Stumbling and tripping over the loose stones which formed the bed of the gully, barking their shins against projecting boulders, the two toiled on after their wolfish leader. They could but dimly discern the form of the savage in the gloom ahead, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that they managed to keep in touch with him. Had Gehari chosen to have deserted them, nothing would have been easier. But the thought seemed never to enter the savage’s mind, for he flitted on in front, tireless as ever. Then of a sudden before them loomed a towering wall of rock, apparently blank. The defile had ended. Had Gehari played them false? the twain wondered. Had he led them into a _cul-de-sac_? Quick as thought Haverly produced his lantern, and an instant later the glare of the electric light shattered the darkness. “Zu!” The low, buzzing sound came from the lips of the wolf-man, and he pointed to a dark aperture which showed low down in the face of the cliffs. Into this, with much wriggling of limbs, he proceeded to crawl, beckoning the two friends to follow. “Looks a bit risky,” Seymour demurred, “but we’ll have to go the whole hog now.” He dropped to his knees as he spoke, and disappeared after the savage. “It’s all right, Silas,” his voice came back after a moment, “there’s standing room inside. Just pass me the lantern, and then you can follow.” Reassured by his comrade’s words, Haverly passed through the opening, to find himself in a cave of considerable dimensions. Across the floor of this the rescuers moved, still preceded by the savage, and plunged into a natural tunnel on the further side. Half an hour’s steady progress along this, sometimes crawling on hands and knees where the passage was too narrow to admit of their upright advance, and then the Yankee shut off the light of his lantern with a snap. Before them a brilliant, silvery glow was visible. Half a dozen paces, and they emerged from the passage into a flood of fungi light. A cry of rage burst from Seymour. They were standing upon a narrow ledge in the cliffs which formed the temple walls. Twenty feet below them was the den of Rahee, in which their friend was awaiting his doom. The sight of the devilish brute advancing upon the professor roused all the fury in their natures against the savage creatures who had delivered him to such a fate. In a delirious rage, Seymour raised his rifle. Another instant and Rahee the terrible would have been no more; but, ere the baronet could fire, Silas gripped his arm. “Don’t plug the brute,” he cried sharply, “it’s the only thing that’ll keep those fiends back when they tumble to our game. I’m goin’ down.”