throw the rope—”

“Woo-oo-o-oh,” came the weird sound again, only louder. It seemed to be getting closer quickly, rose from a deep moan to a shrill wail that filled the narrow passage, and the man who was holding the flash let it fall from his cold fingers.

“I’ll hold it—”

“I’m coming—” roared the one on the other side. He glanced over his shoulder a second time, then the sound came nearer, louder, and more terrible. With a shriek he flung himself astride the log, his body flat, his arms and legs kicking furiously as he shoved frantically forward, disregarding the danger of the undertaking.

“Be careful,” yelled Jim as he watched the fellow, whose limbs were striking out like a floundering swimmer, sending a shower of rotten timber to the depths below. “Take it easy, you won’t make any headway.”

“Look out—” Mills stopped his futile efforts to get the rope, Lang turned the rays of the light on the log, while one of the other men stood astride the end trying to swing a long vine to the hands of their comrade. He bent forward and threw the long twining end, but the chap was not looking at him, the bit of tendril brushed his cheek; and with a howl of panic he twisted about desperately.

“Catch it,” Lang shouted.

“Get a hold,” Mills added. But the man was too terrified to understand. With a wild lunge he threw himself on the weakest part of the log, clawed with both hands, sending a shower of chips into the abyss and at the same time, the awful unearthly cry came again. Another panic-stricken lunge, the log creaked dismally, parted in the middle, and dropped its burden to the depths. The fellow who was astride the end was nearly taken with it, but Mills caught and hauled him to safety.

“If he’d waited for the rope he could have been saved,” Bob said softly, and there was genuine regret in his tone. It was a tragic situation, standing tied helplessly while a fellow human fell to his death.

“Something’s back there—”

“I believe that is only wind,” Jim declared.

“Wind, how do you make that out?”

“Since the air purified, either there is a high wind outside or something happened to let in a good breeze. It played on those tight streamers and vines like a harp—”

 Prev. P 25/91 next