But Leith had more cunning than we credited him with.  After a futile pull at the rope he thrust the pine torch through the hole, and as it dropped into the cavern it illuminated the figure of Holman, who was then about fifteen feet from the floor.  “Cut the rope!” roared the ruffian.  “Quick, Soma!  Cut the rope and break the ——­ fool’s neck!”

Holman, realizing that it was impossible to reach the top, saved himself a nasty fall by sliding down the rope while the native slashed at it, but he had not touched the floor when the ninety feet of strong manilla came whirling down through the darkness.  And the rope was not the only gift we received.  Angry at discovering that we had escaped death in our plunge into the place, Leith poured forth a stream of blasphemy that outdid the effort he had made when kicking Holman and me on the afternoon the youngster had wounded him.  He cursed us till the shocked Professor dragged his two daughters away out of hearing, and there we found the three when we had gathered up the rope and the food.

“We might as well make a try to explore the place,” said Holman.  “The scoundrel says that he will not send down any more food till you accept his proposals.”

“Then we’ll never get any,” said Edith Herndon quietly.  “I pray that God will show us the way out of this place.”

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXII

THE WHITE WATERFALL

We found the rope exceedingly useful now that we had decided to explore the place in search of a way out.  It was reasonable to think that the floor of the cavern would contain innumerable fissures into which we might fall, and to guard against this we decided to make a life line out of the thirty yards of manilla we had luckily obtained.  Allowing about five yards of rope between each two persons, I tied it in turn around the waist of Holman, Barbara, the Professor, Edith, and myself, and being thus prepared against a precipice in our path, Holman took the lead and we followed in single file as the tightening of the rope informed each one that the immediate leader was a safe distance in front.

“Is there any choice of direction?” asked Holman, pausing after he had taken half a dozen steps.

“I don’t think so,” I said.  “Unless some one has an intuition regarding the path to liberty.”

“Please let me pick the route,” murmured Edith.  “I am stretching out my arm, Mr. Holman; will you come here to me and feel the direction I am pointing in?”

We clustered round the girl, each one feeling her outstretched arm and then turning quickly toward the point indicated.  I was glad that no one could see my own face at that moment.  It was pathetic to think of any one choosing a route in that abyss of horror, and the trouble which the girl took to make sure that Holman would move off in the direction she pointed brought tears to my eyes.