Затерянный мир / The Lost World. Артур Конан Дойл

teeth. The next second it was gone… and so was our dinner. For a moment the monster wings covered the stars, and then it vanished behind the cliff. We all sat in amazed silence round the fire. It was Summerlee who was the first to speak.

      “Professor Challenger,” said he, in a solemn voice, “I owe you an apology. Sir, I hope that you will forget what is past.”

      The two men for the first time shook hands. We have gained so much by this clear vision of our first pterodactyl! It was worth a stolen supper to bring two such men together.

      But if prehistoric life existed on the plateau it was not in abundance, for we didn’t see any other prehistoric animals during the next three days. We continued to walk around the cliffs. However, in no place did we find any point where they could be ascended.

      On the sixth day we completed our first circuit of the cliffs, and found ourselves back at the first camp, beside the isolated rock.

      What were we to do now? Our stores of provisions, supplemented by our guns, were holding out well, but the day must come when they would need replenishment. In a couple of months the rains might be expected, and we should be washed out of our camp. No wonder that we looked gloomily at each other that night.

      But it was a very different Challenger who greeted us in the morning… a Challenger with contentment and self-congratulation shining from his whole person.

      “Eureka!” he cried, his teeth shining through his beard. “Gentlemen, you may congratulate me and we may congratulate each other. The problem is solved.”

      And he pointed to the spire-like pinnacle upon our right.

      We know that it could be climbed. But a horrible gap lay between it and the plateau.

      “We can never get across,” I gasped.

      “We can at least all reach the summit,” said he. “When we are up I may be able to show you that the resources of an inventive mind are not yet exhausted.”

      After breakfast our leader unpacked his climbing accessories. John was an experienced mountaineer, and Summerlee had done some climbing at various times. And my strength and activity may have made up for my lack of experience.

      It was not a very difficult task, although there were moments which made my hair move upon my head. When we found ourselves on the small platform, some twenty-five feet each way, which formed the summit, we saw a great view. The whole Brazilian plain seemed to lie beneath us. I could see the yellow and green mass of bamboos through which we had passed; and then, gradually, the vegetation increased until it formed the huge forest which extended as far as the eyes could reach, and for a good two thousand miles beyond.

      I placed one arm round the trunk of the tree and saw the small dark figures of our servants, looking up at us.

      “This is indeed curious,” said the creaking voice of Professor Summerlee.

      I turned, and found that he was examining with great interest the tree to which I clung. That smooth bark and those small, ribbed leaves seemed familiar to my eyes. “It’s a beech!” I cried.

      “Exactly,” said Summerlee.

      “And this tree will be our saviour,” said Challenger.

      “My God!” cried Lord John, “a bridge!”

      “Exactly, my friends, a bridge! There is always a way out.”

      It was certainly a brilliant idea. The tree was a good sixty feet in height, and if it only fell the right way it would easily cross the chasm. Challenger handed the axe to me.

      So under his direction I cut such gashes in the sides of the trees as would ensure that it should fall as we desired. It had already a strong, natural tilt in the direction of the plateau, so that the matter was not difficult. In a little over an hour there was a loud crack and the tree crashed over, for one terrible second we all thought it was over. But it balanced itself, a few inches from the edge, and there was our bridge to the unknown.

      All of us, without a word, shook hands with Professor Challenger.

      “I claim the honour,” said he, “to be the first to cross to the unknown land…”

      He had approached the bridge when Lord John laid his hand on his shoulder.

      “My dear friend,” said he, “I really cannot allow it. There may be a tribe of cannibals waiting for lunch-time among those very bushes. Malone and I will go down again and fetch up the four rifles, together with Gomez and the other. One man can then go across and the rest will cover him with guns, until he sees that it is safe for the whole crowd to come along.”

      Summerlee and I were of one mind that Lord John was our leader when such practical details were in question. Within an hour we had brought up the rifles and a shot-gun. The half-breeds had ascended also, and under Lord John’s orders they had carried up a bale of provisions in case our first exploration should be a long one.

      “Now, Challenger, if you really insist upon being the first man in,” said Lord John, when every preparation was complete.

      “I don’t need your permission,” said the angry Professor.

      It didn’t take Challenger long to cross the chasm and he was soon at the other side. He waved his arms in the air.

      “At last!” he cried; “at last!”

      Summerlee was the second. I came next, and tried hard not to look down into the horrible gulf over which I was passing. As to Lord John, he walked across… actually walked! He must have nerves of iron.

      And there we were, the four of us, upon the dreamland, the lost world, of Maple White. It seemed the moment of our supreme triumph. Who could have guessed that it was the prelude to our supreme disaster?

      We had turned away from the edge, when there came a frightful crash from behind us. We rushed back – the bridge was gone!

      Far down we saw our beech tree broken to pieces. Then we saw Gomez on the opposite side, with a face convulsed with hatred and with the mad joy of revenge.

      “Lord Roxton!” he shouted. “Lord John Roxton!”

      “Well,” said our companion, “here I am.”

      A shriek of laughter came across the abyss.

      “Yes, there you are, you English dog, and there you will remain! I have waited and waited, and now has come my chance. We nearly killed you with a stone at the cave,” he cried; “but this is better. It is slower and more terrible. As you lie dying, think of Lopez, whom you shot five years ago on the Putomayo River. I am his brother, and I will die happy now, for his memory has been avenged.” A furious hand was shaken at us, and then all was quiet. The half-breed was descending on the farther side of the pinnacle. But before he could reach the ground, there was a single crack of Lord John’s rifle, and, although we saw nothing, we heard the scream and then the distant sound of the falling body. Roxton came back to us with a face of granite.

      “I have been so blind,” said he, bitterly, “It’s my fault that has brought you all into this trouble. I should have remembered that these people have long memories.”

      “What about the other one? It took two of them to push that tree over the edge.”

      “I let him go. He may have had no part in it. Perhaps it would have been better if I had killed him.”

      We were still discussing the whole situation, when a singular scene in the plain below caught our attention.

      A man in white clothes, who could only be the surviving half-breed, was running. And behind him, was a huge figure of Zambo, our devoted negro. Finally he reached him. A moment afterwards Zambo rose, and then, waving his hand joyously to us, came running in our direction. The white figure lay motionless.

      Our two traitors were dead, but we were still in trouble. By no possible means could we get back to Zambo. We had been natives of the world, now we were natives of the plateau. The two things were separate and apart.

      For the moment we could only sit among the bushes in patience and wait the coming of Zambo. Presently his honest black