mination was the burning mountain whose
blood-red glow covered the entire surface and shores of the underground
portion of the enchanted lake. The volcano had been aflame for ages,
and was likely to continue to burn for centuries to come.

Such an eternal conflagration must have an outlet for the vast quantity
of vapor generated, and Ashman wondered that he had not noticed the
ascending smoke on his way thither. He recalled that when he and his
friend were coming up the Xingu, far below the last rapids, they
observed a dark cloud resting in the western horizon. There was no
thought at that time that it was caused by a burning mountain, but such
must have been the fact. The most singular fact was, that while on his
way across the lake to the tunnel, he had failed to notice and remark
it.

There was a steady draft in the direction of the flaming cavern. He
had observed it while paddling through the tunnel where it was strong
enough to assist in the propulsion of the canoe. It was caused by the
ascent of the vapor through the chimney of the fiery mountain, and
averted the intolerable heat that otherwise would have been felt over
every portion of the lake. As it was, a moderate increase of
temperature was perceptible.

Ashman was tempted to paddle the canoe to the black rocks which
separated the chasm from the lake, and he timidly moved the blade,
restrained by the fear of something in the nature of a "back draft,"
which might consume them before they could escape.

Ariel assured him that she had never encountered or heard of anything
of the kind, though she had often visited this remarkable region in the
company of her father. Thereupon Ashman sent the boat ahead faster
than before, and a minute later the bow touched the rocky wharf.

Stepping out, he drew the bow upon the rocks, so as to hold it fast,
and, extending his hand, assisted her to shore. Then he drew the craft
still further up, and, taking her hand again in his own, began picking
their way over the jagged bowlders and stones to the edge of the
volcano.

From the margin of the lake to the other side of the mass of rocks was
a hundred feet. This may be defined as a solid wall, shutting out the
water from the burning mountain. The rocks rose to a height of a dozen
rods or so, attaining which a spectator found himself half-way across
the dividing ridge, where, viewed from the lake, his figure looked as
if stamped in ink on the crimson background.