With beads of perspiration on his brow, Alan worked. His fingers were torn and bleeding from his exertions. Still nearer came the cries of the infuriated people, and Alan had not yet succeeded in moving the stone, which he was convinced hid a secret way of escape. Desmond ran down the passage a little way—in a second he was back. “I can see them,” he cried. “There are hundreds of them! Oh, what shall we do?” “Ah!” Alan gave a cry of relief, for suddenly the stone had rolled back, revealing a small cavity beyond, just big enough for the passage of a man’s body. “Follow me in, Dez,” he cried, “no matter where it leads—it can’t be worse than if we remain here.” Their pursuers were now in full view, and if seemed that only a few yards separated them. Quickly Desmond climbed the steps and reached the hole, and Alan drew him in, and even as he turned to make fast the opening, a head with an evil-looking horn appeared. Alan doubled his fist and gave a mighty blow, and like a log the man dropped into the water, was sucked under and carried out of sight. They rolled the stone back into its place, and panting, leant against it. The execrations and cries of the natives came faintly on their ears; the great stone trembled, and they knew it was being forced from without. One hurried glance round revealed to them great boulders of rock lying on the ground. Feverishly they piled them up in front of the stone, and they were strong enough to resist the furious onslaught that the purple people kept up. After a time, the cries of the people grew fainter, gradually they died away altogether, and the underworld folk made their way back to the temple to pray that the white men might be handed over to them, and that they might be allowed to punish the slayers of the seed of Korah. Spent and tired the two boys sank to the ground, for many hours had passed while they were defending their retreat from the underworld people. A faint, natural, ground light shone around. It was like the same purple light that lit the whole of the underworld, but here it was in its natural condition, and was so faint that it scarcely showed them each other’s face. “Go to sleep, Dez,” said Alan. “I will keep watch.” “But you are tired too,” demurred his cousin. Alan smiled. “Sleep first, old man,” said he, and even as he spoke, Desmond dropped his head upon his breast, and his eyes closed in slumber. It was a great strain for Alan to sit there in the darkness—in a weird and unknown place—soundless except for Desmond’s heavy, regular breathing. His own breath seemed to his quickened senses like the blast of heavy artillery, and the slightest sound was magnified a hundredfold. Nobly he fought against sleep—but he was worn out, and at last his eyes closed—and he too, slept.