The Old Man of the Mountain Part 29

"You're thinner, Harry," said Redfern at length.

"You're not looking very fit yourself," answered Beresford. "Had a shake, old man?"

"Rotten! You're quite sound, eh?"

"Yes, thank G.o.d! There's a heap to tell you. What were you doing on the hill?"

"Camping for the night. We've done fifty miles since morning. Were coming on to-morrow. Glad we're too late, old chump!"

Presently, when all had cooled down, they fell to talking practically.

It was near sunset, and they decided that Forrester and his party should mount the hill and share the planters' tents for the night, the mingled ma.s.s of Orientals camping at the foot.

An hour later, gathered about the camp fire, the band of bronzed and stalwart young Englishmen listened raptly to the story told by Beresford. He related all the incidents of the weeks since Redfern was parted from him by the iron shutter. The silence of the audience was broken now and again by e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of horror, rage, sheer amazement.

When Beresford had finished, there were cries for Forrester, Mackenzie, Jackson in turn. Each added some detail of his own experience.

"And the villainous Old Man?" cried one.

"We left him standing like an ivory statue on his platform, surveying the wreck of his little empire," said Beresford.

"And the Eye--what became of it?" asked another.

"We don't know," Forrester answered. "None of us had the heart to look for the body of the poor wretch. I suppose the Eye opened; if it did, it is boring a hole somewhere in the rift."

"That one-eyed freak of yours is a trump, d.i.c.k," said a third. "We've always wondered why you kept the chap."

"Yes; I shan't forget him. The only grudge I have against Mac is that he didn't tell us in the cavern that Hamid was his postman above."

"Och! I'm not a bletherskite," grunted Mackenzie.

"I vote we go on to-morrow and wipe out the whole rascally crew," cried another.

"And chuck the Old Man into his pit."

"He's too tough and skinny to please the Monster."

"But I say, what about that gold-making concern? Why shouldn't we make ourselves millionaires?"

"I wouldn't go down there again if I came out Rockefeller and Vanderbilt rolled into one," said Forrester emphatically. "Looking back on it, I can't imagine now how I climbed that chimney. When I was near the top, and heard the water gurgling overhead----"

"Well, what of that?"

Before Forrester could reply, the darkening sky was lit up northward by a sudden blaze of light that brought everyone to his feet in consternation. As one of them afterwards remarked, it was like the blinding glare of ten thousand flashlights. It was gone in an instant, and the universe seemed plunged into utter blackness.

The men stood at gaze. Perhaps a minute after the flash, a roar like the gunfire of all the world's fleets rolled and thundered dully about them. The earth trembled beneath their feet. Presently the air became hot, and a shower of fine dust mingled with stones bespattered them.

"A volcano!" cried one.

"No; that is the answer to your question," said Beresford quietly.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"What we feared might happen, has happened. I haven't a doubt of it.

Our mining must have weakened the embankment, the stream broke through and plunged into the pit, tons of water were decomposed by the mysterious rays, and the explosion has shattered everything with volcanic force."

"Ay, and there's the end of the Old Man of the Mountain," Mackenzie said gravely.

The workers in the Laibach observatory recorded a seismic disturbance, locating it somewhere in the steppes of Central Asia. No authentic information, accredited by responsible men of science, ever reached them. But in course of time fantastic stories came to this country in private correspondence, and found their way into the newspapers. They were pooh-poohed, laughed at, p.r.o.nounced incredible. Certain adventurous spirits did indeed slip off with more or less secrecy and hurry by the quickest route to the unknown country watered by the middle Brahmaputra. A company was even formed in London for exploiting gold in that region; but it lived feverishly and died forlorn. Persistent explorers ranged over mile upon mile of desolate country in quest of a gigantic waterfall, a marvellous canon, and a fertile plateau that was said to be inhabited by an aboriginal race of pigmies. Of the canon they found no trace; only a number of scattered bones, large and small, announced that human beings and strange monsters had once inhabited what was now a rocky waste. A hitherto unknown river was discovered, broken for miles of its course by foaming rapids; but rapids are not waterfalls, as everybody knows.

In his rooms at Cambridge Henry Beresford sometimes shows his visitors a painted tablet from Khotan, and some strangely inscribed rolls of parchment. If pressed, he will tell a singular story, which they listen to politely, and with murmurs of "How very interesting!" totally disbelieve. The fact is that neither he, nor his friend Captain Redfern, nor certain young planters in a.s.sam, care very much to talk about the events of those few weeks when the currents of their lives were mingled, and danger welded them into a comradeship which nothing will sever.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Tailpiece]