ear, together
with the maddening _plop plop_ it made upon the rock, raised an insane
idea within my brain that we were chasing a pair of bewitched shoes that
were enticing us into the very heart of the mountain. The scanty diet
and the happenings of the two preceding days had left me light-headed.
The race was unreal. I had an idea that the shoes would run on forever,
and that every yard they covered took me farther away from Edith
Herndon.

The flame of the pine branch went out, and we were left in utter
darkness. But the sound of the flying feet still came back to us. At
times we were so near that Holman thrust out his hands as he ran, and
cursed softly as the sounds seemed to draw away from him.

"I'll have you yet!" he cried. "I'll choke you, you devil!"

A chuckle came out of the darkness and at that instant I made a
discovery. Leith was not alone. Keeping time with the clatter of the
shoes was a softer tattoo that told me that a barefooted runner was
racing beside the man we were pursuing.

Holman made the discovery at the same moment. "Soma," he breathed, and
he ran faster. From some place that seemed to be leagues in the rear
came the shouts of Maru and Kaipi, but their yells died away, and we
were convinced that they had given up the chase.

The _plop plop_ of the shoes ceased suddenly, and we slackened speed.
Our brains suggested that Leith had stopped abruptly on the chance of
doubling back before we could pull up, and a sweat of terror broke out
upon us. If he doubled successfully he would reach the stone door
through which we had got the first glimpse of him.

"He's turned!" cried Holman. "We'll get him, Verslun! After the--O God!
_Look out_!"

Holman's warning came too late. The rocky floor over which we had been
running, dropped away from us. I pitched forward after the youngster
into a gulf of darkness, landed on my shoulder upon a mass of volcanic
ash, and clutching vainly at the stuff, I rolled at tremendous speed
down into the bowels of the earth. From far above us came the sounds of
uncontrolled merriment--the high-pitched shrieks of a native rising
above the deep bass laughter of Leith.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XX

THE BLACK KINDERGARTEN

I thought we were a thousand years rolling down that slope of smothering
ash. It was a quicksand that melted beneath us. We drove our arms into
it, but the stuff slipped away like fine wood ash, and we went on and
on. I knew Holman was in front o