girl could be giving him the straight dope, with her mistaken idea that he was her father’s murderer buried in her mind by the danger of an innocent man. Or she could be a murderous little actress. It was all one to the man with the dead, white face and the coldly flaming, colorless eyes.
He found that the fissure did widen a bit after he’d gotten in. And it darkened as daylight faded behind him. He got out a small flashlight with a big beam, designed by him for just such emergencies.
He saw a cave extending ahead of him as far as the beam could penetrate. There was a black fissure in its ceiling, which was ten feet or so above his head.. The fissure was toward the rear of the cave.
He went a few steps farther, and saw the end of the cave. And did not see MacMurdie. The place was as empty as a vacant room, and the flash showed that the only way in or out was that fissure behind him.
The pale eyes glittered like ice in a polar dawn. So it was a trap. Benson turned.
The whole mountain seemed to tremble, and a dull roar sounded. At the same moment the crack of light through the fissure blanked out.
There had been a landslide, and it had blocked the opening.
Benson went swiftly to the fissure. A glance told him that it would take at least a half hour to dig away the rocks that had sealed him into the cave. But they could be dug away. The girl, it would seem, had underestimated his strength.
She had led him in here, by a bit of devilishly clever acting; then, no doubt, she had scurried to a point above the fissure and started the rock slide, figuring that it would entomb him forever.
The Avenger didn’t waste any more time thinking about her or the slide. When in a trap, learn all you can before fighting your way out.
He went to the rear of the cave. It tapped the mountainside about eighty feet before it tapered to nothingness. He stood under the fissure in the ceiling.
It seemed to him that he could hear faint rumblings up there. However, the sound was so far off, and so doubtful, that even with his keen hearing he could not be sure.
He shot his powerful little flash upward. The fissure was wide enough for a man to get through, if he had a ladder or some other means of getting up to it.
He sent the flash around the rest of the cave. Near the back, among the rock debris, was something that looked like a stubby black worm. It was quite thick, though only a couple of inches long.
He went to it, and picked it up. It was a bit of hollow, rubbery stuff, ragged at the ends—like two inches of small, rubber pipe. A shred of greenish fabric adhered to it.
The rumbling from the fissure overhead was unmistakable now. Benson listened to it with eyes like ice flakes in his dead face. Then he dropped the little black pipe and leaped for the entrance where the rocks sealed him in.
He began to tear at them with all the phenomenal strength residing in his average-sized body.
That rumble could be identified, now. And he knew it was caused by one of the most fearsome things facing a man held underground with no escape.
Water!
He could get out of here in thirty minutes or so of gigantic labor. But what if he were not allowed the thirty minutes?
The rocks rolled as if endowed with volition of their own, under the impetus of his steely hands. And a thin stream of water trickled from the fissure, to splash innocently on the cavern floor.
But the trickle swiftly increased to a roaring flood, and then the water was coming through the fissure in a solid flood that filled the cavern at the rate of two feet or more a minute.
Long before The Avenger had an appreciable amount of the rocks rolled from the entrance, it was within six inches of the cave’s roof. And up there, with just room for his nose to break the surface for life-giving air, the Avenger trod water in pitch blackness, with his flashlight dark and useless on the cavern floor.
CHAPTER VIII
Face of the Rain God
Josh was peeling potatoes for the evening meal, though
He found that the fissure did widen a bit after he’d gotten in. And it darkened as daylight faded behind him. He got out a small flashlight with a big beam, designed by him for just such emergencies.
He saw a cave extending ahead of him as far as the beam could penetrate. There was a black fissure in its ceiling, which was ten feet or so above his head.. The fissure was toward the rear of the cave.
He went a few steps farther, and saw the end of the cave. And did not see MacMurdie. The place was as empty as a vacant room, and the flash showed that the only way in or out was that fissure behind him.
The pale eyes glittered like ice in a polar dawn. So it was a trap. Benson turned.
The whole mountain seemed to tremble, and a dull roar sounded. At the same moment the crack of light through the fissure blanked out.
There had been a landslide, and it had blocked the opening.
Benson went swiftly to the fissure. A glance told him that it would take at least a half hour to dig away the rocks that had sealed him into the cave. But they could be dug away. The girl, it would seem, had underestimated his strength.
She had led him in here, by a bit of devilishly clever acting; then, no doubt, she had scurried to a point above the fissure and started the rock slide, figuring that it would entomb him forever.
The Avenger didn’t waste any more time thinking about her or the slide. When in a trap, learn all you can before fighting your way out.
He went to the rear of the cave. It tapped the mountainside about eighty feet before it tapered to nothingness. He stood under the fissure in the ceiling.
It seemed to him that he could hear faint rumblings up there. However, the sound was so far off, and so doubtful, that even with his keen hearing he could not be sure.
He shot his powerful little flash upward. The fissure was wide enough for a man to get through, if he had a ladder or some other means of getting up to it.
He sent the flash around the rest of the cave. Near the back, among the rock debris, was something that looked like a stubby black worm. It was quite thick, though only a couple of inches long.
He went to it, and picked it up. It was a bit of hollow, rubbery stuff, ragged at the ends—like two inches of small, rubber pipe. A shred of greenish fabric adhered to it.
The rumbling from the fissure overhead was unmistakable now. Benson listened to it with eyes like ice flakes in his dead face. Then he dropped the little black pipe and leaped for the entrance where the rocks sealed him in.
He began to tear at them with all the phenomenal strength residing in his average-sized body.
That rumble could be identified, now. And he knew it was caused by one of the most fearsome things facing a man held underground with no escape.
Water!
He could get out of here in thirty minutes or so of gigantic labor. But what if he were not allowed the thirty minutes?
The rocks rolled as if endowed with volition of their own, under the impetus of his steely hands. And a thin stream of water trickled from the fissure, to splash innocently on the cavern floor.
But the trickle swiftly increased to a roaring flood, and then the water was coming through the fissure in a solid flood that filled the cavern at the rate of two feet or more a minute.
Long before The Avenger had an appreciable amount of the rocks rolled from the entrance, it was within six inches of the cave’s roof. And up there, with just room for his nose to break the surface for life-giving air, the Avenger trod water in pitch blackness, with his flashlight dark and useless on the cavern floor.
CHAPTER VIII
Face of the Rain God
Josh was peeling potatoes for the evening meal, though
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