In other ways, however, save as veritable Cerberi, they are of little use, are, indeed, objects of distrust and not a little dread. For they are, as a rule, of a most savage and uncertain temper. Not that the owner fears attack upon himself, though instances are not wanting in which master or mistress has been set upon. To its owner, a demon is truly doglike; but other people had better be careful. "Since the loss of a demon on such a journey as this may spell disaster, I wonder," I said, "why they didn't bring along more than one." "Food, Bill, food," returned Rhodes. "I am no authority, of course, on demonian dietetics, but I don't imagine that they fed the monster on canary-bird seed." On we went, blindly and in desperation, on and on and deeper and deeper into the earth. At length there was a change, whether for good or ill we could not know; but we welcomed it, nevertheless--simply because it was a change. At last we were emerging from the labyrinth. But what lay ahead? Yes, soon we were no longer in a maze of caverns, grottoes, passages, but in a wide and lofty tunnel. We had made our way down it but a little distance when an inscription was discovered on the right-hand wall. The discovery was made by Rhodes, who happened to be in the rear. A rectangular space, perhaps three feet by six, had been hewn perfectly smooth, and upon this rock-tablet were many chiseled characters, characters utterly unlike any we had seen. Before this spot, we clustered in hope and questioning. It was at once patent, however, that our Dromans could make nothing whatever of the writing. But we regarded this discovery as a happy augury, and we pressed on with a lighter step. On to bitter disappointment. Hours passed. We were still toiling down that awful tunnel. At last--it was then nine o'clock--the way became very difficult. The rock has been broken, rent, smashed by some terrible convulsion. The scene was indescribably weird and savage. And there we halted, sank down upon the rocky floor. Rhodes and Drorathusa evinced an admirable nonchalance, but in the eyes of the others burned the dull light of despair. And perhaps, too, in my own. I tried to hide it, but I could not disguise it from myself--the numbing, maddening fact that I had abandoned hope. For a time I lay watching Rhodes, who was writing, writing in his journal. How could he do it? Who could ever find the record? At any rate, even though found, it could never be read, for the finder would be a Droman. It made me angry to see a man doing a thing so absurd. But I bridled speech, curbed that rising and insensate anger of mine, rolled over, closed my eyes and, strange to say, was soon asleep. But that sleep of mine was an unbroken succession of horrors, horrors at last ended by an awakening as horrible.