Crack! Crack! Even the brutish courage of the wolf-men quailed before that leaden hail. They retired precipitately, leaving eight of their number dead upon the ground. “That’s the style,” the Yankee said cheerily, refilling the magazine of his weapon from his rapidly-vanishing store of cartridges; “we’ll teach ’em a lesson ’fore we go under.” “We must keep them back at all costs,” rejoined Seymour. “Once they get close in they’ll sweep us over into the chasm by sheer force. How are you two feeling?” turning to the non-combatants. “Out of it,” the twain replied together. “I wish we had weapons,” Mervyn went on, “that we might take a hand in the game.” “On your guard!” Silas burst out; “here they come again, full rip.” Around the bend a horde of wolf-men came charging, uttering their weird, long-drawn howl. Evidently the brutes thought to intimidate the fugitives by their fearsome cry. But the baronet’s nerve was never more steady than at that moment, and Haverly’s splendid courage did not fail him. Shot after shot they poured into that yelling horde, with a coolness and precision that excited their two friends’ keenest admiration. Savage after savage fell to rise no more; and still the levers of the repeaters worked for dear life--still the fiendish forms rushed through the glare, almost up to the smoking muzzles of the rifles, ere once more they fell back in a disorganised mob. The pile of dead they left behind bore witness to the deadly accuracy of the two friends’ aim. “Hot work,” the baronet panted, mopping his sweat-covered brow. He thrust his hand into his pocket, then withdrew it with a startled exclamation. An instant he fumbled with his cartridge belt, his face paling the while. “I say,” he asked hoarsely, “how many cartridges have you left?” The Yankee put his hand to his belt. “Jupiter!” he gasped, “not a blame one.” “Then God help us!” Seymour returned. “I’ve fired my last!” A groan broke from the scientist as he heard the words. “We’re done, then?” he said bitterly. “Not by a hull piece,” Silas replied. “It’s clubbed guns for the next scrap, an’ hit hard as you know how. I guess this is where your tooth-picks’ll come in, professor,” and, reversing his rifle, the American gripped it firmly by the muzzle. Seymour followed his example. Despite the millionaire’s bold words, each man felt that the end was near; that the next rush of the savages would sweep them into the fire gulf. Taken alive they were determined not to be, even though they had to leap over the brink into the glowing depths below to escape capture. Suddenly, while they stood awaiting the end, a sound floated across to them from the further side of the gulf. _It was the baying of a hound!_ CHAPTER XX. THE LAST OF THE AYUTIS. FOR a moment the familiar sound, heard in the trackless wilds of the underworld, set each man’s heart throbbing with a mad yearning for home.