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Dead Man's Land: Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 34. A Terrible Slip |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. A TERRIBLE SLIP
"We can't have passed them, can we?" asked Mark. "No; impossible." "Well, then, where are they?" For answer Dean gave a shout, and another and another, the two boys standing awestricken as they listened to the strange, hollow echoes that multiplied and magnified the hail till it slowly died out in whispers. But there was no reply. "I say, they must have managed to top this wall in some way, or known of some passage by which they could get outside into the further ruins." "I don't know," said Dean, in a whisper. "I say, this place seems to grow more strange and weird the more you wander about it. Doesn't it to you?" "Yes, sometimes--horribly creepy, only it is stupid to think so, but I can't help feeling as if we are surrounded by things that are watching us." "What do you mean? Those dog monkey brutes--the baboons?" "Oh, I don't know," said Mark hurriedly. "Let's get back. I know it's stupid, but one knows that there must have been thousands upon thousands of people living here, no one can tell how long back, and I don't like it." "I say," said Dean, and as he spoke he gave an uneasy glance round, "isn't that being superstitious?" "I don't know," replied his cousin. "Perhaps it is; but I can't help feeling a bit queer. When we get in these dark parts where the sun doesn't shine and it's all so silent till you speak--there, hark at that! We are just at the mouth of that great passage where the walls, quite forty feet high, are close together and go winding away--and there, you can hear that; it's just as if something was taking up what I said and whispering." "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Dean aloud, and then turning sharply he caught excitedly at his cousin's arm, gripping it almost painfully, and dragged at him to hurry him away. "Oh, I say," he whispered, for his laugh had turned into an almost unearthly burst of harsh chuckles and cries which went literally rattling away down the dark passage nearly choked with thick growth and only dimly-seen. "Oh, do come away, Mark! This isn't the passage we came to that day with uncle and the doctor. There must be something watching us--something no canny, as the Scotch people call it. Quick, let's get away." "I can't," said Mark. "I feel as if I couldn't stir." "Why? Is something seeming to hold you?" "No," replied Mark; "but I do feel rather shuddery all down my back, and--I know it's nervousness and imagination--that's why I feel I can't go away. It is all nonsense, I tell you, and I mean to come here another time with Buck and Dan, and we will see what they think of it." "That will all depend on how we look to them," said Dean. "Exactly," said his cousin, "and that means that we mustn't behave like a pair of shivering girls." "And then?" asked Dean. "And then--go right straight in and along that narrow passage wherever it leads. I don't suppose we shall find any ghosts of the old people. I say, how easy it is to frighten yourself in a place like this!" "Oh, I don't know. It is very creepy." "Seems to be," said Mark--very emphatic over the "Seems." "But it will be dangerous as well as horrid to go along a place like this." "Why?" "There may be serpents, or baboons, or no one knows what fierce animals may make it their lair. Then too there may be holes and cracks." "Course there may be," said Mark, "but we shouldn't be such a pair of noodles as to come here without a lantern or two." "And plenty of candles," said Dean. "Of course. There, it is very evident that those two have given us the slip. Let's give them one more shout, and then get back." "Oh, never mind the shout," said Dean hurriedly. "We will go back at once. I wouldn't be overtaken here when the sun goes down, and lose my way, for I don't know what." "Why?" said Mark, half mockingly. "Because--because," replied his cousin, with something like a shiver, "uncle and the doctor would be so uneasy." Mark gave his companion an arch look, and there was a faint smile upon his countenance as his eyes seemed to say--"Oh, Dean, what a humbug you are!" The boy read it as meaning this, and he said hastily, "Don't laugh at me, old fellow. Hope I am not going to have a touch of fever, but I do feel very queer." "Let's get back, then, old chap," said Mark, clapping his companion on the shoulder. "But don't you fancy that. It's damp and cold here, and no wonder. Come along. I think I can find my way back; don't you?" "Don't know. I am not at all sure. It must be getting late, and in here it will be as dark as pitch as soon as the sun's down. I say, don't you think we were rather foolish to come so far?" "Well, yes, it was rather stupid, but one was led on by a feeling of excitement. For it would be horrible if we sent those two poor fellows to where they may get into trouble and never come back." It was about an hour later that, after forcing their way through the almost impenetrable bushes, climbing over stones and round them, and losing themselves again and again in what had become, as it seemed to them, more and more a horrible maze, Dean made a snatch at his cousin's arm as he slipped and fell, dragging Mark, till the lad checked his descent by a desperate snatch at the trunk of a gnarled climber. "Oh, I say," cried Mark, "don't say you are hurt!" A low, half stifled gasp or two came from some distance down. "Dean, old fellow! Here, I say, speak! Where are you?" "Down here somewhere.--Ugh! It is black and cold." "Well, climb up again. I am reaching down and holding out my hand. Catch hold." "I can't reach," came back, in a husky voice, "and I am afraid." "Don't say afraid!" cried Mark angrily. "There's nothing to be afraid of." "I have hurt my ankle, Mark, and it gives way under me. Oh, why did we come here!" "Don't talk like that. Here, I'll get back out of this and go and fetch father and the doctor and the others, and we will carry you back." "No, no, Mark; I am sick and faint. Don't--pray don't go and leave me. I am afraid I am a horrible coward, but if you leave me alone here in this dreadful place, and like this, I don't think I could bear it." "Oh, nonsense! You are only in a sort of split in the rocks. Be a man. I must go for help; it's no use to shout." "No, no," said Dean, in a hoarse whisper; "don't--pray don't shout." "Well, I won't! but I must go and leave you for a bit." "I can't bear it. You shan't go and leave me! There, I think my ankle's better now, and it doesn't seem so dark. You can't be above twenty feet above me; and that's nothing, is it?" "No, nothing at all," replied Mark hoarsely. "Then I am going to climb up." "Yes, be careful, and--" "Oh, Mark! Mark!" His cousin's cry seemed to hiss strangely past the lad's ears. Then there was a moment or two's silence and a horrible splash, followed by the washing of water against the sides of the black chasm down which Mark was straining his eyes to gaze, and then whisper after whisper, soft and strange, until they died away. _ |
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