Chapter 02 - The Origin and Chemistry of Life

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Chapter 02
The Origin and Chemistry of Life
Multiple Choice Questions

1. Spontaneous generation was first proposed as

A. a concept to explain the formation of the first living cells on earth.
B. a concept to explain the evolution of simple chemicals into complex macromolecules.
C. an explanation for the appearance of maggots and mice from rotting material, fish from
leaves that fall into water, etc.
D. an explanation by Pasteur accounting for the germination of spores in broth.

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Section: Spontaneous Generation of Life?
Topic: Spontaneous Generation of Life?

2. Pasteur's work with spontaneous generation showed that

A. life could not have evolved from non-living chemistry on the early earth.
B. mice came from mother mice and maggots from mother flies.
C. simple chemicals could become complex organic macromolecules without any living
cell involved.
D. broth did not ferment spontaneously but required contamination with organisms.

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Section: Spontaneous Generation of Life?
Topic: Spontaneous Generation of Life?

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Chapter 02 - The Origin and Chemistry of Life

3. The hypothesis that simple chemicals may have naturally become complex
macromolecules by natural physical forces was first proposed by
A. Stanley Miller.
B. Graham CairnsSmith.
C. Alexander Oparin and J.B.S. Haldane.
D. Sidney Fox.

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Section: Spontaneous Generation of Life?
Topic: Spontaneous Generation of Life?

4. A solution that has a pH of 5 has

A. a concentration of H+ 20 times higher than water.
B. a concentration of H+ 100 times higher than water.
C. a concentration of H+ the same as water.
D. a concentration of H+ 20 times lower than water.
E. a concentration of H+ 100 times lower than water.

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Bloom's Level: 3. Apply
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Section: Water and Life
Topic: Water and Life

5. A dissolved substance that has the ability to either remove or add H+ and OH- ions to
resist pH changes is
A. a solution.
B. pure water.
C. a buffer.
D. a solvent.

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Section: Water and Life
Topic: Water and Life

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Chapter 02 - The Origin and Chemistry of Life

6. Most organic molecules are associated with living organisms. Which of the following
statements is NOT related to the general distinctions between these types of molecules?
A. Carbon dioxide (CO2) lacks hydrogen atoms found in most organic molecules and
therefore is usually not considered to be "organic."
B. Formaldehyde (CH2O) is a small molecule compared to most organic molecules but does
have carbon and hydrogen covalently bonded together and therefore is considered to be
"organic."
C. Salt (Na+Cl ) is not an organic molecule but is important to the life of many organisms.
D. Organic carbon atoms are more diverse than inorganic carbon molecules that form the
molecular structure of soot or a diamond from pure carbon.
E. All of the choices are correct.

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Section: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems
Topic: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems

7. Perhaps a better description of an organic compound is that an organic compound is any

substance
A. derived from living matter.
B. containing carbon.
C. found within a cell. D.
consumed by animals.

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Section: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems
Topic: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems

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Chapter 02 - The Origin and Chemistry of Life

8. Carbohydrates are categorized into

A. organic and inorganic carbohydrates.
B. saturated and unsaturated carbohydrates.
C. monosaccharides, disaccharides and polysaccharides.
D. primary, secondary, tertiary and quaternary carbohydrates.
E. monomer and polymer carbohydrates.

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Section: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems
Topic: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems

9. Which of the following is a "structural" carbohydrate molecule?

A. Sucrose
B. Glycogen
C. Cellulose
D. Glucose

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Section: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems
Topic: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems

10. Which of the carbohydrates given below is a major component of the cuticle of
arthropods (e.g., insects, crayfish, etc.)?
A. Starch B.
Chitin C.
Cellulose D.
Glycogen

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Chapter 02 - The Origin and Chemistry of Life

11. Which of the following carbohydrates is used in animal muscle and liver cells for energy
storage?
A. Starch B.
Chitin C.
Cellulose D.
Glycogen

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Section: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems
Topic: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems

12. Which of the following is the most abundant carbohydrate in the world?
A. Cellulose
B. Glycogen
C. Fructose
D. Glucose

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Section: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems
Topic: Organic Molecular Structure of Living Systems

13. Polysaccharide are polymers made up of which kind of monomers?

A. Simple sugars
B. Amino acids
C. Nucleotides
D. Alternating sugar and phosphate groups
E. Fatty acids and glycerol

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observed a tall figure glide past their covert, descending the hill. Even in
that brief glimpse, they saw enough to deeply excite their curiosity.
Peering through the bushes, they saw that the stranger had again paused,
this time standing upon a bowlder, in the full glare of the bright
moonlight. They were gazing upon the same being who, a few hours
later, was pronounced the Mountain Devil by Paul Chicot.
They could distinguish his features; pale, haggard and wearing a
peculiarly mournful expression, that still did not conceal the vacant stare
that proclaimed a shattered mind. This thought occurred to each of the
three men. They were watching a madman.
They noted his ragged dress, rudely patched with skins and bits of
various fur. They saw that he was armed with a bow and arrows, and that
a long-bladed knife was dangling at his side.
This much they noted before he stepped from the rock and resumed his
course toward the valley. Arising, the gold-hunters closely observed his
movements, until hidden in the shade cast by the towering precipice
beyond.
"Wonder what—or who the fellow is, anyhow," muttered Tyrrel,
reflectively.
"I don't know, unless—You've heard Paul Chicot speak of a wild-man
they sometimes call the "Mountain Devil," haven't you?"
"Who hasn't, I wonder?" with a shrug. "I've heard of nothing else since
we've been camped here."
"I believe this is the being he means, then."
"You don't—thunder! I always thought he was lying!"
"Hark!" muttered Burr, touching his comrades.
From out the gloom, in the direction in which the strange being had
disappeared, there came a clear, shrill whistle, long-drawn and
quavering. Eagerly the gold-hunters watched and listened.
"Look there—see that light!" uttered Duplin, after a brief silence. "What
can it mean—up there, too?"
A small but brilliant point of light had suddenly appeared, as though
hanging nearly midway up the cliff, not steady and fixed, but slightly
wavering, or moving slowly from side to side. Evidently, it was
suspended there by some human agency; but who?
"Is there not a human form close beside the light? It seems so to me,"
whispered Wythe.
"Wait. The light is in answer to that whistle. Perhaps Paul's Devil has his
home up there, and that is one of its imps," half-laughed Duplin.
Still closely watching, the three friends a few moments later saw a tall
form uprise beside the light, that, the next instant, vanished from sight.
But not before another discovery was made.
A human being had been holding the light, and as the wild-man took it,
the upper portion of the second person had been distinctly, though
momentarily revealed. Duplin was the first to speak, after the
disappearance.
"Did you see that, boys?"
"I saw something—a shadow, or—"
"I saw the form of a woman!" declared Burr, in a peculiar tone of voice.
"So I thought, but was not sure. I don't know what to think of it. There's
some deep mystery here," added Paley, reflectively.
"I move we expose it, then," impulsively cried Jack. "Who knows—
maybe 'tis a princess in disguise—or else carried off and kept in
seclusion by some evil genie! An adventure—le's go!"
"Easy, rattlepate," laughed Duplin. "You forget what frightful tales Paul
told of this creature, and whether they have any foundation in truth or
not, if we attempt to solve this affair, we must use caution. If nothing
more, he is a madman, and were he to discover our approach, he might
do us mischief. One man then—for they must have a cave, or something
of the sort—one man then could keep a thousand at bay who tried to
reach him by scaling the cliff."
"Is it worth the risk?" thoughtfully uttered Wythe. "She answered his
signal so promptly, there can be little doubt but she is there by her own
free will. Then what right have we to molest them?"
"The right of unsatisfied curiosity—and whether you go or not, I'll not
rest until I've had a good peep at the angel—for such she must be if he's
a devil," cried Tyrrel, springing through the bushes as he spoke.
"Wait, Jack—you'll ruin all by your haste. We'll go—but you must not
lead the way. You'll be sure to alarm them."
"Very well—all I want is to get a good look at them. Lead the way, if
you'd rather."
Duplin knew the futility of reasoning with Jack, else he would not have
been drawn into the foolhardy adventure so easily. He knew there was
danger, Tyrrel did not. But alone, Jack would be sure to precipitate this,
and hoping to avoid discovery by due caution, Duplin led the way
toward the cliff, having determined the exact position where the light had
been shown.
Evidently the cliff-lodgers had disappeared at the same time the light did,
else they must have discovered the three dark figures as they glided
across the open, level valley, plainly outlined by the moon's rays.
Reaching the foot of the cliff, they began searching for the path by which
the wild-man must have ascended, but for several minutes without
success. Then, however, a low whistle from Burr Wythe called Duplin
and Tyrrel to his side. Even in that gloom, they could see that the path
bore evident traces of having been frequently used, either by bipeds or
quadrupeds.
"I think this is folly, boys," muttered Duplin.
"Folly or not—up I go," determinedly added Jack.
"Then I claim the right to lead the way," and so speaking, Paley Duplin
cautiously began the difficult ascent, having first carefully deposited his
rifle at the base of the hill; an example that was promptly imitated by his
companions.
The trail was comparatively easy of ascent, but the gold-hunters made
slow progress, as Duplin carefully examined each foot of the way, lest he
should be misled by the numerous other clefts and seeming paths that
thickly crossed the trace. Thus he neared the point from whence he felt
sure the light had been shown, and as yet no signs had been given by
those above that their approach had been observed.
Suddenly Duplin paused, and turning his head, upheld his finger in
warning. Then stooping, he whispered to Wythe, who stood just below
him:
"Careful, now! I just caught a glimpse of the light. We're close to the
spot. Caution Tyrrel. One rash move now may be fatal."
Though rash and hasty, Tyrrel was by no means a fool, and agreeably
surprised both Wythe and Duplin by his prudence.
Cautiously, silently as so many shadowy phantoms, the gold-hunters
crept on, until, their heads above the level of a broad ledge, they gazed in
upon a peculiarly strange scene. Fairly holding their breath, their eyes
eagerly drank in every detail.
Before them was a small, low-roofed cavern, dimly lighted up by a rude
wooden lamp that sat upon a projecting spur of rock.
There were two occupants; a man and a woman. These first enchained
the eyes of the gold-hunters.
The first was the man they had observed beside their covert on the
opposite hill. The woman was truly a surprise, when viewed in this
strange, wild spot.
That she was young—not more than twenty years of age, if so much—
was plain. That she was possessed of a more than ordinary beauty,
needed but a second glance to tell.
She was small, of a graceful figure that even the rude dress she wore
could not entirely disguise. In complexion she was a perfect blonde, with
a profusion of softly-curling yellow hair, that, unconfined, fell around
her person almost like a mantle.
Her garb, like that worn by the old man, was rough and uncouth, telling
of a long absence from civilization. Her feet were incased in moccasins,
while his feet were bare.
This strange couple were seated near each other, the woman at the wild-
man's feet, feeding him as she would have done an overgrown baby,
mouthful after mouthful. Neither spoke, and then, with a gesture, the
man signified he had sufficient, when the maiden arose and glided away,
disappearing from view of the watchers around a projecting spur of rock.
The old man arose, stretched his limbs and yawned heavily, then sunk
down upon a small pallet of skins, leaving the light still burning. One
hand clutched the strung bow, and the quiver of arrows lay close at hand.
Paley Duplin turned his head and motioned to his companions. Jack
Tyrrel at first seemed inclined to demur, but then, as though by second
thoughts, he noiselessly began the perilous descent, followed by his
comrades.
This was not accomplished without considerable difficulty, and, indeed,
absolute danger, owing to the deceptive gloom, but, fortunately, the trio
succeeded in gaining the valley in safety. Securing their rifles, they
crossed this, and once more gained their covert, tired out and sore, yet
feeling rewarded by the strange discovery they had made.
Tyrrel alone had little to say. That night's events seemed to have made a
deep impression upon his mind, and while his comrades discussed the
subject, he remained deep buried in thought.
Upon one thing he was determined, though he said nothing to his friends
about it at the time. He must see this strange beauty again, if only to ask
her if this sort of life was her own choice. Further than this he did not go,
even in his own secret thoughts.
It was now nearly daylight, and the comrades agreed to remain where
they were concealed during that day, lest the emigrants should institute a
search for them. As all felt the need of repose, the day was divided into
three watches, of which Wythe took the first, Tyrrel the second, and
Duplin the last.
As may well be believed, by far the greater portion of the time, their gaze
rested upon the face of the cliff, marveling at the secrets its bosom
contained. But little rewarded this scrutiny.
True, during Burr Wythe's watch, the hermit, wild-man, or whatever else
he might be called, descended the cliff, and set off down the valley. The
young woman had accompanied him to the ledge that served as entrance
to the cavern, and kneeling there, watched his progress until the hill-
point concealed him from view. Then, with a long, lingering glance
around, she turned and entered the hill-home.
Wythe questioned whether or no to make known this circumstance to his
comrades, but a fear for Jack Tyrrel's impulsiveness restrained him. That
the young man had been deeply interested in the affair, he could not
doubt, and were he to know that the strange maiden were alone, he might
feel tempted to visit her. By this the reader is not to infer that he doubted
Tyrrel's honor—far from it. But Wythe feared lest his impulsive nature
should get them into trouble with the madman, and thus interfere with
the gold-hunting.
Thus the day passed away, and it was not until the middle of Duplin's
watch, that any thing of moment occurred. Then he quietly awoke the
two men, bidding them be cautious.
Peering through the bushes, they could distinguish a small body of men,
slowly moving across the mouth of the valley, seemingly trailing. The
same thought occurred to each of the three men. Why this long and
persistent search? Why delay the wagon-train an entire day to search for
three deserters, whose passage-money had been paid in advance. This
surprised them, even though they had guarded against the chance. These
precautions, however, had been taken wholly upon account of the gold-
pocket, not from fear of being forced to return, since they were free
agents, and in no wise bound to the train.
"Ha! look yonder!" muttered Wythe. "The wild-man!"
This strange being could now be seen standing upon a huge bowlder, not
far from the edge of the precipice, evidently confronting the party of
emigrants, who had now passed from view beyond the hill-point.
Curiously the three men watched his motions.
They heard the report of Nathan Upshur's rifle, saw the wild-man stagger
and almost fall, then leap to the ground and dash up the hill. Their next
view of him was as he swung lightly across the almost perpendicular
face of the precipice, hanging by the frail vines and shrubbery, or
dropping from ledge to ledge, agile and sure-footed as the mountain-goat
itself. Reaching the base, he darted swiftly across the valley, passing
close by the gold-hunters' covert, uttering a low, growling sound that
seemed more like the anger of a wild beast than the voice of a human
being.
"Did you notice?" muttered Duplin. "The blood was dripping from his
breast. Those men yonder shot him."
"It spatters the rocks out here. If they follow his trail, they must discover
us," added Wythe frowning.
"What difference? We're half white and free-born. They have no control
over our actions," retorted Tyrrel.
"True; yet this pick-ax, coupled with our desertion, would rouse their
suspicions, or rather direct them into the right channel, and I fear we
would soon have more partners than would be pleasant or profitable. I
don't want to meet them, if I can help it," added Duplin.
But their fears proved causeless, for the pursuit of the wild-man's trail
had carried Chicot's party to one side of that left by the deserters, and
that they were so close at hand was unknown to the emigrants. And after
a short time the gold-hunters saw their late comrades turn and retrace
their steps, evidently returning to the wagon train, without thought of
following the wounded man further after the startling exhibition he had
given them of his prowess.
Just before sunset they saw the wild-man return apparently but little
injured, and their doubts thus solved, soon after the trio took up their
march toward the golden valley, where fortune awaited them.
Neither noted the extreme care Jack Tyrrel observed in fixing their route
upon his mind. Each rock, hill or valley was closely and thoroughly
noted, so that he felt assured that he could find his way back, if needs be,
in the darkest night. And find his way back he had resolved he would,
sooner or later.
"There!" at length muttered Duplin, pausing upon a high ridge and
stretching one hand toward the valley below him. "Yonder, boys, lies our
fortune!"
The others did not speak. They stood eagerly gazing downward in the
direction indicated, their eyes glowing, their faces flushed hotly, their
frames quivering in every fiber. The gold-fever was upon them.
And, as if infected by their excitement, Duplin lost his composure. With
one accord they rushed headlong down the steep hillside and out upon
the level ground. Then Duplin abruptly paused.
"Comrades," and the words seemed to issue with difficulty, "you are
standing over a bed of gold!"

CHAPTER IV.
MABEL GUILFORD.
Returning to camp, Chicot's party found that the other bands had already
returned without having discovered any thing. That night the body of the
murdered man was buried, after an earnest discussion as to whether
another day should be devoted to a search for the supposed criminals.
Now that the first fervor had cooled down, the vote was almost
unanimous to continue their journey, all fearing lest they should be
caught by the winter storms in the mountains.
So with the dawn of another day the wagon-train once more took up its
due progress, toiling wearily along over the dreary trail, only cheered by
the thought that each step taken was so much nearer to the fabulous
heaps of pure gold that only awaited the gathering. For such were the
wild visions that haunted even the most sensible, during that never-to-be-
forgotten epidemic—the gold-fever.
For two days they toiled on, without any event of moment to break the
killing monotony. But then came a second blow, even more crushing
than the one recorded in the preceding pages, because it left the wagon-
train without a head—in much the same situation as a vessel would be on
losing the only man capable of steering it aright.
In a word, Paul Chicot suddenly disappeared, without leaving any trace
behind him. At dark he had taken his position among the sentinels. At
daybreak the train was discovered to be totally unguarded! Not only had
Chicot vanished during the night, but with him had gone two others. This
was just three mornings after the discovery of the first desertion.
A few words will explain the circumstances leading to this defection.
Nathan Upshur was at the bottom of it all. Since his eavesdropping,
when he learned of the golden pocket discovered by Paley Duplin, he
had been busy shaping a way by which he could gain a share, if not the
whole, of the treasure. And so well had he done his work that no one
suspected his purpose until the blow was dealt.
He knew that he must have companions in the venture, as none of the
deserters would willingly admit him to share in their profits. In fine, they
despised, if not hated him, as he well knew.
Paul Chicot was the man he first selected as a comrade, knowing him to
be brave and not over-scrupulous, as well as thoroughly acquainted with
the country for hundreds of miles around. And, too, he knew that he was
avaricious beyond the common.
The subject was first broached on the night preceding their desertion.
Upshur visited the point where Chicot was standing guard, and together
they smoked their pipes, idly conversing. Then Nate suddenly said:
"Why do you follow this life, Paul?"
"I won't, no longer'n I git to the mines. Then I'll go back to St. Joe, on the
Blacksnake Hills, with gold enough to keep the old woman an' gals in
fine style. No more trampin' fer me then—not much."
"But if you had an opportunity of getting rich before you went to
California, would you refuse it?"
Chicot keenly eyed Upshur, as though seeking to read his secret
meaning, for the man's voice had lowered to a confidential tone, and a
peculiar expression rested upon his face.
"That depends—not in such a way as made whoever it was rub out poor
Dutchy," slowly returned Chicot.
"Bah! why bring up such things? Of course, I don't mean any thing of the
sort. But now, for instance, supposing another train would come along
and offer you more—ten times as much as you get for guiding this train
—would you accept it?"
"Be I a fool? Of course I would, onless this 'ne was to raise thar pile. I
work for money, an' the biggest pile takes my eye," quietly added Paul.
"Well then, supposing I could take you to a gold-mine, within a day's
tramp from here, would you desert the train? I say only supposing I
could do this."
"That's all bosh. Don't I know thar's none sech 'round here?"
contemptuously snorted Chicot.
"But would you?"
"Yas—in a hurry, too."
"Swear it on this," and Upshur adroitly twitched a small metal crucifix
from Chicot's bosom, where it hung by a string. "Swear to keep all secret
that I tell you now, and never to betray it until I give you free
permission."
Chicot, deeply impressed by Upshur's earnestness, obeyed, though still
skeptical. And then, after first carefully assuring himself that there were
no eavesdroppers near, Upshur unfolded his secret, telling all. How he
had first struck scent of the secret, of his eavesdropping, of how he
followed the deserters until he had a fair idea of their destination; of all
save his connection with the dastardly blow in the dark, and the attempt
to fix the crime upon Burr Wythe, for reasons that may hereafter appear.
"Now you know all," he added, "and it is for you to decide whether we
are to slave on like dogs, while those three, not a whit better than we, are
making themselves rich for life. What do you say?"
"They'd never 'gree to share 'th us," muttered Paul, reflectively, yet with
his eyes glowing and his breath quickening.
"They must, if we say so. I, for one, am willing to fight for it. Just think
—Duplin said he found nuggets as large as his fist! And hundreds of
them, too! Just think, man—why, there's enough to make us the richest
men in the United States! They must share—or else we'll take the
whole!"
"That'll be the best way," hoarsely added Chicot, now fully yielding to
the power of the yellow fiend. "There won't be enough for all—fer we
must take another. They're strong men, and will fight fer their—fer our
gold. It is ours—it must be ours!"
"Good! but the other—who shall we select?"
"Tim Dooley—I know him well. For gold he would pawn his soul to the
devil—and then blarney him out of his pay afterward."
And so it was settled. On the succeeding night the three men, who were
standing guard, deserted and took up the back-trail, forgetful of the
dangers that threatened the wagon-train in being left without a competent
guide. Upshur chuckled with devilish glee as he hoped the worst would
befall them.
He had proposed to Lottie Mitchell, and she had rejected him. Her father
also had forbidden him ever again addressing his child, under penalty of
a thrashing. For this reason, seeing that all hope of success in that
direction was gone, he hoped that the entire train might be attacked and
destroyed by the Indians or mountain outlaws, that infested the Overland
Route, almost from end to end.
Caleb Mitchell was at his wit's end when the truly alarming tidings were
generally made known on the morning following Chicot's disappearance.
And not without good cause for apprehension, for the train was now
fairly in among the mountains, where a deviation from the right trail—at
times wholly undiscernible—might well result in total destruction.
As wagon-master, head of the train, only second to the regular guide, he
was naturally the one to whom all now looked, when in truth he was no
more capable than any other member, except from his great coolness and
superior judgment. All were equally ignorant of the trail, since this was
the first venture across the plains.
Mitchell's first move was to send in pursuit of the deserters, with orders
to bring them in at all hazards, if found. That last clause was well put in,
for Paul Chicot had an easy task in that wild, broken region, in blinding
his trail, so that all pursuit was useless. And, with so many long hours
the start, it was like sending a horse to run down the locomotive.
Long after dark, the different bands straggled in, weary and dejected. Not
even a foot-trace had been found to indicate the direction in which the
deserters had gone: and now, that faint hope gone, the greater portion of
the emigrants gave way to despair.
In vain Mitchell strove to cheer them up. He said that it was only a
matter of time and patience; that before long some other train must come
along which they could join. But the answer came, quick and crushing,
because it was the one that was chilling his own heart.
It was late in the season. Their train, drawn wholly by oxen, had been
long upon the road, and the halt at the "sick-camp" had still further
delayed them. They might be the last train on the road—very probably
were, since the mountains of California could not be crossed after winter
set in. A train might not come along until the spring—and that would be
too late. How many of the party could live through a winter in the
mountains? The looked-for train would only find their bones.
Harassed by such arguments and fears as these, Caleb Mitchell resolved
upon a bold course, and yet apparently the only one that was left them.
He would make the attempt to guide the train through the mountains
himself, at least until they could gain a spot more favorable for a winter's
residence than here, if worst came to worst.
Fearing to lose more precious time, long before daybreak the next day,
the wagon-train was slowly following the lead of Caleb Mitchell, who
rode in advance, his heart troubled with fears and doubts, for behind him
was the sole remaining tie that made life dear to him, and its fate in a
great measure depended upon his skill and prudence.
Several hours later, as he saw the crest of a rocky hill, over which the
trail led, he abruptly reined in his horse and gazed keenly across the
valley before him. He had distinguished the slowly-moving form of
human beings, evidently afoot, and the hope that these were the returning
deserters set his heart afire.
But all too soon this delusion was dispelled, for he now could distinguish
the flowing drapery of a woman. Anxiously enough he awaited their
approach, but as they paused on discovering his figure outlined against
the clear sky, he impatiently rode forward. He could now see that there
were only two, and the formation of the trail forbid the supposition of an
ambush being possible there.
As he approached them, the man stood before the woman, with drawn
and leveled pistol, a look of stern despair imprinted upon his worn but
handsome features. His voice rung with the desperation of a hunted
fugitive turned at bay, as he spoke:
"Keep your distance—we will not be taken alive."
"What do you mean? Who's trying to take you alive—or dead either, for
that matter?" ejaculated Mitchell, surprised at the man's tone and action.
"Then you don't—you're not one of those from whom we escaped? You
haven't been chasing us?" doubtfully added the stranger.
"Scarcely—else I would not be coming from this direction," laughed
Mitchell. "You have nothing to fear from me, if it is as I surmise. I claim
to be a gentleman, though in rather rough guise just now—but that
matters little. Yonder comes my train. You are welcome to all it affords,
sir. As for the lady, my daughter will be pleased to supply her wants as
far as she can."
"Thank God!" murmured the woman, springing forward, and, seizing
Mitchell's hardened hand, she moistened it with tears. "You will protect
us from that—from those dreadful men?"
"With my life, lady," warmly returned the wagon-master, deeply
affected, yet feeling not a little curiosity regarding the strangers,
wondering to what he was pledging himself, and who "those dreadful
men" could be.
"You are very kind, sir, but my heart is too full of gratitude to thank you
now as you deserve. When you hear our sad story, you will not wonder
that we are weary and worn out and need rest. Bear up, daughter—we
are safe with good friends, at last!"
"But, father—these men—they must have perceived us?" answered the
woman, tremblingly.
"Perhaps not, but—"
"If there is any danger, sir, tell me what it is, so that I can put my friends
upon their guard. We all know how to handle a rifle, and it must be a
strong force to trouble us while on guard," proudly interrupted Mitchell.
"There may be danger, but I hardly think it will come near. We were
pursued by a party of mountain outlaws, at least until a short time since.
But they don't number over a dozen, at most. They would never dare
attack here, unless joined by their comrades at the Retreat."
"We will be on the look-out for them. But you must need refreshments.
Such as we can offer is at your command. After that, I should like to hear
your story. Naturally, this strange meeting has greatly excited my
curiosity."
"I do not need much—only a drink of water, or something stronger, if it
is handy. As for my daughter Mabel, here, she is entirely worn out. If
you will be so kind—you spoke of a daughter?"
"I will introduce them. Though Lottie is far from well—her poor
mother's death has nearly killed the child—she will gladly do all that is
in her power to comfort your daughter."
"I too have lost my mother," softly murmured Mabel, her large eyes
filling with tears, as she glanced up into the stalwart emigrant's face.
"Poor child!" muttered Mitchell, yielding to a sudden and uncontrollable
impulse, and bending low in his saddle, he imprinted a fatherly kiss upon
the smooth white forehead of the maiden.
Mabel's face flushed, but she did not appear to take offense at the abrupt
action, though she cast a swift glance toward her father. Then, with an
effort, Mitchell recovered himself, and soon explained the facts of the
strange meeting to the wondering emigrants, the train having caught up
during the delay.
Mabel was kindly greeted by Lottie, and then the white-tilted wagons hid
them from view. The father was furnished with the beverage he desired,
and then, seemingly forgetful of fatigue and weariness in his anxiety for
the welfare of the wagon-train, he rode along ahead of the train on
Mitchell's horse, while the latter walked.
"You say you have no regular guide?"
"He deserted us night before last," moodily replied Mitchell, his brow
lowering.
"Can it be that he is in league with these devils?" mused the other, half to
himself. "It looks black—very black!"
Mitchell glanced impatiently at his companion. These vague hints were
alarming, when coupled with the still unexplained appearance of the
couple in that wild and apparently unsettled region.
"Mr. Mitchell," abruptly uttered the stranger, "I am about to tell you a
very strange story, and you would do well to listen to it very closely, as,
if I mistake not, it concerns you and yours deeply. First, my name is
Guilford; I am a retired officer of the regular army, and Mabel is my only
child. Why we left a comfortable home in the East to journey overland to
California, does not matter just now—suffice that we did.
"The wagon-train which we joined passed over this spot full two weeks
ago. Thus far, all had worked smoothly and agreeably. The company was
a strong one, formed of intelligent and agreeable people. The guide was
thoroughly capable, and gave perfect satisfaction. And yet—I and my
child alone remain to tell the fate of all that company!"
Mitchell could not repress a cry of horror.
"Wait. You must have heard of the devils in human shape that haunt
portions of the overland trail? Though they do not often attack full trains,
they do much of the mischief that is wrongly attributed to the Indians,
disguising themselves as such, the better to carry out their nefarious
schemes. Well, we fell into the hands of a company of these demons.
"Our guide betrayed us. As I now know, he belonged to the band of
outlaws, and only joined our train to betray it into the clutches of his
comrades. All that he done, I learned afterward. No one suspected his
fidelity until all was lost.
"He led us from the right trail. None thought of doubting him, and we
walked blindly into the trap. I was mostly in company with Mabel, who
was just recovering from a fit of illness, else I might have detected the
change, for I had once before passed over the route.
"Well, just before dusk, the end came. The foremost wagon was suddenly
checked by a rocky barricade, that completely filled the narrow passage.
The guide had vanished. Then came the shock, as the teamsters and
passengers flocked ahead to see what was wrong.
"From the hillside above us came a deadly storm of rifle and pistol-
bullets. On every side was death. Not a foeman was to be seen, and yet
the withering storm swept man after man to death. And not alone the
men. Women and children, even the toddling babes, were shot down.
None were spared. In ten minutes all was over.
"Taken so by surprise what could we do? Nothing. Scarcely one had a
weapon at hand. Such as had, were too astounded to think of using them.
And even had this been different, what could they have done when not a
foeman was visible? The rocks above seemed to be raining down death
upon us. Not a form could be seen; not a voice mingled with the din of
fire-arms, save from the dying as they fell in heaps. My God! it was
terrible!" and Guilford covered his eyes and groaned aloud as one in
mental agony.
"Pardon my emotion, Mr. Mitchell. Though an old soldier, never before
had I witnessed such a frightful sight. My heart bleeds again at the mere
thought." And Guilford shuddered again.
"But you—how did you escape unhurt?" curiously asked Mitchell.
"I can explain that now, though at the time I believed it a proof of
Providence. But that was part of the plan. I spoke of our guide. That man
was none other than the chief of the outlaws. He had joined us and acted
as guide, the better to entrap us. He was a handsome, dashing fellow and
it seems now that he took a sudden fancy to my daughter—curse the
villain!
"I was with Mabel, in the wagon, and he knew this. He pointed it out to
his men, and cautioned them against injuring its inmates. With the first
shot, I started to give my aid to our friends, but Mabel, half-crazed,
seized me, and I dared not leave her. It would have killed her, in her
weak state.
"When the guide came to the wagon and ordered us to dismount, I
realized the truth, and fired at him. But in my haste, the bullet that should
have bored his treacherous brain, missed its mark, killing a man standing
just beyond him. I was seized and bound, though I struggled desperately.
Only for the guide—Yellow Jack—I would have been killed on the spot.
But he had a purpose for saving me, for that time. Through her love for
me, he hoped to bend my daughter to his will.
"We—Mabel and I—were carried away into the mountains, and so were
spared the horrible scene that must have followed. Yellow Jack told me
of it, afterward. The wounded were put out of their misery, and then
tossed down a deep ravine hard by, where the wolves and vultures would
soon hide them from mortal sight. The wagons were burned, after being
plundered, and the ashes scattered to the winds. All traces of the horrible
massacre were obliterated, leaving the trap ready for other victims.
"Well, 'tis an unpleasant subject to dwell upon, and I hasten on as fast as
possible, yet telling all that is necessary for you to understand the matter.
We—Mabel and I—were taken to the hill retreat of this Yellow Jack, and
were, for a time at least, treated reasonably well. Then, however, as
Mabel gave no signs of softening her manner toward him, he began to
show his devilish nature by torturing her with fears for me. Finally, he
gave her two days to decide; either to become his bride or see me
murdered before her very eyes.
"But we had a friend that he little suspected, in his wife—a beautiful
woman who appeared to fairly worship the monster. The fear that Mabel
would entirely supplant her in Yellow Jack's love, gave her the courage
to foil his purpose by a daring stroke. In the middle of the night she set
us both free and led us beyond the line of guards, then giving us the clue
to finding the trail, she bade us begone—to suffer death rather than
recapture, for after this her hands would be tied. She gave me these
pistols, and a small package of food. Then she left us.
"We journeyed by night, and lay hid among the rocks by day, well
knowing that we would be pursued, and that the entire country would be
scoured. To-day, for the first time, we ventured forth during daylight.
You know the rest—how we found you, and how warmly we were
welcomed by all," concluded Guilford, evidently deeply affected.
"Then, if this band is so near, this train is in danger!" uttered Mitchell, in
a troubled tone.
"No, I think not. The band is not strong enough to openly attack such a
train, and they would scarcely dare to form an ambush along the regular
trail. We only suffered through our traitorous guide. You are safe so long
as you keep the main trail and see that your sentinels do not neglect their
duty. True, you may chance to lose some stock, and care must be taken
that stragglers do not wander far from the train, else the outlaws might
wreak their spite upon them."
"But our guide is gone—has deserted. How do we know whether we
keep the right trail or not? Indeed, we may be straggling from it this very
moment!"
"You are right so far. The only danger of straying will be during the next
two or three days. After that the route is plain and broad. But do you
mean to say that you are all new hands—that there are none here who
have ever passed over the trail before?"
"That is the fact."
"Well, we must do the best we can. Though I have made one trip before
this, I paid comparatively little attention to the trace, and don't suppose
my judgment is much, if any, better than yours. Still, between us, I think
we can manage to pick out the right course."
Meantime the two maidens, Lottie Mitchell and Mabel Guilford, had
already become fast friends, and picturing great enjoyment in each
other's company during the remainder of the journey.

CHAPTER V.
WHERE WAS JACK TYRREL?
Over a bed of gold.
The three gold-seekers were indeed in the valley of treasure. A few hours
of earnest work in the "pocket" revealed riches beyond account, and so
infatuated did all become with the results of their labor that scarcely
could the one detailed to the daily service of hunting for food take the
time necessary to procure proper supplies.
Nothing had occurred to disturb their intense labors, although more than
once the hunter for the day had come across strange tracks in the vicinity
of their golden bed, and the soul-sickening dread that assailed Robinson
Crusoe, on his desert isle, now found a resting place in their hearts. They
fancied this was the track of some malicious-minded enemy who was
watching them with the intention of robbing the golden store that had
grown daily more and more dear to them.
A sad change had come over the trio. Their friends and loved ones would
scarcely have recognized them, even after these few days of success.
Pale, haggard, and hollow-eyed, they toiled on almost unceasingly,
scarce speaking a word through the livelong day, even seeming
suspicious of each other, sleeping fitfully, often awaking with a start as if
from some haunting dream to glare at the spot where their treasure was
hoarded away. A sad, sad change, and one that was daily growing more
and more apparent.
Day by day, hour by hour, the insidious gold-fever was gaining in power
over them, crushing out all generous thoughts, tightening its grasp upon
their heart-strings, until scarce one trace of their former selves was left.
Nearly a week had elapsed since their arrival at the valley of gold. It was
night, and though the past day had been one of almost breathless toil, the
three adventurers sat awake and sleepless, smoking their pipes in silence
beneath the rude, frail shelter of vine-clad brush.
All without was dark and dismal. The air was charged with electricity,
and the comrades found it impossible to sleep. All nature seemed
feverish and ill at ease.
The moon was obscured; dense sulphurous masses of clouds swirled
athwart the horizon in wild confusion. Low, sullen mutterings filled the
air. A tempest was brewing.
Silently smoking, the gold-hunters watched the play of the clouds. They
seemed to care little for the result. What mattered it though they did get
wet? The rain could not injure their golden treasure, and what else had
they to care for? Nothing.
Suddenly Paley Duplin sprung half erect, outstretching one hand as the
pipe dropped unheeded at his feet. His voice sounded strangely excited,
trembling violently.
"My God! look yonder—that light!"
Far up the bed of the one-time water-course, a light seemed slowly
moving to and fro. This, of itself, in that lone and desolate spot, was
enough to excite wonder. But it was the shape the light gradually
assumed as it drew nearer that caused Duplin agitation.
Speechless the three men glared at the vision as it slowly drew nearer to
where they sat. Neither spoke. They seemed petrified with horror.
And well might this be the case. The past week had sadly weakened their
nerves. This horrible reserve that had come over them since delving
amidst the masses of gold, had rendered them doubly susceptible to
superstitious influence.
They could no longer doubt. The shape, glowing with a ghastly light,
was now vividly outlined.
Before them, at only a few rods' distance, stood a skeleton of fire!
A skeleton, perfect in the most minute detail. It seemed of gigantic size,
as though the relic of some long since extinct race of giants.
The brainless skull, the eyeless sockets, the wide, ghastly-grinning
mouth and blazing teeth, the body, the arms and legs, all were glowing
with a strangely-weird luster, not unlike that produced by the use of
phosphorus. One fleshless arm was slowly lifted until the dangling finger
pointed directly at the spot where crouched the gold-hunters, awe-
stricken and speechless.
And still the flaming skeleton advanced, more and more, the arm
warningly outstretched, the skull wearing that horribly mocking grin.
Suddenly a low, taunting laugh echoed upon the still oppressive air—a
laugh that seemed to issue from the fleshless lips.
Duplin shuddered, and bowing his head, covered his face as if to shut out
the sickening object. Wythe and Tyrrel remained motionless, their eyes
riveted upon the skeleton.
A voice uttering words followed the laugh. Deep yet low, something
strangely impressive when coming from that ghastly spectacle, as it
appeared.
"Blind fools! ye are trespassing here on holy ground. Depart while yet
there is time. You hear—even the spirits of the air warn you. Obey their
voice—flee—flee from the wrath to come! Take heed. 'Tis the last
warning. Depart—or the morrow's sun shall shine down on your lifeless
remains."
A laugh slowly followed this speech, coming from the rude hut of
bushes. It was from Jack Tyrrel, sounding strained, yet scornful.
"This mummery has gone far enough," he said, in a tone that told of
rising anger. "It's my turn now. Whoever you are, you take warning. In
just one minute, unless you drop that mask, I'll try if you are bullet-
proof. Mark my words, now!"
"Don't, Jack—for God's sake don't!" gasped Duplin. "'Tis nothing earthly
—it's a warning from the other world!"
"Bah! I've seen a skeleton doctored with phosphorus before now."
"Lift your arm against the dead, and it will drop withered to your side,"
solemnly added the voice.
"It will, eh? Here's to try it. Man or devil—here's greeting to you!"
recklessly cried Tyrrel, as he raised and sighted his revolver.
Again came the laugh, hollow and unearthly. The fleshless face seemed
to grin more horribly than before.
Once—twice the pistol spoke spitefully, the flash momentarily lighting
up the little brush shanty, then leaving it in still deeper darkness from
force of contrast. And yet the skeleton stood there, motionless, save that
the arm appeared to move derisively.
The laugh again echoed forth, as the reverberating reports died away.
Duplin sunk upon his face, groaning in terror. Wythe knelt as though
petrified. Tyrrel turned a shade paler.
"Silly fool! you provoke your fate. When the sun rises you will be dead
—dead."
The glowing figure swiftly moved forward, and seemed about to attack
the gold-hunters. Jack hastily lifted his pistol and fired, then sprung to
his feet as though in readiness for the struggle.
When the smoke-cloud lifted, he rubbed his eyes in amazement. All was
black before him. Nothing was to be seen. The apparition had vanished
as though swallowed up by the earth.
Only for a moment did he hesitate. Then, still clutching his pistol, he
darted from the shanty and glanced around him. All was vacancy.
He leaped upon the sand-bank, and swept his eyes around. The result
was the same. No light—nothing save a far-distant flash of lurid
lightning.
A disinterested spectator would have laughed outright, could he have
seen Tyrrel's face at that moment, so full of blank amazement was it. And
yet there was nothing in it of superstitious fear.
Only for the first few moments had Jack yielded to this feeling, and then
simply because his comrades had done so. This quickly vanished and
anger took its place. He was startled at the new effect of his shots,
because he had great confidence in his own skill. Then, too, he marveled
greatly at the abrupt disappearance, but that he wisely attributed to clever
skill.
Thoughtfully scratching his curly pate, Jack retraced his steps and
entered the shanty. In silence he lighted his pipe at the still smoldering
embers, and then puffed away vigorously, covertly eying his comrades
the while.
"Well, boys," he at length uttered, between puffs, "what d' you think of it,
anyhow?"
"It is gone, then?" muttered Duplin, in a husky voice.
"Yes—cleverly, too. A smart chap, whoever it may be," quoth Tyrrel.
"You are wrong—it was nothing mortal. It was a warning," gloomily
added Duplin.
"Now don't be a fool, Paley," impatiently. "The days are passed for such
melo-dramatic visions as that. We will live to see a great many to-
morrows. It is nothing but a very stale trick got up to frighten us from
our work. Somebody has got wind of our discovery, and takes this plan
to drive us away. But I, for one, don't scare worth a cent! And as first
move—before it rains—I'm going to see what sort of track that ghost left
behind him. The sand out yonder is soft, and will retain a footprint.
Come—you'll admit that a spirit—even though it assumes the guise of a
burning skeleton—can not leave a natural footprint? Very well. If I do
not find the tracks of a man out yonder, I'll agree to believe in your view,
and at once make my will, provided you promise the same. If the track is
there you'll give up those superstitious ideas?"
"Yes," was the reply given by both Duplin and Wythe.
Jack said no more, but set about arranging a torch in order to settle the
question once for all. Meantime Wythe had directed Duplin's attention to
something not far from the shanty, apparently lying upon the ground.
This was a small point of flame, flickering vividly, now larger, now
smaller. It was near where the skeleton had stood.
Tyrrel soon emerged, holding the torch before him, but as he advanced,
the point of flame grew dim, and then vanished entirely. Bending low
down, he began closely scanning the ground, while Duplin and Wythe
intently watched his motions.
"You're cornered now, boys," he said aloud, with a laugh, rising erect.
"Come out here and own up that you've been silly fools. Here are the
tracks as plain and clear as mud."
Beginning to feel ashamed of their exhibition, the two soon joined
Tyrrel, and kneeling, slowly scanned the ground. As Jack had said, the
sand was soft, and easily retained the imprint of a human foot.
And such an imprint lay before them, plain and unmistakable. Even
Duplin could no longer doubt that all this had been the work of a cunning
hand, though by no means a spirit.
"And see," laughed Jack, "here's a memento of our ghostly visitor. A
finger-joint that one of my bullets has broken."
"That was what we saw lying here. Hold it in the dark, Jack—yes, that is
it," muttered Wythe, as the bone again showed the flickering light.
"And there comes the rain—but first, I'm going to have the measure of
this foot. I think I owe the rascal that made it a sound thrashing, and if
we ever meet, he'll get it, or my name's not Jack Tyrrel!"
As the storm burst, the gold-hunters regained their shelter, and composed
themselves as comfortably as circumstances would admit. Knowing that
they were in for a drenching, they only cared to keep their weapons and
ammunition dry.
It was impossible to sleep while the storm raged with such violence, and
Jack continued his good work by lecturing his comrades. He showed
them the point toward which they were drifting, and that ruin must
follow unless they rallied against the spell that seemed falling upon
them.
"Why, in less than a month—if this sort o' thing keeps on—we'll be
ready to cut each other's throats. It is horrible! I'd rather turn my back on
the gold altogether and live poor all my life than to pass another week as
this one has been."
"I agree with you, Jack," warmly replied Duplin. "There is gold enough
for us all. Let's clasp hands, and forget the hard work. Hereafter let's be
men—not savage dogs."
"Amen!"
Through that livelong night the three, comrades once more, conversed
earnestly. And when day came, they were ready for work.
It was plain now that their secret was no longer their secret—that they
had been watched by some one who knew of their rich discovery. And it
was likely that this watcher also knew of their "bank"—the spot where
their treasure was stowed away.
Before daylight they removed the gold to another spot, the driving rain
obliterating all traces as soon as made. This done, they looked to their
weapons.
The spy, whoever he might be, must be found, though a week was spent
in searching for him. Only for the beating rain, this would have been a
comparatively easy matter, since the ground, clear to the hills, was very
favorable for trailing.
Day broke clear and beautiful, and Duplin experienced a peculiar thrill of
joyous thankfulness as he beheld the brilliant sun roll above the eastern
swells. The sight gave him renewed life, and the last lingering trace of
superstition vanished.
For hours the three friends sought in vain for some trace of their
nocturnal visitor, but it was not until they crossed the first ridge that such
rewarded their search. Then, deeply imprinted in the moist sandy loam,
they came upon a double trail, though both sets of tracks were evidently
made by the same person, probably in going and coming, as they trod
different ways.
"It's our man," cried Jack, as he arose from comparing his tally with the
tracker. "We must run him to ground, now. He can't be far—these tracks
are fresh."
"But which are the latest?"
"That puzzles me. I'm not much on the trail-hunt. Chicot could tell, no
doubt, but I can't. We must follow both. You and Wythe take that
direction, and I'll look to this."
"But there may be danger to you going alone. We don't know who or
what this fellow is. Best keep together."
"And so lose the game, like as not? No. I think I can hold my own, since
there's only one man. Go on—and if you find the game, build a fire of
grass that will send up a black smoke. I'll do the same. Look out for it."
It was rank folly attempting to reason with Tyrrel, and his comrades, well
knew that. So parting—none of the trio dreamed of the time that would
elapse before their meeting!—they each bent to their work.
The trail ran lengthwise along the valley, only divided from that where
lay the golden bed by a high ridge. Duplin and Wythe were heading
south-east; the trail followed by Tyrrel was in an opposite direction.
"I think I can tell just how this will end," muttered Burr, after
progressing a mile or more. "I think we will find the stopping-place on
yonder point, where we can look down upon our camp. If so, we must
hasten back, and join Jack. The hot-headed fellow may get into trouble."
A few minutes more proved their surmise to be correct. The trail doubled
at the hill, and then ran back for a ways, side by side.
The friends had no difficulty in retracing their steps, and advanced at a
half run. The damp earth had retained deep tracks.
In ten minutes they had regained the point where Tyrrel had left them,
and still hastened after him. Then they paused, simultaneously uttering a
low cry.
"Too late!" gasped Duplin.
Faint and indistinct came to their ears, borne by the favoring breeze, two
quickly succeeding pistol-shots, closely followed by a cry, as of pain or
mortal terror. These sounds came from up the valley.
Clutching their weapons, the friends bounded forward at top speed, their
faces pale, their teeth tightly clenched. They feared the worst.
"My God! look there!" gasped Wythe, extending one trembling hand.
Before them, close to where the rocks that thickly covered the hillside
began, the ground was torn and trampled, as though the scene of a
desperate struggle for life. And upon one side of a whitely bleached
bowlder was a large crimson stain.
A stain that could only be produced by blood!
Sick and faint the comrades stood there, wildly glancing around,
listening anxiously for some sound to guide them. But it came not. All
was stilled save their deep, husky breathing.
"Come," cried Duplin, with an effort rousing himself, "this is folly. We
must work. Dead or alive, we must find Jack, and either rescue or avenge
him."
Dreading lest at every step they should come upon the dead and mangled
body of their friend hidden among the rocks, the gold-hunters advanced.
Here and there a blood-splash guided their eyes. Drop by drop it led
them up the hillside. This alone guided them. The flinty ground retained
no trace of footsteps.
A gore-stained rock attracted them. Rushing forward, Duplin uttered a
low cry. Then he sunk upon his knees and bent forward.
Burr Wythe turned sick at heart, and staggering, would have fallen but
for the friendly support of a jagged bowlder. A cry broke from his lips as
he started back and removed his hand. It had entered a tiny pool of fresh
blood!

CHAPTER VI.
LOST IN THE LABYRINTH.
With a convulsive shudder, Burr Wythe wiped the clotted blood from his
hand. Duplin, startled by the cry of his comrade, quickly turned his head.
"What is it, Wythe?"
"Nothing—I rested my hand in that blood yonder. But what is this—a
cave?"
"It must be—and see! There are blood-stains on the inside edges of the
rock. Whoever, one or many, have gone in there, taking poor Jack with
them, either dead or alive," muttered Paley, as he drew back and
carefully looked to his weapons.
"Then out of it they must come," determinedly returned Burr, his eyes
glittering.
"But how? If in there, they have the advantage of us in every respect."
"There is only one way. We must enter and do the best we can."
"It looks like suicide, after what we see here; but if you dare risk it, I will
not fail you. We can not desert the lad. He would risk as much for either
of us."
"Here—let me pass in first. I can get some idea of what is before us, and
if they mean mischief, they'll wait to make sure of us both. Do you keep
back from the entrance, but ready to assist me if I call."
Pale but resolute, Wythe crawled into the hole, and then glanced quickly
around him, as though in hopes of being able to penetrate the dense
gloom. That his heart beat quicker than common, is no disparagement to
his courage, for there is nothing so trying as facing an unknown danger
in the dark.
Feeling around he found several pebbles, and flung them violently from
him. From their faint echoes, he learned what he desired.
"It's a large cave, Paley," he uttered, as he emerged into the open air. "We
must not enter without material for torches. We might pass within arm's
length of poor Jack, and not know it."
Thoroughly determined to find their missing comrade, and if possible
those who had struck this blow, the two men scarcely gave a thought
now to the danger they might be incurring, nor how completely they
would be at the mercy of any hidden enemy, while they were bearing
lighted torches. So, while Wythe guarded the cave entrance, Duplin
hastily collected material for torches.
A few minutes sufficed for this, and then both men entered the hole.
Thus shielded from the wind, they soon succeeded in kindling a torch,
and then, while one held it aloft, the other kept just without the circle of
light, with cocked and ready revolver. In this manner one at least would
be running less risk. Duplin, as being the best shot, held the latter
position.
The two friends curiously glanced around them. But little was to be seen,
save the jagged roof of rock, as the torch emitted but a feeble light.
Still, a few moments showed them that the chamber in which they stood
was untenanted save by themselves. It was of considerable size, irregular
in outline, rough and jagged, with a low roof or ceiling.
"Look! here is a sort of tunnel," muttered Wythe, waving the light before
him. "And—yes! here goes the blood-drops. Poor Jack! if it's his blood,
he must be dead."
"Maybe not. A little makes a big show on rock. But let's hasten—I'm
eager for the end. Any thing—even the knowledge of his death, is better
than this suspense."
"If he is dead, somebody must pay for it!" gritted Wythe, vindictively.
The tunnel was low and narrow, and the explorers had to stoop their
heads to avoid the rocky roof. More than once Wythe fancied he could
distinguish the trace of tools wielded by human hands upon the soft rock,
but other thoughts occupied their minds, though at another time this fact
would have excited the deepest curiosity.
The tunnel was winding, now sheering abruptly to the right, then again to
the left, and several times Wythe paused in doubt, as two passages met
his gaze. But a close and cautious scrutiny would show a drop of blood
upon the floor of one or the other, and thus guided, the adventurers
pressed on, further into the labyrinth, without a thought of their own peril
—thinking only of their lost comrade. From first to last, of that day, they
exhibited a strange lack of prudence.
Their progress, owing to these causes, was slow—far more so than, in
their impatience to learn the fate of Jack Tyrrel, they believed—and the
winding passage frequently caused them to almost retrace their footsteps.
Suddenly Wythe came to the end of the tunnel, and stepped into what
seemed a spacious chamber, though he could only judge from the
difference in the atmosphere. The torch was of little service, save within
a radius of several yards.
A few minutes' scouting proved this also to be unoccupied by those they
sought. At irregular intervals, around the sides, were several tunnels
similar to that from which the men had recently emerged.
Exchanging glances, the friends saw that each had begun to despair.
After this long and really arduous search, they seemed no nearer the end
than at first.
"Come," whispered Duplin, rousing himself, "this is only wasting time,
when we should be at work. Cheer up—we must find him soon. I know
we will—I feel it!"
"I hope you are a true prophet," sighed Wythe, brushing the cold damp
from his forehead. "But I fear the worst."
"Give me the light for awhile, and you take my place. We must search
each tunnel until we find the right one."
"I fear that will be difficult. I've not noticed any blood-drops for some
time. What if we should be wrong? What will become of poor Jack? And
—how are we to find our way back again?"
Duplin started. For the first time he realized the full peril of their
situation. Were they not even then lost? Lost in the labyrinth—in the
bowels of the earth! And nothing to sustain life—no food, no water! The
thought was soul-sickening!
"We must not think of that now. We've enough to trouble our minds
without that. It may all turn out right. But mark the passage we came
through. With that to start from, we can find our way back by the blood-
stains. Drop my hat there—or a bit of rag, anything will do."
Wythe advanced a step, then paused and glanced around him. His face
shone ghastly pale in the feeble light of the tiny torch. It seemed that of a
dead, rather than a living man.
"I—I think this is the one," he faltered, pointing to a passage.
"My God! don't you know? Then we are indeed lost!" groaned Duplin,
the cold sweat dripping from his brow.
"We have walked in every direction—I am bewildered. We can do
nothing, only trust in Providence."
"And so we will! I don't believe we are to perish in this manner. Cheer
up—'twill all turn out for the best," cried Duplin, rallying his courage.
"I'm willing enough to hope for the best, but these events follow close
after that man's warning of last night. There may have been more in it
than we cared to admit."
"Come—no more o' that, Wythe. You only unnerve us both. Mark this
tunnel. We will first explore the one next upon its right—remember that.
In time we must strike the right one."
Entering the low-arched passage, Duplin led the way, holding the torch
so low that it fell full upon the floor. Leaving all other matters to Wythe,
he closely and thoroughly scrutinized the passage in search of the blood-
drops that had already guided their course so far.
"I'm afraid we're wrong, Burr," muttered Paley, after several minutes. "I
can find no traces."
He had just rounded an acute corner in the passage, and thus cast Wythe
in the gloom. Stepping forward, Burr abruptly paused.
"My God! look yonder!" he gasped rather than spoke, one hand extended
over Duplin's shoulder.
The latter raised his eyes and then started back. Truly a horrible sight
was before them.
A dull, ghastly light seemed to fill the space before them. A light that
danced and flickered fitfully—now brilliant, now dull.
There, apparently almost within arm's length of the two adventurers,
were half a dozen flaming skeletons, not lying prone upon the floor, but
seemingly just starting up from their recumbent position to chastise the
unhallowed disturbers of their last repose.
Fiery jets of flame seemed to dart forth from the eyeless sockets, from
the grinning jaws, from every bone that helped form the skeletons, and
all with that peculiar effect produced by the plentiful use of phosphorus.
As if turned to stone, the two friends stood at the turning, glaring wildly
upon the weird tableau.
Then there echoed forth a startling sound, that seemed to proceed from
the glowing jaws of the blazing skeletons. A laugh, shrill and unearthly,
that echoed thrillingly through the long, narrow passage.
"My God! they move—they come!" yelled Duplin, as he dropped the
torch and dashed madly back the way he had come, by some rare chance
escaping a shattered skull, from collision with the numerous jagged
points of rock.
With that horrible laugh still ringing in their ears, Wythe followed after,
half-dead with terror. Gasping, nearly suffocated by the wild throbbings
of his heart, Duplin gained the chamber, and then sunk down weak and
trembling. Though life depended upon the exertion, he could go no
further.
"Burr—where are you?" he gasped, agitatedly.
"Here—thank God we are together!" came the low reply, as Wythe crept
to his side. "But the light—where is it?"
"I dropped it—I was so astonished. But we can kindle another. I have
matches and you have wood."
"I?—no, I must have lost it as I ran. I had two sticks when we entered,
but they are gone now," slowly returned Wythe.
Both remained silent. Each realized the full force of this new calamity.
Without a light how could they ever hope to find their way out of this
labyrinth? With a light, the task would be hard enough—without one, it
become simply impossible.
"We must regain them, even though we have to face that horrible sight
once more," muttered Duplin, with a resolution that was simply sublime,
when his superstitious nature is remembered.
"Did you hear it, too?"
"The laughter—yes. It was no delusion. Pray God that I may never hear
it again!"
"Hark!"
A low, indistinct sound met their ears. It seemed to proceed from the
passage they had just left. Its precise nature they could not define, but—
perhaps the thought was excited by what had just occurred—they fancied
it was the faint echo of that horrible peal of laughter.
"It's coming nearer—what shall we do?" gasped Duplin, tremblingly.
"Remember what Jack showed us. There is some trickery here, I feel
sure. If we flee blindly through these passages, we are indeed lost. We
must meet what is coming. If really supernatural, we can not run away
from it. If human, we can solve the mystery with a pistol-bullet,"
hurriedly muttered Burr, as his revolver clicked sharply.
His resolution seemed to restore Duplin, and then, in silence they
awaited the result, though in painful suspense, for neither was free from
a sickening dread. Few men are equally brave in the dark and light.
The suspense was not of long duration. Another shrill, unearthly peal of
laughter rung through the rocky chamber, and then, as if by magic, a
glowing skeleton with every bone plainly outlined, stood before the two
gold-hunters.
Duplin hastily cocked his revolver. It seemed that the sharp metallic click
was not unheard, for another laugh, low and taunting, came from where
the ghastly object stood. Then a voice—the same that had addressed
them at their camp, the preceding night—uttered the words:
"Poor silly fools! Do ye think to alarm the dead by such actions? What
care I for mortal weapons? You but precipitate your fate by such
rashness. You scorned my first warning—and now you see the results.
One of your number is dead—you two are doomed! Doomed to wander
on through the bowels of the earth unceasingly, until death takes pity
upon your sufferings and touches your hearts with his finger of ice. You
were warned—why did you throw the chance behind you? You sealed
your own fate. You are doomed—doomed! Ha! ha!" and again the
chilling peal rung forth.
And yet, strange as it may seem, these words gave Burr Wythe renewed
courage. Though a partial believer in spiritualism, he did not believe that
disembodied spirits could speak.