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Discovering Diverse Content Through
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redeem his reputation yet. He would show them—meaning Don and
the blacks—that he was no coward, anyhow!
The blacks, as they crossed and recrossed each other on their
noiseless beat, thought little and said less. They were desperately
hungry, and hunger is the one fellow-feeling that does not make us
wondrous kind. Every now and then they tightened their waist-cloths
a little, but beyond this gave no outward sign or token of what they
thought or felt.
So the night wore on, and still Jack thought in restless silence.
There was a deeper flush on his cheek, but it was no longer the
flush of shame. The fever in his blood, the delirium in his brain, were
rising. So was his resolution. He flung himself about restlessly,
muttering. He would show them he was no coward, anyhow!
So the night wore on, until by-and-by, as Don turned for the
hundredth time upon his uneasy couch—for he, too, was unable to
rest—his hand came into accidental contact with that of his chum.
He started; Jack's hand was fiery hot.
Housed by his companion's touch and movement, Jack sat bolt
upright, and gazed about him in an excited, feverish fashion,
muttering incoherently. His breath came and went in short, hurried
catches, and in his eyes shone an unnatural wildness that struck
terror to Don's heart. Knowing nothing of his chum's resolve, he
thought him simply delirious.
“Lie down,” he said soothingly, placing his hand on Jack's shoulder,
and attempting, with gentle force, to push him back into his former
recumbent position.
Jack flung the hand aside petulantly. Whatever of delirium there
might be in his eyes and manner, his words, though spoken rapidly
and with excitement, were rational enough.
“Look here, old fellow,” he cried, “it's all my fault, your being here
in this fix; and I'm bound to do my level best to get you safe out of
it, especially after the way I funked a while back. No, don't cut in
and try to stop me—I know what I'm saying right enough, though I
expect I do look a bit wild and that. Now, my arm here—I ain't said
much about it—'tain't like me to whine, anyhow—at least not often—
but all the same, my arm's getting jolly bad. Knotting the rope and
that, you see, has made it a bit worse, and—well, the fact is, old
fellow, I don't believe I could go down that rope to save my neck,
even supposing it to be fastened, you understand.”
“I feared as much,” said Don gravely.
“Yes? Well, that's just how it stands,” Jack went rapidly on. “Tisn't
that I'm afraid, you understand—there's no cliff hereabouts that
would make me funk—it's simply that my arm's out of gear and
won't work. Not even if the rope were fastened, you see, which it
isn't. And that's what I'm coming at, old fellow. Look here, I'll tell
you what we can do. Spottie and Pug can lower you away—over the
cliff, you know—and then, when Pug and I have sent Spottie after
you, I'll manage somehow to pay out the line while Pug follows. He's
the lightest weight of the lot, anyhow.”
“All very well,” demurred Don, who thought he saw a fatal
objection to Jack's plan, “but how will you get down yourself?”
“Oh, my getting down isn't in the bill at all,” said Jack; “I mean to
stay right here.”
This announcement fairly took Don's breath away. He had
supposed all along that Jack was holding the pith of his proposal in
reserve; but never once had he so much as dreamed of such a
climax as this.
“What! stop here?” he gasped. “You don't know what you're
saying—it's certain death.”
“Hope I ain't such a duffer as not to know that,” said Jack
brusquely. “All the same, I mean to stay.”
“Don't say that, Jack.”
“Why not? Better one than four.”
“Then I'll stop with you,” said Don, with dogged determination.
“The blacks may have my chance and welcome. Nothing on earth
will induce me to go.”
 His chum was silent for a long time after that—so long, indeed,
that Don thought the matter settled for good and all. But in this he
was mistaken.
“Say, old fellow,” said Jack at last, “tell you what I'll do; I'll toss
you as to which of us is togo. What do you say?”
“No, no,” cried Don.
“But why not? Where's the use of being such a softie over the
matter? There are no end of reasons why I should stay, I tell you.
For one thing, I've got no mother to consider.”
“That's true enough,” assented Don, gulping as he thought of his
own mother.
“And no sisters or brothers.”
“Don't,” said Don huskily; “you forget me, Jack.”
“No, I don't,” protested Jack; “you are more to me than any
brother could ever be, old man; but that's only an additional reason
why I should see you safe out of this mess. Then there's another
thing; you know how good the guv has always been to me—sent me
to school, and treated me just as if I was his own son, you know.”
“Yes?” said Don.
“Well, I've always felt that if ever I got the chance I should like to
repay his kindness, don't you know; and now that the chance has
come I don't mean to let it slip. Say, will you toss?” Don wavered. It
seemed terribly hard that they should all have to die like so many
rats in a trap. Besides, once he and the blacks were off the Rock,
they could fall back on the cutter, renew their stock of ammunition,
and——
“I'll toss you on one condition,” he said suddenly.
“What condition's that?”
“Why, this. That after the die is cast we take no further steps until
daylight, so as to make quite sure there's no way of securing the
rope to the rock. Are you agreed?”
For reply Jack held out his hand, and thus the compact was
sealed. Then Don drew a rupee from his pocket and passed it to his
companion... “Tails, you go,” said Jack, and tossed.
A flash of silver in the moonlight, a mocking jingle, and the coin
lay still. Eagerly the rivals for the honours of death bent over it.
“Tails!”
“I knew it!” said Jack quietly; “and what's more, I'm jolly glad it
isn't heads.”
His chum turned quickly away and bowed his head upon his
knees, while a sound suspiciously like a stifled sob broke the stillness
of the night. Jack crept close up to him and slipped an arm about his
neck. So, for a long time, they sat in silence.
 CHAPTER XXII.—A REPORT FROM
THE SEA.

J
ack was the first to break the silence that followed the spinning
of the fateful coin. He rose, stretched himself, and, pointing to a
ruddy glow that had begun to light up the eastern horizon,
exclaimed in a voice of undisguised relief:
“Daybreak at last!”
“I only wish it would never come,” his companion rejoined
gloomily, turning his gaze upon the unwelcome light—of which,
however, he had caught scarce a glimpse ere he sprang to his feet in
sudden excitement.
“That's no daybreak, Jack! It's more like the reflection of a fire.”
“I believe you're right,” assented Jack. “It certainly is a fire; but
where can it be, that we see only the reflection? Behind Haunted
Pagoda Hill?”
“No; this side of the hill, I should say.”
“Then it must be somewhere in the creek.”
At mention of the creek Don started violently, a suspicion of the
truth flashing upon him. He began to sniff the air. An odour of
smoke floated to them on the fresh morning breeze, faint but
pungent. Jack, catching a whiff of it, fell to sniffing too.
“Well, what do you make of it?” Don inquired anxiously.
“Tar!” replied Jack, without hesitation.
“I thought so,” said Don, with a queer catch in his voice. “Jack, it's
the cutter!”
With this he set off at a run towards that part of the Rock which
overlooked the creek. Advancing as far as the rapidly-increasing
slope of the declivity, made it prudent to venture, he came to a
stand. The glow of the fire was now brighter, though its source still
remained hidden from view; but by edging his way well to the right,
he at length succeeded in reaching a point whence the ruddy light
that had excited his fears could be seen as a leaping, swaying
column of smoke and flame, terminating, far down amid the
darkness of the creek, in a single point of lurid red.
“Just as I feared!” he cried, as Jack rejoined him. “The niggers
have set fire to the Jolly Tar. I was afraid the rascals had smelt her
out when I met the lascar in the creek the other morning. The old
boat's done for, anyhow; so let me off my promise, Jack.”
“What for? I can't see that the burning of the cutter has anything
to do with it. There are plenty of native boats to get away in.”
“Oh, it isn't the getting away! You don't suppose I'd go off and
leave you in the lurch, I hope? It's the powder that troubles me.
There wasn't much on board the cutter, it's true; just about enough
to fight my way back here with—as I meant to do, please God, had
this not happened. I planned the whole thing out while we sat
mooning yonder, you see. But now!” and at thought of how this
hope—the secret of his acquiescence in the outcome of that fatal
toss—had vanished into thin air before his very eyes, Don's lips
trembled and his voice choked.
“Never mind, old chap!” said Jack, deeply touched by this new
proof of his friend's generosity; “I'll take the will for the deed. But, I
say—you pledged me your word, you know; and at daybreak, if no
way of anchoring the rope shows up, I shall expect you to go over
the cliff like a man. We shan't have long to wait now. Look!”
He pointed to a deep roseate hue which tinged the sky just above
the ocean rim. And even as they stood watching it, the light came
leaping up from the sea, and outshone the stars, and set the whole
east aglow. A flush of dawn, and it was day.
“Now,” said Jack, tightening his belt, “let's make the round of the
Rock again. If there's a shadow of a flaw anywhere we're bound to
find it in this light.”
 “Heaven grant we may!” ejaculated Don, as they began the
search.
The cliff forming the Elephant's left side was out of it altogether.
The native town lay directly at its base, rendering escape in that
direction impracticable. So, too, with that part of the Rock abutting
on the creek; its formation was such that no human being, rope or
no rope, could have made his way down its face. There remained
only the Elephant's right flank—overlooking the jungly back of the
island—and the loftier head parts facing the western sea. To these,
then, the search was necessarily confined.
Again and yet again did they pace the dizzy heights, scanning
every inch of the rocky surface for that crack or projection upon the
existence of which Jack's life was staked. But, as before, the search
ended in failure and despair. There was absolutely nothing—neither
crevice, nor jutting point, nor friendly block of stone—in which, or to
which, the rope's end could be made fast: nothing but Jack's body!
To secure the rope to the palms or the masonry of the temple was
an utter impossibility. It was too short by half.
As a last hope Don approached the chasm in which lay the pool.
But the hope was short-lived. The native guard had been trebled
overnight. Hope—so far, at least, as Jack's life was concerned—stood
on a par with the powder: not a grain was left.
As a matter of fact, Don had all along indulged a secret conviction
that “something would turn Up.” Now, when the terrible truth was at
last forced upon him in such a manner that he could no longer shut
his eyes to it, his distress was pitiable to witness.
He had hazarded his friend's life on the toss of a coin—and lost!
And now he must go over the cliff—over the cliff to safety and life—
over the cliff by means of a rope, at the death-end of which stood
his dearest friend. Given his choice, he would have taken that
friend's place—oh, how gladly! But go he must, for his honour was-
pledged, and the time was come!
Ay, the time was come—the supreme moment of Jack's heroic
resolve. And Jack was glad of it, ready for it. The fever in his blood
had abated, leaving him cool, collected, and more firm in his resolve
than ever. He had chosen his-course and he would stick to it,
anyhow!
“Come,” he said simply, laying a gentle hand on Don's shoulder, “it
is time for us to go.”
“For us!” The words, though kindly meant stabbed Don to the
heart.
Kicking the coil of rope before him like a ball, Jack approached the
brink of the precipice. The blacks followed. There was little danger
of their being missed by the native guard, unless the latter mounted
the steps, and this they were not likely to do after the severe lesson
they had received in the night. Last of all came Don—slowly,
reluctantly. He looked and felt like one going to his execution.
Without a word Jack picked up the loose end of the rope and
knotted it securely about his friend's chest, beneath his arms. When
he had uncoiled the rope to its full length, he fastened the other end
about his own waist. Then he held out his hand.
“Good-bye, old fellow,” he said, his voice shaking in spite of
himself. “Good-bye, and God bless you! Be sure and cast the rope
loose when you reach the ground.”
“Oh, Jack, Jack! Must I go—must I?” cried Don desperately, his
voice full of agony.
With unfaltering step Jack led him to the extreme brink of the cliff,
left him there with his face set towards liberty and life, turned back,
and beckoning to the blacks—who had purposely been kept in
ignorance of Jack's resolve—prepared to pay out the line.
“Over with you, old fellow! As gently as you can!”
The rope tightened. Wheeling where he stood, Don cast one last
imploring look at his friend, who pointed upwards and then
motioned him to go. He obeyed.
 As the remorseless Rock closed above him, he let himself swing,
neither seeing nor caring whither he was being lowered. The abyss
below had no terrors for him—he even hoped that the rope might
snap—why should he live since Jack must die? And when at last his
feet touched earth, and he had flung the rope from him like a hated
thing, he threw himself upon his face at the foot of the
insurmountable cliff and burst into a passion of bitter, remorseful
tears.
After a time a gentle thud on the back aroused him. He looked up.
It was the rope again, but empty! What did it mean? Where was
Spottie? Why had he not been sent down? What had happened? A
dozen questions such as these flashed through his brain, and with
them a sudden wild hope. He started to his feet.
A scrap of paper was secured to the rope by a half-knot. He
snatched at it, drawing it to him with something of dread in the
movement. It was a leaf from Jacks note-book, scrawled over with
writing in Jack's familiar hand. His eyes devoured the words:—
“Good news! A wonderful thing has happened. Was just going to
lower Spottie away when the report of a gun came booming up from
the sea. The schooner—the governor's schooner—is at anchor off
the front of the island! I'd signal her, only I have no powder. I'm all
in a daze, anyhow; but you'll know what to do.”
An exclamation of intense gratitude to Heaven burst from Don's
lips, and crushing the scrap of paper in his hand, he set off at a run
along the base of the cliff, in the direction of the Elephant's head.
 CHAPTER XXIII.—DON RUNS THE
GAUNTLET.

T
here was but one thing to be done: he must gain the schooner
with all possible speed, at any risk, and take immediate steps
for Jack's rescue.
Instinctively he shaped his course for the Elephant's head. The
precipitous cliff was there skirted by a narrow beach. He had seen it
gleaming above the surf-line while rounding the island on the
morning of their arrival. This beach would afford a short-cut to the
front of the island, off which the schooner lay. Once there, he must
swim for it. These were his thoughts as he ran.
Tough work it was. True, the jungle did not grow close up to the
base of the cliff; but here and there yawning nullahs, of considerable
depth, and with sides almost as-steep as walls, had been cut across
his pathway by the rains. At intervals, too, he encountered rugged,
irregular heaps of stones, fallen from the cliff above, and studded
thick with thorny clumps of prickly-pear.
The cutlass at his side impeded his progress. He threw it away.
Then on again.
The sands at last! Close on his right lay the sea, close on his left
rose the beetling cliff. There was not much room—just enough to
run in. Away before him, like a narrow ribbon of burnished silver,
stretched the smooth, hard sands, with never a living thing in sight
on all their gleaming reach.
Gradually the cliffs crept behind, and the seafront opened out
before him. And now, of a sudden, he espied a group of natives
making for the beach—a company of fishermen, laden with creels,
and oars, and nets.
 Just ahead, a wedge-shaped gully split the low bank that bordered
the beach on the landward side. Above this bank were the
fishermen, heading for the gully. They were perhaps fifty yards short
of it, while he, on the beach below the bank, was a full hundred.
Should they reach it first, he would certainly be intercepted;
whereas, could he but pass the point of danger ere' the natives
gained it, he might succeed in eluding them. They did not see him
yet. He darted under the bank, and ran as he had never run in all his
life before.
Seventy-five yards, fifty yards, twenty yards—and then the gully.
Had the natives reached it? As he raced past he darted a swift
sidelong glance at the nullah. The fishermen were already halfway
down it. They saw him, dropped their fishing implements, and gave
chase, yelling like a pack of fiends.
On and on he ran, looking back but once to ascertain what start
he had of the dusky gang. Twenty yards at least. They were just
emerging from the bottom of the gully.
And now, away to the right, he sighted the schooner, riding at
anchor with half a mile of sea between her holding-ground and the
shore. He could see her boats swinging at the davits. They had not
sighted him, then. He wondered whether Jack could see him from
the cliff.
Jack caught sight of Don as he raced past the gully. The
fishermen, as it happened, were just then in the gully itself, and
consequently invisible. Don's appearance he hailed with a shout.
“Hurrah! he hasn't lost much time, anyhow.”
This exclamation brought both Spottie and Puggles to his side in
hot haste. The stairs were thus left unguarded—a step the
imprudence of which was wholly overlooked in the excitement of the
moment.
At sight of his master tearing along the beach below, a grim
delight—not unmixed with anxiety—overspread Puggles' black
countenance, while a chuckle of intense satisfaction welled up from
the red abyss of his fat, shiny throat. Then, like the shadow of an
April cloud driven swiftly across a sunlit meadow, a look of blank
dismay eclipsed the grin, the chuckle died away in a gasp of alarm,
and pointing to the beach with shaking finger, he cried:
“Sar! sar! black warmints done catch um, sar!”
His alarm was well-founded. The fishermen had just tumbled out
of the gully, at Don's very heels, as it seemed at this distance.
“They're after him, sure enough,” cried Jack. “By Jove, how he
runs! Go it, old fellow! you've got the start of them, anyhow.”
Away went Don, running like a deer, and after him pelted the
fishermen, in a headlong, rough-and-tumble, happy-go-lucky
fashion, that, under circumstances less serious, must have provoked
the spectators on the Rock to hearty laughter. No laughing matter
this, however; for Don's pursuers, having thrown aside their fishing
gear, and being moreover fresh in wind and limb, were seen to gain
on him at every stride. The race could not prolong itself for many
minutes now, and the finish—Jack shuddered, as he thought of what
that must be.
At this critical juncture, too, matters took an unexpected turn for
the worse. A short distance up the beach a second party of natives
appeared on the scene. Don ran straight on, apparently not
perceiving them. They, on the contrary, saw him, and bore down
upon him swiftly. Their cries, doubtless, warned him of his danger,
for now he pulled up short, looked ahead, glanced quickly over his
shoulder, and then——-
With a groan Jack turned away.
A loud outcry from the blacks, however, drew his gaze seawards
again, and as he looked his pulses thrilled. Don was making straight
for the surf!
As often happens on these coasts when the wind is but a whisper,
and the sea glass-like in its placidity, a heavy ground-swell was
rolling sullenly in from the outer bay. A stone's throw from the shore
this swell was but a sinuous, almost imperceptible, undulation of the
glassy surface; but as it swept towards the beach, where the water
shoaled rapidly, of a sudden it reared aloft a crest of hissing foam,
which curled higher and higher as it came on, until it overtopped the
sands at the height of a boat's mast. Then with a mighty roar it
broke, hurled itself far up the shelving sands, and retired, seething,
to make room for the green battalions pressing shorewards in its
wake.
Straight towards this living wall of water Don ran. The two bands
of natives, uniting their forces as they swerved aside like
bloodhounds in pursuit, were close upon him. Before, above him,
curled the mighty wave; and then, to his great horror, Jack saw him
stumble and fall.
Lucky fall! Ere the natives could throw themselves upon him, the
combing wave broke, passed directly over his prostrate body, swept
the niggers off their legs, and hurled them with irresistible force far
up the beach.
A moment later the breathless watchers on the cliff saw a black
object floating on the surface of the water, yards from shore. It was
Don. The under-tow had swept him out to sea, beyond his pursuers'
reach.
An expert and powerful swimmer, he lost no time in increasing the
distance between himself and the disconcerted native crew, one or
two of whom attempted to overtake him, but soon gave it up for a
bad job.
Then a boat put off from the schooner, and soon Jack had the
satisfaction of seeing his plucky friend hauled' in over her side. A
quarter of an hour later, when the boat had regained the schooner,
the signal gun once more boomed out over the sea, and with
feelings of devout thankfulness to Heaven Jack realised that Don
was safe on board, and that the term of his own and his
companions' imprisonment on the summit of the Rock was bounded
by a few brief hours at the most.
Even as he looked, as if by magic the schooner's canvas swelled to
the breeze, and he caught the distant song of the lascars as they
hove the anchor to the cathead.
 Hunger, thirst, his wound, the very enemy at the foot of the rock
stairs—all had been forgotten in the breathless interest inspired by
Don's race for life; were forgotten still as he and the blacks stood
watching the schooner get under weigh.
Till a sharp clank of metal, as of a spear carelessly let fall, recalled
their roving thoughts, and brought, them swiftly to the right-about,
to find the Rock in the immediate vicinity of the pit's mouth literally
swarming with armed natives.
 CHAPTER XXIV.—IN THE NICK OF
TIME.

T
he surprise had been cleverly executed. Another moment, and
Jack and his black attendants would have been surrounded. As
it was, the odds were dead against them.
The unexpected appearance of the schooner had evidently
wrought a complete change in the tactics of the enemy. So here they
were.
This sleek, corpulent native who led the escaladers was none
other than old Salambo!
Salambo, the shark-charmer, thief, and director-in-chief of the
harassing attacks by which they, the party of adventurers in search
of what was indisputably their own, had been baffled at every turn.
By means of the lascar's murderous hand he had clutched at the
captain's throat and taken the captain's life. And now that his tool
was for ever wrenched from his grasp, he had come in person to add
the finishing-stroke to his evil work. Jack's blood boiled as he
thought of it. One swift glance around, and his course was taken.
“The temple, Spottie! Point for the temple, Pug!”
The natives, perceiving their intention, swerved aside and
attempted to cut them off. But so unexpected was Jack's manouvre,
so prompt the obedience of Spottie and Puggles, that the attempt
proved unsuccessful. A wild, breathless dash, and they had turned
the corner of the temple—whose door, as usual, faced east—and
crossed its threshold.
Old and neglected as the edifice was, stout wooden doors still
swung upon the rust-eaten hinges. To slam these to and thrust the
bolts home, top and bottom, was the work of but a moment. Bosin
darted in as the great doors swung into place, narrowly escaping the
amputation of his tail as the penalty of his tardiness. Scarcely had
the last bolt been shot when up trooped the enemy, howling like
hyenas, and commenced a determined assault upon the doors.
At first they hurled themselves upon the barrier and attempted to
force it in by sheer imposition of weight. Thud followed thud in
furious succession, while Jack stood by with palpitating heart. His
fears as to the stability of the doors, however, were soon set at rest.
They creaked, yielded a little, but otherwise stood as firm as the
solid masonry in which they were framed. The natives were not slow
to discover this, and the ill-advised attempt was soon abandoned. In
the brief lull that followed Jack looked about him.
Inside here, beneath the cobwebbed, blackened roof of the outer
temple, the light was funereal in its dimness. What little there was
crept in through the cracks in the shrunken doors in a reluctant sort
of way, as if it found the society of bats and spiders anything but
agreeable; except at the further or western end of the temple,
where there was a second chamber, smaller and somewhat better
lighted than the first. Eight feet or so above the floor a small square
window pierced the wall, and directly beneath this stood a sort of
stone pediment or shrine, on which squatted a hideously distorted
image. This was the temple swami, and swami's ugly head reached
to within a couple of feet of the window.
A second attempt was now made upon the doors, though not after
the haphazard fashion of the first. The cracks in the shrunken
woodwork attracting the attention of the natives, they fell to work on
the widest of these, and with their spears began chipping away the
plank splinter by splinter. But the extreme toughness of the material,
seasoned as it was by unnumbered years of exposure to the
elements, rendered the task of demolition both difficult and slow.
“Take you a jolly long time to get your ugly head-pieces through
that, anyhow!” muttered Jack, as he watched—or rather listened to,
for he could see little or nothing of what was going on outside—the
fast and furious play of the spears. “And when you do get 'em
through, why then——”
 To symbolise what would happen then, Jack did what was
certainly quite excusable under the circumstances—spat in his palm,
and with immense gusto decapitated an imaginary nigger.
Still, given sufficient time for the spears to do their work, it was a
foregone conclusion that the doors must fall. Would they hold out till
the schooner cast anchor off the creek? He allowed an hour for that
—an hour from the time the anchor was weighed.. Well, they—he
and-the two blacks—had been in the temple the best part of an hour
already. So that was all right.
But then, the rescue party must make their way up the creek, and
from the creek to the—summit of the Bock, along that passage by
which Don and the blacks had entered on the previous day. This
would consume another hour. He made the calculation with the
utmost coolness; only, when it was finished, and he asked himself
whether the doors would hold out that other hour, the reluctant “No”
with which he was compelled to answer the question somehow stuck
in his throat and nearly choked him. By way of relief, he slashed the
head off another imaginary nigger.
The second hour wore on. The gap in the door grew wider and
wider beneath the ceaseless play of the spears, and still the natives
showed no signs of desisting or of taking their departure.
Presently a shadow darkened the little window at the rear of the
temple. Jack turned on his heel expecting to see a native, but
instead saw only Bosin. The monkey had clambered up the image,
and so reached the window. The sight of the creature gave Jack a
sudden inspiration.
What was to hinder the blacks and himself from beating a
noiseless retreat by way of this same window? The aperture was
quite ample in size to admit of their squeezing through it. But—his
wounded arm! And could the thing be done without attracting the
attention of the gang about the doors?
He climbed up the image and looked out. So far as he could
discover the way was clear. Between that end of the temple and the
stairs leading to the pit, not a single native was to be seen. True, his
view was but limited at the best—the aperture was so narrow, and a
straggling blackskin or two might, after all, have their eyes on the
window, or, worse still, be guarding the stairs. Probably, though—
and this seemed the more likely view—the entire force and attention
of the belligerents were concentrated upon the temple doors. He
would risk it, anyhow!
Once gain the pit, and they were as good as saved; for by that
time the rescue party could not be far off.
A wilder shout from the besiegers recalled his thoughts and eyes
to the doors. He scrambled down off the idols head and ran into the
outer chamber.
What was that peculiar crackling sound—this pungent odour with
which the air had suddenly grown so heavy? Fire—smoke! They had
set fire to the doors!
He ran back into the inner chamber. The blacks were there,
cowering in terror against the wall. In a few hurried words he
directed them how to proceed. They pulled themselves together and
prepared to obey the sahib's directions.
“The window, lads! through the window! Quick now, you lazy
beggars!”
Spottie went first—somewhat unwillingly, it must be confessed,
which was scarcely to be wondered at, considering that the drop
from the window might land him in the arms of the enemy, or on the
point of a spear. The smallness of the aperture, its height from the
ground, and the necessity for going through it feet foremost, made a
triple difficulty, too. But with Jack's assistance this was speedily
overcome, and Spottie dropped out of sight. Barring the faint thud of
his bare feet on the rock, no sound followed. Thus far, then, the
stratagem had escaped detection. Jack began to breathe easier.
After Spottie went Puggles—with even more difficulty, for, as the
reader is aware, Puggles was extremely fat; and again all was still
without. Within there was noise enough and to spare. The crackling
of the burning doors had grown ominously loud. As Pug's black head
disappeared, too, a tremendous shout burst from the rabble
gathered about the entrance. Its significance Jack did not stop to
inquire. Already he had scaled the image. A wry face or two at the
pain of his wounded arm, and a moment later he stood beside the
blacks.
The moment of their flight was well chosen. The natives, to a
man, were watching the doors with all their eyes.
Bidding the blacks follow close at his heels, he sped across the
few yards of rock that separated the temple from the stairs, sprang
down the steps, and fell insensible at the feet of his friend, Roydon
Leigh.
The rescue party had arrived in the very nick of time.
 CHAPTER XXV.—THE SHARK-
CHARMER IS CAUGHT IN HIS OWN
TRAP.

A
fter all, Jack was but human. His fortitude, strung to a tense
pitch by those terrible days and nights of danger, snapped, in
presence of actual safety, like an overdrawn bow.
A pitiful spectacle he presented, his clothes torn to ribbons, his
hands and face grimy, bloodstained, yet ghastly in their pallor. Don
uttered a cry and flung himself on his knees beside his chum. He
thought him dead.
“No, not dead, thank God! Only done up. He'll be all right soon,”
said Captain Leigh, with his hand upon Jack's heart, which still beat,
though faintly; and taking out a pocket-flask he poured a few drops
of brandy between the drawn, bloodless lips of the unconscious lad.
Under this stimulating treatment Jack soon came round. Needless
to dwell on the confusion into which his thoughts were thrown by
the sight of the familiar faces bending over him. His bewilderment,
however, was but momentary. Memory returned with a rush and
spurred him to action and speech. He sat bolt upright.
“Have you got the rascal?” he demanded in eager tones..
“What rascal?” asked Don.
“The shark-charmer, to be sure. Who else should I mean? He's on
the Rock, I tell you!”
“Him done stick his leg in trap, sa'b,” interpolated Puggles, with
appropriate action.
Don started to his feet. Jack followed suit, somewhat unsteadily.
“Is he above there?” cried Captain Leigh.
“Yes, yes!” said Jack eagerly.
 “Up with you, boys!” cried the captain to the peons.
Don had already acquainted his father with the shark-charmer's
part in the tragic events of the past week, and the peons had
overheard the story. They all knew the shark-charmer, and they
followed their leader with enthusiasm. They carried carbines; these
glinted in the sunshine, and clanked against the contracted walls of
the rock stairway as they jostled each other in the ascent.
A rush of many feet above, and the natives appeared at the stair-
head. Only the moment before had they discovered the temple to be
deserted, and become alive to the fact that they had lingered too
long on the Rock. They were now in hot pursuit of the fugitives. But
the sudden apparition of the red-sashed peons, the ominous glint
and clash of the carbines, promised hotter pursuit than they had
bargained for. A wave of consternation swept through their ranks.
Sauve qui peut! In headlong flight they scattered in all directions.
As before, the shark-charmer had led the gang. He almost ran into
the arms of the peons.
“Rama! Rama!”
It was the cry of a coward and miscreant who knows that his last
hour of freedom, if not of life, has come: the hour of reckoning for
his misdeeds.
For as long as it took his half-paralysed tongue to frame the
words, the shark-charmer faced his approaching doom. Then he
turned and fled like a frightened cur.
The voice of Captain Leigh rang out on the air clear and full as the
note of a bugle:
“After him, lads! Never mind the others! Take the fellow alive!”
Up scrambled the peons in obedience to the command, deploying
to right and left in a long, semicircular line as they debouched upon
the Rock.
“Forward!”
Off they went at the quick; then, with a wild cheer, broke into a
loping run, the extremities of the semicircle closing in as they
advanced.
The shark-charmer ran towards the Elephant's head, where the
precipice was the loftiest and dizziest of the four, the beach lying full
three hundred feet below. Whatever chance of escape he possessed,
it assuredly did not lie in that direction. To all human seeming his
escape was an utter impossibility. So thought the peons, and
slackened speed, though the extremities of the living, steel-crested
semicircle still closed in and in. Between, and somewhat ahead, ran
the shark-charmer. He could not run much farther; the brink of the
precipice was only a few yards away. He was caught!
What the thoughts of the guilty, hunted wretch were during those
awful moments, God alone knows.
The peons had slowed down to a walk now—a walk confident, yet
timid. They were altogether sure of the shark-charmer, and not a
little afraid of the precipice. Not so the fugitive; for him all fear lay
behind. He advanced to the very brink of the cliff. His arms dropped
at his sides.
In upon him closed his pursuers with cat-like tread and alert eyes.
They had no desire to be dashed over the cliff. Besides, was he not
as good as caught? A mere span of rock divided him from their
grasp. He stood motionless, half-turned towards them, apparently
resigned to his fate.
Suddenly, however, hurling upon the close-drawn ranks a swift
look of defiance, he wheeled full-face to the sea; wheeled, and drew
his arms up and back.
Captain Leigh was the first to perceive the significance of the
movement.
“Seize him!” he shouted, dashing through the line of peons;
“quick, or he'll be over!... Good God!”
He fell back appalled. A stifled cry of horror broke from the peons.
The shark-charmer had leapt into mid-air.
CHAPTER XXV.—BRINGS THE QUEST
TO AN END.

S
ilent and pale as death, Don turned and stood for a moment
facing Haunted Pagoda Hill, with head bared. His thoughts
were with the captain as he had seen him on that terrible
evening of the murder. Plainer than words his attitude cried:
“Avenged!”
The other natives had taken advantage of the opportunity
afforded by the pursuit of the shark-charmer to make good their
escape. Captain Leigh accordingly ordered the peons back to the
schooner. Their mission was at an end.
At the head of the stairs they came upon Bosin. The monkey at
once clambered on to Don's shoulder, happier far than his new
master.
Here, too, as they were about to turn their backs upon the spot
where death had hovered in ever-narrowing circles about their heads
through the hopeless hours of that awful night and day, Jack and
Don joined hands and silently renewed the friendship which had
here been put to so crucial a test. Our boy-friendships seldom pass
the boundary line of youth and manhood; or, if they do, too often
become tarnished and neglected things in which we find no
pleasure. Theirs, just then, seemed fit to last a lifetime.
“Say!” cried Jack abruptly, when he had done wringing his chunks
hand, “what about the pearls, old fellow? You're surely not going off
without them after all the trouble we've had? I'm not, anyhow!”
Jack was nothing if not practical.
Captain Leigh, who was standing by, overheard the words, and
approached with a curious, not to say mysterious, smile on his lips.
 “What! not had enough of it yet, Jack?” said he, in bantering
tones.
“Not I, sir! Where's the use of being half cut to bits if one doesn't
get what one's after? I shan't be content till I handle the shiners.”
“And where do you purpose looking for them?”
Jack's face fell.. It was not easy to find an answer to this question.
“Perhaps I can assist you,” continued Captain Leigh, with a
repetition of his mysterious smile. “This quest of yours, boys, has
been a string of surprises from the very start, judging by what I
have heard and seen of it. So, just to keep the ball rolling, we'll wind
up with the biggest surprise of all.”
And slipping his fingers into his waistcoat pocket, to the
astonishment of the young men he drew therefrom the identical
wash-leather case which they had all along, and with good reason,
supposed to be in the shark-charmer's possession.
“Why—how—?” Don began, hardly able to believe his eyes.
Jack interrupted him.
“Don't you see how it is?” cried he. “The governor's running a rig
on us. Old Salambo took the pearls, but left the bag; it's empty, of
course!”
Captain Leigh quietly turned the pouch upside-down, and poured
into the palm of his left hand a little silvery heap with a shimmer of
pale gold in its midst. This he pushed into full view with his finger. It
was the Golden Pearl.
“You don't mean to say we've been on a wild-goose chase all this
time?” gasped Jack.
“A downright fool's errand!” muttered Don, in tones of intense
disgust.
“No; neither one nor the other,” interposed Captain Leigh. “Don't
go scattering self-accusations of that sort about before you hear my
explanation—though it's a queer business, I must acknowledge,” he
added, with a laugh. “Will you hear it out now or wait till we go on
board?”
 “Tell us one thing,” put in Don; “were the pearls stolen at all?”
“No, they were not, or I should not be able to produce them. But
the shark-charmer was none the less a thief, for all that. But I see
you're on tenterhooks to hear all about it, so I'll read you the riddle
at once.”
Carefully restoring the pearls to the pouch, he handed the
treasure to Don, and then resumed:
“It goes without saying, of course, that you remember the evening
you brought the pearls on board. Well, shortly after you had placed
them in the locker—you had just turned in, I think—I got an uneasy
sort of feeling that they were not as safe there as they should be
——”
“So you took them into your state-room!” interrupted Don, who
thought he began to see light.
“Exactly. The companion door was open, you recollect, and the
shark-charmer, I suppose, must have been hanging about at the
moment and seen me. Very imprudently, as it turned out, I left my
door on the latch, though I took the precaution to put the pearls
under my pillow. You remember, perhaps, my paying off some of the
men that afternoon? Well, when I turned in I left the bag of rupees
—or rather what remained of them, about two hundred in all, I
should think—on the sofa opposite my berth, and my gold
chronometer on the stand at my head, as I always do. I slept like a
top until I was called at three, when we got under weigh. At this
time, you understand, I was under the impression that you two were
snug between the sheets. The schooner was a dozen miles down the
coast before I found out my mistake. Being due in Colombo the
following day, you see, I couldn't put back. Neither could I make
head nor tail of your disappearance until the carrier brought your
letter, Don. That made the whole matter plain enough. You had
found the locker empty, supposed that the shark-charmer had stolen
the pearls, and had given chase.”
“Then,” cried Jack, “what I said a minute ago was right enough,
after all. The pearls were safe, and we've been on a jolly wild-goose
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