CHAPTER IX
_A Subterranean World_
The metal plate that had sealed him in this tomb fell open with acrash. Beyond it the passageway was alive with crowding red figures.Above their heads the nozzles of a score of flame-throwers spat jetsof green fire. Rawson drew back in sudden uncontrollable horror asthey came crowding into the room.
The familiar feel of the bailer's cold metal had given him a momentarysense of oneness with his own world. Now this inrush of hideous,demoniac figures beneath the flare of green flames was like a feveredvision of the infernal regions come suddenly to actuality.
Rawson retreated to the shattered, rocky wall and prepared for onelast fight, until he realized that the evil black eyes in theirghastly circles of white skin were fixed upon him more in curiositythan in active hatred.
They formed a semicircle about him--a wall of red bodies, whosepointed heads were craned forward, while an excited chatter in theirbroken, whistling speech filled the room with shrill clamor. Then oneof them pointed above toward the open shaft that Rawson had drilled,the shaft up which the bailer had gone. And again their voices rose inweird discord, while their long arms waved, and red, lean-fingeredhands pointed.
Only a moment of this, then one of them gave an order. Two of the redfigures came toward Rawson where he was waiting. They were unarmed.They motioned that he was to go with them. And Dean, with a helplessshrug of his shoulders, allowed them, one on each side, to take himby the arms and hurry him through the open door. Two others wentahead, the green jets of flame from their weapons lighting thepassage.
The system of communicating tunnels seemed at first only the vents andblow-holes from some previous volcanic activity. And yet, at timesthey gave place to more regular arrangement that plainly wasartificial. The air in them was pure, though odorous with a pungenttang which Dean could not identify. Through some of the passages itblew gently with uncomfortable warmth.
The guard of wild red figures hurried him along through a vast worldof caverns and winding passages which seemed one great mine. Therichness of it was amazing. Dean Rawson was a man, a human being,facing death in some form which he could not yet know, and, so fasthad his wild experiences crowded in upon him, he seemed numbed to allnormal emotions; yet through it all the mind of the engineer was atwork, and Dean's eyes were flashing from side to side, trying to seeand understand the ever-changing panorama of a subterranean world.
* * * * *
Mole-men, both red and yellow, were everywhere. But it was apparent ata glance that the yellow giants were a race of toilers--slaves, drivenby the reds.
Their great bodies glowed orange-colored with the reflected heat ofthe blasts of flame used to melt the metals from their ores. Gold andsilver, other metals that Rawson could not distinguish in the halflight--the glow of the molten stuff came from every distant cave thatthe passages opened up.
The sheer marvel of it overwhelmed him. His own danger, even the deaththat waited for him, were forgotten.
A world within a world--and who knew how far it extended? Mole-men, byscores and hundreds, the denizens of a great subterranean world, ofwhich his own world had been in ignorance. Here was civilization of asort, and now the barriers that had separated this world from theworld above had been broken down; the two were united. Suddenly therecame to Rawson's mind a flashing comprehension of a menace wild andterrible that had come with the breaking of those barriers.
They were passing through a wider hall when the whistling chatter ofDean's escort ceased. They were looking to one side where a cloud ofsmoke had rolled from a slope beyond. One of the red figuresstaggered, choking, from the cloud. Two yellow mole-men followedclosely after.
The red mole-man was unarmed; each yellow one had a flame-thrower thatwas now so familiar a sight to Dean. His own escort was silent; theyhad halted, watching those others expectantly.
* * * * *
In the silence of that rocky room the single red one whistled anorder. One of the two yellow men placed his weapon on the floor.Another shrill order followed, and the remaining worker, without amoment's hesitation, turned the green blast of his own projector uponhis comrade.
It was done in a second--a second in which the giant's shriek ended ina flash of flame for which his own flesh was the fuel. A wisp ofdrifting smoke, and that was all. And the red creatures who had Rawsonin their charge, after a moment of silence, filled the room withshrill-voiced pandemonium, while they shrieked their approval of thespectacle.
But Dean Rawson's lips were forming half-whispered words, so intentlywas he thinking the thoughts. "The damned red beast! That poor devil'sflame hit some sulphur, I suppose--burned it to SO_2--then he gothis!"
But, even while he searched his mind for words to describe the evil ofthis red race, he was realizing another fact. These yellow giants,countless thousands of them, perhaps, were held in subjection by theirred masters. They would do as they were told. Dimly, vaguely, throughhis horrified mind, came the picture of a horde of red and yellowbeasts turned loose upon the world above.
There were fears now which filled Dean Rawson, shook him with horrorsas yet only half comprehended. But the fears were not for himself, onesolitary man in the grip of these red beasts--he was fearing for allmankind.
* * * * *
His guard was hurrying him on, but now Dean hardly saw the scenes offeverish activity through which they passed. Another thought had cometo him.
That shaft, the hole which he himself had drilled--what damage had itdone? It was he who had broken down the barriers. His drill had toldthese beasts that there was other life above. It had guided them. Theyhad realized that they were near to some other place where men workedand drove tunnels through the rocks. They had followed up theseforgotten passages that led to the old craters, had ascended insidethe volcano, made their way through the top and emerged into anotherworld--a clean and sunlit world.
Now Rawson's eyes found with new understanding the activity about him.
The mining operations had been left behind. Here were branchingpassages, great cavelike rooms--a world within a world, in all truth.Throughout it, demoniac figures were hurrying, driving thousands ofgiant yellow slaves where the light shone sparkling from innumerableheaps of metal weapons--flame-throwers and others, the nature of whichRawson could not determine. And everywhere was the shouting and hurryas of a nation in the throes of war.
His speculations ended abruptly. They were approaching a room, a vastopen place. High on the farther wall was a recess in the rock in whichtongues of flame licked hungrily upward. The heat of the fires struckdown in a ceaseless hot blast. Close to the fires, unmindful of theheat, a barbaric figure assumed grotesque and horrible postures, whileits voice rose in echoing shrillness.
Below were crowding red ones who prostrated themselves on the rockyfloor.
"Fire worshipers!" The explanatory thought flashed through DeanRawson's mind. "Here was one of their holy places, a place ofsacrifice, perhaps, and he was being taken there, helpless, acaptive!"
Two Thousand Miles Below Page 10
