The Temple of the Ten/Chapter 15

ILG0RE, finding himself alone in his prison chamber, investigated his belongings.

Since all weapons had been removed, with everything that might serve as a weapon, he had small hope of finding the thing he sought. It was something he had prepared before the expedition started, in the vague anticipation of emergencies.

Presently, as he searched, an exclamation broke from him. With trembling fingers he brought forth from his pack a bundle of bamboo segments, tied together and wrapped in red paper marked with large ideographs. These characters proclaimed that the bundle held temple candles.

Such candles, made of very soft wax or animal fat, and painted, can not be touched without smearing the hands with color. Accordingly, they are carried in bamboo segments, split asunder and joined about the candle, the bamboo joint at each end holding the prongs of the candles. Feverishly Kilgore tore open the bundle to let the individual candles come loose.

These candles were remarkable for one thing. The ordinary temple candle melts with heat. These had crossed the Gobi, yet they had not melted.

Kilgore laid them down and rose.

“By gad, I don't dare chance it!” he exclaimed, taking a cigaret and lighting it. “If there's no other way I'll try it—but it's madness. Let's have a look at that grill.”

He went to the iron grating that enclosed his end of the chamber. It was out of the question for him to break away, as Day had done, although he found one point where the iron was badly eaten by rust. The idea came to him, however, that he could slide the grill upward again.

He fell to work.

Lifting the iron grating was beyond his power. He attempted to pry it with whatever he found to hand. After working an hour, he had it up two inches from the floor, resting now upon two fragments of a great water-jar that he smashed. This jar was neither of pottery nor of porcelain; it was of the intermediate period partaking of the qualities of each material and was extremely hard.

Another hour passed—an hour of minute and incessant labor. At the end of this period, the grating had been raised to a height of four inches. Kilgore was setting pieces of the jar in place to hold it up, when the props gave way suddenly. The grating clanged again on the floor.

Kilgore sank down, exhausted.

“No go,” he said calmly. “I'll have to take the chance after all!”

When he was rested, he went to the bundle of bamboo segments and sat down. He worked loose the fastenings of the first segment. When the bamboo fell apart, he took out the temple candle, gaudily painted in red and gold and black. Under his hands a miracle took place; what had seemed a candle, became a stick of dynamite.

Kilgore was cool now, cold as death, absolutely deliberate. He opened the other bamboo segments. He stuffed the front of his shirt with sticks of dynamite, fuse, caps. Everything was here with which to work. He fitted a broken stick with cap and fuse.

“The stuff works downward—I must make it work otherwise,” he murmured. “If it doesn't kill me, it'll bring down the roof. If it doesn't bring down the roof, it will close up the entrance. If it fails to close the entrance, it will blow aside the grill. And if it does that—I have a chance. At least, I'll enjoy a last cigaret.”

He lighted the cigaret. His fingers were steady now. He was perfectly calm.

Going to the center of the caging grill, where the two sections came together, he worked with such materials as he could find to build up a platform that might direct the force of the explosive against the iron grating. When he had finished he inspected the work with a shrug of doubt.

“It may—and it mayn't,” he said, and smiled.

He placed the broken stick of explosive, its fuse ready. With water and sand from the floor he tamped it in place as well as possible. Then he drew out his box of vestas and lighted one of the wax splinters.

“Well,” he said, “here's how!”

He lighted the fuse, dropped the match, and ran to the far corner of the chamber. There he flung himself down, careful of the explosives in his shirt.

The half-minute that he waited dragged into an eternity of suspense.

Suddenly it came—a flash, a stunning roar, a blast that extinguished the lamps. Objects came hurtling, smashing, against the walls. Momentarily deafened, half-stunned, Kilgore dragged himself erect, coughing the choking fumes from his lungs as he groped a way forward.

He dared not strike a vesta, lest he behold failure.

At length he came to the grating, and his hands groped at it. A sobbing cry burst from him as he found the iron wrenched and twisted outward in a gaping hole large enough to admit his body. Without hesitaation, he dropped and crawled through.

When he rose, he was shaking with excitement. Had the entrance to the chamber been closed? He struck a vesta and held it up.

“Thank Heaven!”

He started forward. Before the light burned his fingers and died, he had reached the main passage outside. For a moment he stood there in darkness—then, at some little distance, he saw a dancing ray of light.

“Kilgore!” cried a voice. “Kilgore!”

“Here!” Kilgore leaped forward toward the light.

It struck upon his figure and came to a halt. Then it dropped to the floor, and by good luck continued to burn.

Kilgore stared at Severn, a frightful shape. The American staggered and clutched at him.

“Out of this!” cried Severn in a wild voice. “Out of this hell-hole”

“You're alone?” snapped Kilgore, wondering.

“Yes.”

“Day?”

“Safe—get out, get out!” Hysteria shrilled in Severn's tone. “You've no idea what I've done—out of here, I tell you! Pick up the light”

Kilgore obeyed. He had no idea what Severn had done; that was true. Nothing, in fact, but to tie up a leprous woman—and yet this absurdly simple thing had unstrung and shaken Severn to the very soul. He was still nauseated.

The two men ran. When they gained the cavern entrance, Severn flung himself forward with an inarticulate cry of thanksgiving on his lips. He threw himself into the warm sand and lay there, clutching at it.

Kilgore dropped the electric torch and looked about. He saw the boat there at the shore below, the blue sky above. He looked at Severn and perceived that the man was sick.

Then, with a queer smile twisting at his lips, Kilgore stepped back into the darkness.

Five minutes afterward he rejoined Severn, who by this time was sitting up and looking about. The American glanced up at his friend.

“I'm a fool,” he said, his voice still uncertain. “It was a horrible thing—you can't imagine how horrible! To any one else it might not have mattered a bit.”

Kilgore touched him on the shoulder and pointed to the boat.

“Never mind talking about it. Let's go”

Severn drew a deep breath and came to his feet.

They got into the boat. Severn sat on the forward thwart. Kilgore took the paddle and urged the rude craft outward along the narrow water-way into the lake. Once or twice he glanced back at the black portal of the cavern. At length they emerged from the cleft in the rocks, and were heading for the shore beyond. Kilgore saw the two horses there.

At length Severn raised his head.

“I want only to get out of here forever!” he said. “I've had enough. I'm done”

“Buck up, old chap, we're on our way,” said Kilgore kindly. “Where's Day?”

“Out there.” Severn waved his hand vaguely. “With the others. I”

A tremor passed through the boat—a shivering convulsion imparted from the water. It was followed by a dull sound, a thudding smash. Severn leaped to his feet in alarm, nearly overturning the craft.

“Good ! What was that?”

Kilgore smiled and glanced over his shoulder. Above the crags to the right was rising a little cloud of dust.

“Dynamite,” he said curtly. “I blew in the entrance to that damnable place.”

Severn stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed.

“But—but Esrun was there” “I should jolly well hope she was!” exploded Kilgore. For the first time, Severn heard an oath fall from his lips. In a sudden passion Kilgore shook his fist at the crags. “And let her stay there to eternity!”

Severn sat down, dropped his head into his hands, sat motionless.

Five minutes later the two men stepped ashore. Kilgore ran to catch the horses. He unhobbled them, led them back to Severn.

“Up with you!” he cried exultantly. “Free, man—free! Let's go!”

“Yes—let's go!” echoed Severn in a firm voice.

The two mounted and rode.