n't you think the Central Lake would be more descriptive?" remarked
Summerlee.

"I should prefer Lake Gladys."

Challenger looked at me sympathetically, and shook his great head in
mock disapproval. "Boys will be boys," said he. "Lake Gladys let it
be."

CHAPTER XII

"It was Dreadful in the Forest"

I have said--or perhaps I have not said, for my memory plays me sad
tricks these days--that I glowed with pride when three such men as my
comrades thanked me for having saved, or at least greatly helped, the
situation. As the youngster of the party, not merely in years, but in
experience, character, knowledge, and all that goes to make a man, I
had been overshadowed from the first. And now I was coming into my
own. I warmed at the thought. Alas! for the pride which goes before a
fall! That little glow of self-satisfaction, that added measure of
self-confidence, were to lead me on that very night to the most
dreadful experience of my life, ending with a shock which turns my
heart sick when I think of it.

It came about in this way. I had been unduly excited by the adventure
of the tree, and sleep seemed to be impossible. Summerlee was on
guard, sitting hunched over our small fire, a quaint, angular figure,
his rifle across his knees and his pointed, goat-like beard wagging
with each weary nod of his head. Lord John lay silent, wrapped in the
South American poncho which he wore, while Challenger snored with a
roll and rattle which reverberated through the woods. The full moon
was shining brightly, and the air was crisply cold. What a night for a
walk! And then suddenly came the thought, "Why not?" Suppose I stole
softly away, suppose I made my way down to the central lake, suppose I
was back at breakfast with some record of the place--would I not in
that case be thought an even more worthy associate? Then, if Summerlee
carried the day and some means of escape were found, we should return
to London with first-hand knowledge of the central mystery of the
plateau, to which I alone, of all men, would have penetrated. I thought
of Gladys, with her "There are heroisms all round us." I seemed to hear
her voice as she said it. I thought also of McArdle. What a three
column article for the paper! What a foundation for a career! A
correspondentship in the next great war might be within my reach. I
clutched at a gun--my pockets were full of cartridges--and, par