22