For a minute or more we waited in almost breathless suspense, no unusual sound greeting our ears.  Then the Puritan sniffed disdainfully.

“You grow childish, Master Benteen,” he growled roughly, turning back to his labor.  “The dark has overstrained your nerves—­”

“I bespeak help of de Englishmen for de sake of God!”

There was no mistaking the truth this time—­a strange voice was speaking broken English almost at our very feet.  Cairnes clattered to the floor with a rough exclamation of surprise, while I stared vainly at the idol, from which the sound apparently came.

“In Heaven’s name, who are you?” I asked earnestly, “and where are you who make appeal to us?”

“I am Andre Lafossier, native of France, for two months past a prisoner to these savages.  If you are Christian men I beseech assistance.”

“Nor do you ask vainly.  Are you behind the wooden image?”

“Ay, in a small room hollowed out from the rock.”

“Except for that are you free to aid us in your escape?”

“No, Monsieur; I am lamed in limb, and fastened to the stone by a metal band.”

A hoarse growl of rage burst from the throat of the Puritan.  “Prophets of God!” he roared.  “Surely we are the selected instruments of the Lord sent hither for the salvation of this worthy man; we are the soldiers of Gideon, the chosen of the Most High.”

Before I could lift hand or voice in interference he had braced his massive shoulder against the towering figure of wood, and, with a mighty heave sent the monster crashing over upon the rock floor, himself sprawling beside it as it fell.  As they came down together in a cloud of dust, an opening was revealed behind the stone pedestal on which the idol had stood.  Torch in hand I instantly crept forward.  I found myself in what was little more than the merest cell, yet dimly illumined by a single beam of light streaming downward as if penetrating through some slight crevice in the rock.  The narrow hole, for it was hardly more, was bare of all furnishing; both walls and floor were damp, but there were remnants of coarse food and a pannikin of water.

Its sole occupant sat cross-legged on the hard floor, bound about the waist with a band of metal.  One end of this was attached to the wall in such a manner that the prisoner could neither rise to his feet nor lie down.  Never have these wandering eyes of mine looked upon a figure more pathetic.  For an instant I stood there, swaying upon my feet as though from sickness, staring at him incredulously.  His thin, pale, effeminate face was rendered wonderfully piteous by the depth of suffering so plainly revealed within the great, black, appealing eyes.  So peculiarly delicate were the features, so slender the fragile form, about which a frayed and rusty robe clung loosely, that for a moment I actually believed I was looking upon a young girl.  So strong was this impression that I drew back, almost abashed.  This slight pause enabled Cairnes to regain his feet and press past me.  As his eager glance fell upon that slender, crouching figure, I observed how suddenly his eyes hardened, his whole expression changed.