The Web of the Golden Spider

“Gold plate and jewels–over six hundred pieces. No one knows how valuable they are. Each one might be a fortune in itself.”

“Gawd!”

Stubbs sat down on the threshold of the little hut. He drew out his pipe.

“Let’s jus’ think on ’t a minute,” he said.

It was not so much the money value these things represented that appealed to the men. They could not grasp that. Nor was it the intrinsic beauty of the objects themselves. It was just the thrilling consciousness of being within that golden zone which had been sought by so many during so many centuries. Men from the four corners of the earth had come in search of what now lay within a day’s reach of them; brave men, men who had made history. Yet they had failed; the mountains had kept their secret and the little blue lake had laughed at their efforts.

Wilson broke the spell. He was feverish with the desire to go farther. It was the exciting finish to a long race; the last move in a puzzle which had challenged men for centuries.

“The map, Stubbs! We mustn’t stop here now.”

Stubbs put up his pipe and unrolled once more the bit of parchment. The directions now seemed brutally calm.

“From where the peaks kiss,” he read, “take one hundred strides to the right.”

“We must go back to there,” said Wilson. “Come on.”

He led the way at a run. This starting point was a distance of several hundred yards from the hut itself. From there Wilson took the stated number of steps. He stopped with a start upon the brink of a hidden precipice. The chasm was narrow, scarcely ten feet wide, and from where he stood slanted so that the bottom could not be seen. But a little way to the right of here one looked into a sheer drop which ended in darkness. Wilson wiped his forehead.

“I guess we had better remember what the Priest says about those with unsteady steps. Another yard and I would have gone down.”

But Stubbs was again bending over the map.

“The brave do not falter,” it read, “for the seeming is not always the true. The path leads down twice the length of a man’s body, then ten paces to the left. Again the seeming is not true, for it leads back again and under.”

“Lord!” exclaimed Stubbs, “Why couldn’t he put this in plain English. There is no sense in that.”

“The path leads down,” repeated Wilson. “That can mean but one thing; it leads over the edge here.”

“To what? You get into that hole an’–”

“Let’s have a closer look.”

The opposite side was smooth and sloped in so that it was lost beneath the side upon which they stood. A man dropping over would strike this slanting surface.

“If we had brought a bit of rope now.”

“We’ll have to take the next best thing,” said Wilson. “Peel off your coat.”

“You don’t mean to go over the side, m’ son?”

“It’s only twice the length of a man’s body,” repeated Wilson. “If that is so, I ought to strike something below–a ledge–that we can’t see now.”

“Better wait until we can get a rope. If it ain’t so, you may drop a mile.”

“It would take two hours to go back. I believe that phrase ‘the seeming is not always the true’ means something. Those things were not put in there for nothing. And it isn’t likely that such a treasure as this was hidden where it could ever be found by accident.”

He had stripped off his coat and stood waiting impatiently for Stubbs. The latter delayed.

“I’ll be damned if you go down there,” he said finally. “If anyone goes, it’s me. In these sorter hills ye can’t tell how deep a hole is.”

“I wouldn’t drop any farther than you.”

“Maybe not. But if anyone gits foolish round here, it’s me.” He added, looking Wilson squarely in the eyes, “There ain’t no one waiting fer me to come back.”

But Wilson refused to listen.

“In the first place, I’m the lighter man, Stubbs; and in the second, I’m the younger. This isn’t a matter for sentiment, but bull strength. I’m in earnest, Stubbs; I’m going.”

For a moment Stubbs considered the advisability of attempting to knock him down. It seemed foolish for the boy to risk his life to save a matter of two hours. But when he met again the stubborn eyes and the jaw which was locked upon the resolution, he recognized the futility of further protest. He took off his coat and they tied the two sleeves together.

“Once more afore ye start, boy,–won’t ye consider?”

“Stubbs, this isn’t like you. There is no danger. Get a good brace with your feet. You won’t have to bear the full weight because I can climb a little.”

Without more ado Wilson let himself slowly over the edge. He slipped the length of the sleeves, his feet dangling in the air over what depth he did not know. He swung his toes in either direction and felt them strike the opposite wall. He lowered himself a bit more, and his toe rested upon what seemed a firm platform. He was on a projection from the opposite cliff face which slanted under. He let go the sleeve and looked down. He found he could step from here to a narrow path upon the nigh side where at this point the two walls came almost together. He was now beneath the place where he had started, which hung over him like a canopy. The walls again separated below, revealing a dark cavern.

At the end of a few steps taken with his face flat to the rock, he found himself again on a narrow trail which threaded its way over a yawning chasm. He moved slowly, shuffling one foot ahead and dragging the other after it. In this way he had gone perhaps one hundred feet when the path seemed to come to an abrupt end. His foot dangled over nothing. He almost lost his balance. When he recovered himself, he was so weak and dizzy that it was with difficulty he clung to the rock. In a moment he was able to think. He had been moving on a downward slope and it was probable that this was only a more abrupt descent in the shape of steps. One thing was sure: the path did not end here, if it really was a path, and not a chance formation. The opposite ledge had constantly receded until it was now some thirty feet distant. The path upon which he stood had narrowed until it was scarcely over eighteen inches wide at this spot. There was one other possibility: the ledge at this point might have crumbled and fallen. In his progress he had loosened many stones which rattled downwards out of hearing.

He secured a good balance on his left foot and cautiously lowered the other. Inch by inch he groped down keeping his arms as far outstretched as possible. Finally his toe touched something solid. He ventured an inch farther at the risk of losing his balance. He found a more secure footing and, taking a chance, rested his full weight. The base was firm and he drew down the other foot. He was on a wider path than that above. He paused here for the effort had made his breath come short. It was more the mental than the physical strain which had weakened him. It was nerve-racking work. The dark and the silence oppressed him. There was almost a tomb-like effect in this slit of the earth where man had not been for centuries. Once he had ventured to shout to Stubbs but his voice had sounded so muffled and the effort had produced in him such a panicky feeling that he did not try it again.

Once more he shuffled forward and once more his foot dangled over nothing. But he had gained more confidence now and lowered it to find another firm base. Two more steps came after this, and then the path proceeded on the level once more. He had gone some forty paces on this last lap when he was brought up against a face of solid rock. He moved his hands over it as far as possible in every direction, but he could not detect any boundaries. It appeared to be a part of the cliff itself. 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–if Stubbs had been given a chance–then, of course, the Priest would have struck hard and decisively. If he had been carried away uninjured, Stubbs would find his way back here. Of that he was sure. The man was strong, resourceful, and would use his last ounce of strength to relieve his partner.

Wilson was in a veritable rat trap. One wall of the cliff projected over his head and the other slanted at such an angle that it was impossible to cling to its smooth surface. And so, although within such a short distance of the top, he was as effectively imprisoned as though he were at the bottom of the chasm. There were just two things possible for him to do; wait where he was on the chance that Stubbs might return, or attempt to trace his way further and reach the cave. If he waited, the dark might catch him there and so he would be forced to remain standing until morning. He hadn’t the strength left for that. The other course would also be a bitter struggle to the last remaining spark of energy and might leave him face to face with another blank wall. However, that seemed to offer the bigger chance and would bring death, if death must be, more quickly.

He loosened the map from about his throat and, unrolling it, examined it through his smarting eyes. The directions took him almost step by step to the big rock which had barred further progress. He scanned the words which followed.

“The path is locked,” it read, “but it opens to the faithful–to children of the Gilded One. Twelve hands’ breadth from the bottom and close to the wall lies the sign. A strong man pressing steadily and with faith against this spot will find the path opened to him.”

Twelve hands’ breadth from the bottom and close to the wall. But supposing that referred to some real door which had since been blotted out by falling rock–by a later avalanche of which this barrier was a relic? There was but one way to find out and he must decide quickly. Also, he must memorize the other directions, for he would be unable to consult his map in the darkness of the lower chasm.

“Thirty strides on. If the foot stumbles here, the fall is long. To the left ten paces, and then the faithful come to the warmth of the living sun again. The door stands before. Enter ye who are of the Sun; pause if ye be bearded man or unclean.”

Twelve handbreadths up and close to the wall; thirty paces on, then ten; so an opening of some sort appeared and near it, the cave. The cave–it lost its meaning as a treasure house. It was a place to relieve the ache which was creeping back to his arms; which would soothe his straining legs. It was a place to lie down in–this hole, hiding pretty jewels and gold plate.

He raised his voice in a final call to Stubbs. It was like calling against a wall; his muffled voice was thrown back in his face. With a start he saw that the light about him was fading. He studied his map for the last time to make sure he had made no mistake, and, folding it, adjusted it once more about his neck.