lf. But once more he recalled the warning, "The seeming is not
always the true." Then he tried to recall the details of the
directions. His map was about his neck but he was in such a position
that it would be hazardous to attempt to reach it. In spite of the
many times he had read it, he could not now remember a word. The more
he tried, the more confused he became.

After all, he had gone farther than he had intended. The thought of
returning came as a relief. The next time he would have more
confidence and could proceed with less of a strain. And so, step by
step, he began to retrace the path. He was forced to keep his cheek
almost flat to the rock. The dry dust sifted into his nostrils and
peppered his eyes so that he was beginning to suffer acutely from the
inflammation. His arms, too, began to pain him as he had been unable
to relieve them at all from their awkward position. The last fifty
feet were accomplished in an agony that left him almost too weak to
raise his voice. But he braced himself and shouted. He received no
response. He lifted his head and reached up an aching arm for the
sleeve which he had left dangling over the cliff. It was not there.
With a sinking heart he realized that something must have happened to
Stubbs. The coats had probably fallen into the chasm below.

CHAPTER XXI

_The Hidden Cave_

In the face of this new emergency Wilson, as a real man will, quickly
regained control of himself. Some power within forced his aching body
to its needs. The first shock had been similar to that which a diver
feels when receiving no response to a tug upon the life line. He felt
like a unit suddenly hurled against the universe. Every possible human
help was removed, bringing him face to face with basic forces. His
brain cleared, his swollen and inflamed eyes came to their own, and
his aching arms recovered their strength. The fresh shock had thrown
these manifestations so far into the background of his consciousness
that they were unable to assert themselves.

Stubbs was gone. It was possible, of course, that he lay dead up there
within six feet of where Wilson stood,--dead, perhaps, with a knife in
his back. But this did not suggest itself so strongly as did the
probability that he had been seized and carried off. The Priest, who
was undoubtably back of this, would not kill him at once. There was
little need of that and he would find him more useful alive than
dead. If there had been a fight-