Abraham Merritt Premium Collection: 18 Sci-Fi Books in One Edition. Abraham Merritt

the path rose, its force lessened, my vitality grew, and the terrible desire to yield and be swept away waned. Now we had reached the foot of the cyclopean stairs, now we were half up them — and now as we struggled out upon the ledge on which the watching fortress stood, the clutching stream shoaled swiftly, the shoal became safe, dry land and the cheated, unseen maelstrom swirled harmlessly beneath us.

      We stood erect, gasping for breath, again like swimmers who have fought their utmost and barely, so barely, won.

      There was an almost imperceptible movement at the side of the ruined portal.

      Out darted a girl. A rifle dropped from her hands. Straight she sped toward me.

      And as she ran I recognized her.

      Ruth Ventnor!

      The flying figure reached me, threw soft arms around my neck, was weeping in relieved gladness on my shoulder.

      “Ruth!” I cried. “What on earth are YOU doing here?”

      “Walter!” she sobbed. “Walter Goodwin — Oh, thank God! Thank God!”

      She drew herself from my arms, catching her breath; laughed shakily.

      I took swift stock of her. Save for fear upon her, she was the same Ruth I had known three years before; wide, deep blue eyes that were now all seriousness, now sparkling wells of mischief; petite, rounded and tender; the fairest skin; an impudent little nose; shining clusters of intractable curls; all human, sparkling and sweet.

      Drake coughed, insinuatingly. I introduced him.

      “I— I watched you struggling through that dreadful pit.” She shuddered. “I could not see who you were, did not know whether friend or enemy — but oh, my heart almost died in pity for you, Walter,” she breathed. “What can it be — THERE?”

      I shook my head.

      “Martin could not see you,” she went on. “He was watching the road that leads above. But I ran down — to help.”

      “Mart watching?” I asked. “Watching for what?”

      “I—” she hesitated oddly. “I think I’d rather tell you before him. It’s so strange — so incredible.”

      She led us through the broken portal and into the fortress. It was more gigantic even than I had thought. The floor of the vast chamber we had entered was strewn with fragments fallen from the crackling, stone-vaulted ceiling. Through the breaks light streamed from the level above us.

      We picked our way among the debris to a wide crumbling stairway, crept up it, Ruth flitting ahead. We came out opposite one of the eye-like apertures. Black against it, perched high upon a pile of blocks, I recognized the long, lean outline of Ventnor, rifle in hand, gazing intently up the ancient road whose windings were plain through the opening. He had not heard us.

      “Martin,” called Ruth softly.

      He turned. A shaft of light from a crevice in the gap’s edge struck his face, flashing it out from the semidarkness of the corner in which he crouched. I looked into the quiet gray eyes, upon the keen face.

      “Goodwin!” he shouted, tumbling down from his perch, shaking me by the shoulders. “If I had been in the way of praying — you’re the man I’d have prayed for. How did you get here?”

      “Just wandering, Mart,” I answered. “But Lord! I’m sure GLAD to see you.”

      “Which way did you come?” he asked, keenly. I threw my hand toward the south.

      “Not through that hollow?” he asked incredulously.

      “And some hell of a place to get through,” Drake broke in. “It cost us our ponies and all my ammunition.”

      “Richard Drake,” I said. “Son of old Alvin — you knew him, Mart.”

      “Knew him well,” cried Ventnor, seizing Dick’s hand. “Wanted me to go to Kamchatka to get some confounded sort of stuff for one of his devilish experiments. Is he well?”

      “He’s dead,” replied Dick soberly.

      “Oh!” said Ventnor. “Oh — I’m sorry. He was a great man.”

      Briefly I acquainted him with my wanderings, my encounter with Drake.

      “That place out there —” he considered us thoughtfully. “Damned if I know what it is. Thought maybe it’s gas — of a sort. If it hadn’t been for it we’d have been out of this hole two days ago. I’m pretty sure it must be gas. And it must be much less than it was this morning, for then we made an attempt to get through again — and couldn’t.”

      I was hardly listening. Ventnor had certainly advanced a theory of our unusual symptoms that had not occurred to me. That hollow might indeed be a pocket into which a gas flowed; just as in the mines the deadly coal damp collects in pits, flows like a stream along the passages. It might be that — some odorless, colorless gas of unknown qualities; and yet —

      “Did you try respirators?” asked Dick.

      “Surely,” said Ventnor. “First off the go. But they weren’t of any use. The gas, if it is gas, seems to operate as well through the skin as through the nose and mouth. We just couldn’t make it — and that’s all there is to it. But if you made it — could we try it now, do you think?” he asked eagerly.

      I felt myself go white.

      “Not — not for a little while,” I stammered.

      He nodded, understandingly.

      “I see,” he said. “Well, we’ll wait a bit, then.”

      “But why are you staying here? Why didn’t you make for the road up the mountain? What are you watching for, anyway?” asked Drake.

      “Go to it, Ruth,” Ventnor grinned. “Tell ’em. After all — it was YOUR party you know.”

      “Mart!” she cried, blushing.

      “Well — it wasn’t ME they admired,” he laughed.

      “Martin!” she cried again, and stamped her foot.

      “Shoot,” he said. “I’m busy. I’ve got to watch.”

      “Well”— Ruth’s voice was uncertain —“we’d been hunting up in Kashmir. Martin wanted to come over somewhere here. So we crossed the passes. That was about a month ago. The fourth day out we ran across what looked like a road running south.

      “We thought we’d take it. It looked sort of old and lost — but it was going the way we wanted to go. It took us first into a country of little hills; then to the very base of the great range itself; finally into the mountains — and then it ran blank.”

      “Bing!” interjected Ventnor, looking around for a moment. “Bing — just like that. Slap dash against a prodigious fall of rock. We couldn’t get over it.”

      “So we cast about to find another road,” went on Ruth. “All we could strike were — just strikes.”

      “No fish on the end of ’em,” said Ventnor. “God! But I’m glad to see you, Walter Goodwin. Believe me, I am. However — go on, Ruth.”

      “At the end of the second week,” she said, “we knew we were lost. We were deep in the heart of the range. All around us was a forest of enormous, snow-topped peaks. The gorges, the canyons, the valleys that we tried led us east and west, north and south.

      “It was a maze, and in it we seemed to be going ever deeper. There was not the SLIGHTEST sign of human life. It was as though no human beings except ourselves had ever been there. Game was plentiful. We had no trouble in getting food. And sooner or later, of course, we were bound to find our way out. We didn’t worry.

      “It was five nights ago that we camped at the head of a lovely little valley. There was a mound that stood