AFTER an hour Lanahan began to lose his cheerfulness. His head was throbbing, and his arm and shoulder burned when he moved. For the latter part of the distance he was content to follow Gordon, where the hunter wound in and out among a series of galleries and fissures in the soft, white sandstone. At times they had to climb over heaps of debris, at others, they slid down narrow tunnels that seemed destined to precipitate the two men into chasms in the earth.
The hunter took the wrong turning more than once, but went back to where the scratches of claws on the soft stone showed that animals had passed that way. The rock gave place to red clay, and here the marks were plainer. He pressed ahead rapidly, until Lanahan, panting, reluctantly called a halt.
“Done up, Gordon, old man,” he whispe
