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Title: The Golden City
Author: Farley, Ralph Milne [Hoar, Roger Sherman] (1887-1963)
Date of first publication: 1933
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   Famous Fantastic Mysteries, December 1942
   [New York: Frank A. Munsey Company]
Date first posted: 21 April 2018
Date last updated: 21 April 2018
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1526

This ebook was produced by Al Haines


PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Italics in the original printed edition are indicated _thus_.

As part of the conversion of the book to its new digital
format, we have made certain minor adjustments in its layout,
and have added a table of contents.




	

The Golden City

By Ralph Milne Farley


A Complete Novel



  It was Adams Mayhew against the _Spider_, mad
  genius of Mu--with the existence of that
  lost Pacific continent at stake




  CONTENTS

  I. Lost at Sea
  II. Overboard
  III. The "Spider"
  IV. The Lost Continent
  V. Kidnaped
  VI. "Porto"
  VII. The Spider-men
  VIII. To Be a Slave
  IX. The Storm
  X. Another Impersonation
  XI. Through the Crystal
  XII. The Spider Strikes
  XIII. Mu Strikes Back
  XIV. Escape?
  XV. The Flaming God
  XVI. Human Sacrifice
  XVII. The Knife
  XVIII. The Dead Return
  XIX. A Hunchbacked Samson
  XX. To Save the World
  XXI. The Spider Dies
  XXII. Chaos!




CHAPTER I

LOST AT SEA

In my scrap book of epoch-marking newspaper clippings, there is the
following from the San Francisco Chronicle of Nov. 9, 1891:

  STRANGE MIRAGE
  SEEN BY WHALER


    The harbor is literally strewn with whalers at anchor just now.
    There were several fresh arrivals chalked up today.

    Late this evening the barque Alaska, of New Bedford, Mass., Captain
    Charles Fisher commanding, arrived with a splendid catch.  She
    brought 1,400 barrels of oil and 17,000 pounds of bone, the product
    of thirteen whales.

    Captain Fisher reported a successful cruise with no casualties.
    They were, however, becalmed for about a week in mid-Pacific.  At
    this stage in his narrative to your reporter, a queer expression
    crossed the good captain's face, as he lowered his voice and said,
    "'Twas then that we saw the golden city."  Whereupon he related the
    following tale:

    On the sixth day of the calm, the Alaska gradually drifted into
    sight of an island, finally getting so close that a large city of
    Oriental architecture, with golden domes and spires and minarets,
    became visible.  As the Alaska approached still closer, it was
    possible to make out the actual features of the people of the
    wharves.  The men and the women wore striped blankets and sandals.
    Small boats with gaudy-colored sails lay at the wharves.

    The Alaska came within a hundred yards of one of the boats.
    Captain Fisher hailed them, and blew his fog-horn, but they took no
    notice of him.  Then suddenly the vision shivered, broke into
    pieces and disappeared.

    Your reporter, fearing a hoax, separately interviewed at least a
    dozen members of the crew, and they all told identically the same
    story, even down to details as to the arrangement of the wharves
    and the principal streets and buildings, the rigging of the boats,
    and the costumes of the inhabitants.  Either the crew of the Alaska
    actually saw the same vision, or they have been remarkably well
    coached.

    There is no land charted within a thousand miles of where they saw
    the golden city, and no known actual city anywhere in the world
    fits their description of it.


This vision of "The Golden City" was a nine-days-wonder at the time,
and it is still remembered and talked about by the sturdy men who
sailed the seven seas in those good old days.

Often have I heard the yarn from my uncle, who was a member of the crew
of the whaling barque Alaska when it encountered that mirage, or
whatever it was.  And it is from him that I obtained the above-quoted
clipping.

But there was one phase to the episode which, by common agreement of
all the crew of the Alaska, was kept from the newspaper reporters.  And
it is only in very recent years that my aged uncle vouchsafed this
particular story even to me.

The suppressed item was this: One of the crew, Adams Mayhew by name,
was sent aloft to get a better view of the strange land which the ship
seemed to be approaching, and fell from a yardarm into the sea when the
ship gave a sudden lurch as though it had grounded on a shoal.  At that
instant the golden city trembled, blurred and vanished; and when the
crew of the Alaska, after rubbing their eyes and staring at the empty
sea, lowered boats and hunted for their missing shipmate, he, too,
appeared to have vanished.

The coincidence seemed so weird and uncanny to the superstitious
mariners that they all agreed to say nothing about it.  Mayhew was
officially reported as having been lost overboard; but how and when was
never detailed.



To me it never seemed that there was anything particularly exciting
about the loss of Adams Mayhew.  In fact I was much more impressed by
the absolute inexplicability of a whole shipload of sober, God-fearing
New England mariners simultaneously seeing, within easy hailing
distance, identically the same mirage of a teeming city, the like of
which existed nowhere on the whole surface of the earth!  That, to me,
was far more important than the fact that one of the crew had fallen
overboard in the excitement and been drowned.  And yet the awe and
horror with which my uncle always spoke of the death of Adams Mayhew
caused that episode to stick in my mind.

One day last summer, as I was hoeing asparagus in the field near the
gate of my Chappaquiddick Island farm, a young man with broad
shoulders, clear blue eyes and a firm step, and yet with an air of
ineffable sadness, came striding down the road from town.  He hailed
me, and asked me if so-and-so (naming my uncle) lived thereabouts; so I
pointed out my uncle's farmhouse, and the stranger strode on.

That evening, after supper and the chores, uncle dropped in on us, as
he frequently did.  Quite naturally I asked him if the visitor of that
afternoon had found him.

"Aye," he replied, "and he tells a sea yarn that would make your hair
stand on end."

Said I, "I've always minded to write a sea yarn, as you call it, a tale
of whaling adventure, or some such.  But from all accounts which you've
ever given me, your whaling career must have been pretty humdrum; that
is to say, except for the time you saw the vision of the golden city."

My uncle chuckled to himself, and his shrewd old eyes twinkled.

"All right," said he, "this here yarn, which I'm a-telling you, has to
do with that golden city.  For the caller I had this afternoon is Adams
Mayhew, my lost shipmate."

"Well, what of it?" I countered.  "There's nothing very exciting, is
there, to his having been picked up by some other ship, and having kept
it quiet from you folks for all these years?"

"Isn't there, though!" replied my uncle.  "You see, Adams Mayhew wasn't
picked up until just a few months ago."

"Absurd!" I retorted.  "You don't mean to say that he has been floating
around in the ocean all these years, do you?"

Then I remembered the apparent youthfulness of the man who had hailed
me in the Asparagus patch that afternoon, and I added, "Furthermore,
this young man can't possibly be Adams Mayhew!  Why, Mayhew would be
nearly seventy, if he were alive today, and this man is still in his
twenties."

Uncle's face sobered.

"Yes," he admitted, "that does make it seem a bit peculiar.  But Adams
claims that he has been gone less than two years.  Oh, he's Mayhew, all
right.  Looks just like he used to, except a bit more filled out.  And
remembers things which only a member of the crew of the Alaska could
possibly know."

"Now look here!" I interrupted.  "More likely this is Adams Mayhew's
son or grandson, if his name is Mayhew at all."

"Mebbe so, mebbe so," replied my uncle noncommittally.  "Anyhow he's
staying with me for several days, until he gets his bearings, sort of.
Come on over to my house, and listen to his story."

So I did.




CHAPTER II

OVERBOARD

Adams Mayhew's own story tallies with the newspaper report of the
vision of the golden city, as quoted above, and also with the whispered
account of his having been sent into the tops with a telescope to get a
better view of the lay of the land toward which the Alaska was slowly
drifting over the hot and oily surface of the Pacific Ocean.

From his perch aloft, Mayhew could see considerably more of the city
than from on deck.  In the distant background there stood a smoking
volcanic mountain.  The city itself was certainly one of magnificent
gilded buildings and great wealth.  Gaily clothed men and women
sauntered through its streets.  Ornate barges, with gaudy striped
triangular sails, were lading and unlading at its docks.  Such a short
distance away did it lie, and so clear was the air, that the young man
could distinguish the individual features of the men and women on the
nearest wharves.  In fact, he even picked out, with his glass, one
young girl as being prettier and more interesting looking than the
rest.  He hoped that Captain Fisher would dock there overnight, and
give all the crew shore-leave.

With these thoughts in mind, Adams Mayhew craned his neck forward and
adjusted his telescope to get a better view of the particularly
attractive blonde, when suddenly it seemed as though the yard-arm, to
which he clung, was abruptly jerked out from under him, precipitating
him into the sea.

Mayhew was one of the younger generation of New Bedford whale-fishermen
who had learned how to swim, an accomplishment scorned by his older
shipmates.  As he dropped through the air he came out of the sprawled
position in which he had left his perch aloft, and straightened out to
cut the water cleanly with his feet.  He even had time to grab hold of
his nose with one hand.

As a result of these precautions he was neither stunned nor choked, but
he did go pretty deep into the sea.  When at last, with sturdy strokes,
he reached the surface again, he shook the dripping hair from his eyes
and looked around for the Alaska.  But the whaling vessel was nowhere
to be seen.  Adams Mayhew was alone in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

His first reaction was complete stupefaction and bewilderment, tinged
with fear.  Then a rational explanation suggested itself: some
underwater cataclysm had suddenly destroyed the vessel with all on
board, leaving him as the sole survivor.  But this explanation wasn't
so rational after all, for there had been hardly time for all this to
have happened, but at least it was more sensible than to believe that
the Alaska had vanished by sheer magic.

And what about the golden city?  What had become of it?  Mayhew knew
perfectly well that the city had been only a mirage.  His reason had
told him this, even while he had been intently studying its apparent
actuality.

Yet, strange to say, although the solid real Alaska had vanished, the
mirage still persisted.  What good could a phantom city do him in his
present predicament?

In spite of a full realization of the futility of the attempt, and
cursing himself for a credulous fool, he kicked off his shoes and set
out hand over hand toward the nearest dock, which seemed not more than
a hundred yards away.

Momentarily expecting the mirage to disappear as he approached it, he
nevertheless kept on; and the mirage did not vanish.

When within a few feet of the wharf, Mayhew stopped swimming and
surveyed the structure of piles which towered above him.  Although he
knew that it was a mere illusion, it certainly seemed real enough.  Its
cool shade felt soothing after his strenuous swim across the oily
surface of the tropical sea.  The ripples lapped hollowly at the foot
of the timbers.  Green seaweed, clinging just below the water-level,
sudsed up and down with the gentle motion of the waves.  Mayhew sadly
shook his head.  All he had to do was reach out his hand and touch some
part of this mirage, in order to produce much the same effect on it as
though it were a soap-bubble that he was touching.



Then of a sudden hope occurred to him: if he were to pierce the bubble
of this mirage, would not that very act of destroying the unreal
restore the real--the barque Alaska, which might not have sunk after
all!  At that thought, a panic seized him, a fear lest the Alaska might
at that very moment be silently and invisibly drifting beyond his
reach.  All ideas of shore-leaves with beautiful golden-haired
blue-eyed girls left him.  He thrust forward one rigid finger against
the nearest pile of the wharf, as though poking at an iridescent film
of soapy water.

But the fingertip jabbed painfully against solid wood!  The wharf was
real!

Adams Mayhew let out a howl of baffled surprise, which was instantly
echoed by shouts from above.  Glancing up, he saw, peering down over
the edge of the wharf, the very unpleasant face of a young man of about
his own age.  It was weak chinned, thin lipped, sharp nosed, vicious,
and shifty eyed.

For a moment the two men stared at each other.  Mayhew's face
registered hope, and the deference of one about to ask a favor.  But
the face above him registered first incredulity, then surprise, then
fear, and finally a smug satisfaction.

It seemed as though the man thought he recognized Mayhew--as an enemy,
a dangerous enemy--but now helpless, and in his clutches.  But Mayhew's
problem was to get out of the water.  To flee might invite a shower of
weapons, whereas to come up unarmed might for the present be the safest
course.

So he shouted, "Please lower me a rope."

"Porto!" replied the ferret face.  This strange word was followed by a
string of utterly unintelligible syllables, in a very peremptory tone
of voice.  It sounded like a challenge and a threat; and yet there was
a note of uncertainty, almost of dread, in it too.

"I'm sorry, but I can't understand you," said Mayhew.  "_Parlez-vous
Francais?  Habla usted Espaol?  Sprechen sie Deutsch?  Amenia sabe
falar am Portuguez?_"  Not that Mayhew could speak any of these
languages, except Portuguese; but merely that the answer might give him
some clew as to the nationality of these strange people.

The eyes of the man above narrowed suspiciously.  His face was
withdrawn from view, and he could be heard shouting orders.

Then a rope-ladder was lowered over the side, and Mayhew clambered up
with sailorly speed; and soon was standing dripping on the pier, clad
in open-necked white shirt, sailor trousers and stockings, in the midst
of an inquisitive throng, garbed in gayly striped togas.  They seemed
to know him--or to think that they knew him.  Several of them addressed
him, using that same word, "porto," which he had heard from the lips of
the man who had looked at him over the edge of the wharf.  But Mayhew
did not know what to answer, and he merely stared back at them,
bewildered.

The prevailing complexions were dark, though some were blond.  Most of
the men wore square-cut black beards at the tips of their chins, the
rest of their faces being smoothly shaven; but some of the younger men
had no beards at all.  The women all wore their hair in long conical
psyche-knots, and wore high waisted Empire gowns, with short puffed
sleeves and ruffled skirt bottoms.  Both sexes had sandalled feet, and
arms covered with golden bands set with jewels and semi-precious stones.

Around the outskirts of the crowd there hung men, and a few women, of
the black, brown and yellow races.  Their clothes were simpler and more
revealing, and the blacks of both sexes wore nothing above the waist.

Directly confronting Mayhew in the midst of the semi-circle of
inquisitive humanity which hemmed him in stood the ferret-faced young
man, flanked by two Negro henchmen.  Although evidently of the
prevailing race, he was clad quite differently from the others.
Instead of an awning-striped, ground-sweeping toga, draped across the
left shoulder, leaving the right arm bare, he wore a simple white,
blue-bordered tunic, reaching only to the knees, and gathered in at the
waist with a belt from which hung a pouch and a short broad-sword.  His
cropped curly black hair was bound by a flue fillet.

To do him credit, his face was the only unpleasant part of him, for his
body was beautifully proportioned: slim-hipped and broad-shouldered.
Mayhew instinctively sized him up, taking mental stock of his own
sturdy muscles, toughened by two years of strenuous whale-fishing.

For several minutes the two men surveyed each other.  Mayhew
endeavoring to appear conciliatory, as befitted a foreigner in a
strange land, yet on the alert to defend himself if necessary; his
opponent with a truculent sneer on his unprepossessing features.  In
the background could be heard the murmuring voices of the crowd and
occasionally the word "porto."

Then the man repeated to Mayhew the string of unintelligible syllables
which he had put to him before.  Again Mayhew detected the undercurrent
of fear and uncertainty in the man's tone.  He appeared to be trying to
impress upon Mayhew the fact that Mayhew was at his mercy, and at the
same time to get an answer to some question which seemed to be puzzling
him.

Mayhew, forgetting that he was among strangers, and for the moment
seeing only the single individual who confronted him, blurted out, "I
don't know what you're saying, but I don't like your tone of voice."

Evidently the ferret-faced young man didn't like the tone of Mayhew's
voice either.  The strange sound of the English language puzzled him,
but he quite evidently knew that he was being talked back to.  His
half-timid, half truculent sneer changed to a scowl of sudden
resolution.

Pointing a peremptory finger at Mayhew, he shouted a brief command to
the two Negroes.  The Negroes converged warily toward Mayhew, each
drawing a long scimitar from his waist.  Murmurs of disapproval arose
from the crowd.  Mayhew wheeled and poised on the edge of the dock,
preparatory to diving back into the safety of the more hospitable sea.

But he was stayed by the sound of a feminine voice behind him, the most
tinkling silvery voice he had ever heard.  He gave a swift glance over
one shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of the face that went with that
voice.

It was the golden-haired girl whom he had picked out from the masthead
of the Alaska!  She had pushed through the crowd and had laid one
dainty hand on the arm of her young countryman, and was remonstrating
with him.  Then she turned and smiled and nodded to Mayhew.  The two
blacks had ceased their advance and were looking to their master for
further instructions.  So Mayhew did not dive.

But the young man in the blue-edged tunic was in no mood to be
remonstrated with, even by such a pretty and attractive girl.  Seizing
her hand, he flung it from him with a snarl.  The girl stumbled
backward into the crowd, with a hurt, bewildered look on her cameo
face.  Then the young man scouted a curt order to his two minions, and
they advanced a second time.

But Mayhew's Yankee chivalry caused him to be filled with rage at the
rough treatment which the ferret-faced young man had accorded the girl.
With one leap he passed between the advancing blacks and landed on
their master.  His attack was so unexpected that the man had no time to
draw his sword, and the two of them went down together on the wharf.



Mayhew tried to get his hands around the other's throat, but he was
cast off.  Both men scrambled to their feet.  Stooped low, their arms
bowed, their fingers spread, they faced each other.  Although Mayhew
was not quite so strongly built as his opponent, he was no weakling,
and catch-as-catch-can fighting had been a daily sport on the Alaska.

Mayhew, intently watching his opponent's face, noted that the man was
looking past and beyond him.  Sensing danger from behind, he wheeled
just in time to see one of the two Negroes in the act of swinging a
scimitar down on his unprotected head.

There was no time, and hardly room, to sidestep.  To retreat would mean
to throw himself into the clutches of the young man with whom he had
been fighting.  So, with a shout, which momentarily delayed the stroke
of the Negro, Mayhew sprang straight at him, beneath the descending
blade, and drove his fist with all his force into his bare solar-plexus.

With an agonized grunt the huge black collapsed writhing, his weapon
clattering harmlessly to the boards behind its intended victim.

Spinning rapidly around, Mayhew snatched it up and faced the other
Negro, who, having seen what had just happened to his mate, had paused
irresolute.  For a moment they faced each other until finally the black
dropped his eyes.

The American took this opportunity to glance quickly around to see what
his two other opponents were doing.  But too late.  For a white arm
suddenly shot around his throat from behind, and at the same instant
his right wrist was seized by fingers of steel.  The sword fell from
his nerveless hand.  Then a voice by his ear shouted to the Negro to
come on.

The black hesitated, however.  Mayhew struggled and wrenched, whereupon
a knee was placed in the small of his back and the arm across his
throat tightened, cutting off his wind.

But a man's voice, a cultured voice, with a ring of authority in it
snapped out a sharp command from somewhere near by.  Mayhew's opponent
muttered something which sounded very much like an oath.  The Negro
shrugged his shoulders, lowered his blade, and thrust it back into his
sash.

Relieved of this menace, Mayhew felt a thrill of exultation.  With a
sudden accession of strength he twisted around to face his assailant.

His right wrist was still held, and his opponent's left arm was still
around his neck, but now it was against the back of his neck, no longer
cutting off his wind.  He drew in a deep, tortured breath, then drove
his left fist straight up at the other's chin.

The jolt separated them.  Mayhew wrenched his right hand free.  And
then, instead of following up his advantage with a right-handed punch,
some imp of perverse humor led him to deliver a resounding slap to his
opponent's cheek.

Several snickers were heard in the crowd.  The ferret face went purple
with mortification and rage.  The veins stood out on his neck, and with
a bellow he charged Mayhew.  Mayhew leaped to meet him, and they
crashed together and went down once more in a heap.

Several times they rolled over and over, the crowd making way for them.
Then Mayhew got his fingers on his opponent's throat, and wriggled
astride the man's waist.  The man made one frantic effort to push
Mayhew away, then with a sudden movement reached for his sword.  He got
his hand on its hilt, but Mayhew set his knee on the man's wrist, and
held off the menace for a moment, meanwhile tightening the clutch of
his hands.  But the prostrate man was frantic.  Slowly he withdrew the
blade in spite of Mayhew's knee.

Again the authoritative voice in the crowd boomed forth a command.
Mayhew shifted his glance from the man below him to the man who had
spoken.  The latter was tall, slim, wiry and dark, about fifty years
old.  An attractive face with a small square black beard at the point
of his chin.  He wore the prevailing gaudily striped toga.

As Mayhew glanced up, he released one hand from his victim's throat, to
ward off the expected stroke from the sword.  This gave his opponent
just enough leeway.  Letting go of his sword, he freed his throat with
a thrust of both arms.  Then he clutched at Mayhew's throat.

Mayhew threw himself backward to avoid this new attack, whereupon the
other wriggled free.  Both contestants scrambled to their feet.

For the second time they confronted each other.  Both were how panting
heavily, and the perspiration was streaming down their faces.  As they
faced each other thus, the kindly black-bearded man in the crowd
stepped forward with a reproving: "Kataka, Kirio," and retrieved the
sword.

Mayhew's opponent merely snarled in reply.  Then he and Mayhew were at
each other again.

This time it was his hands that found Mayhew's throat.  And when they
fell to the planking together, Mayhew was beneath, with the other
sitting securely astride his waist.

Gradually the full realization dawned on the American that there was a
real hatred back of this fight.  This man evidently thought he
recognized Mayhew as some old enemy, some enemy unexpectedly
reappeared.  What had begun as Mayhew's mere impulsive resentment at
the ungentlemanly conduct of the man in the blue-edged tunic, had now
developed into a battle to the death.




CHAPTER III

THE "SPIDER"

Strive as he would, Mayhew could not cast his opponent off, nor free
his throat from those mighty hands, nor writhe from beneath the body
which sat astride him.

The grip on his throat tightened.  The evil face leered down at him,
through a growing haze.

Then Mayhew's struggles ceased, and his body went limp.  The
ferret-faced man drew himself up more erect and swept the crowd with a
glance of triumph.

But Mayhew had intentionally gone limp a few seconds in advance of
actually passing out.  Now with every last ounce of strength that was
left in him, he suddenly heaved up one of his legs and hooked it cross
the other's face.  Then a push with the leg, and his throat was free,
as his opponent was forced back and away from him.

For a few moments the man was held thus, until Mayhew got his wind
back.  But the other, quickly recovering from his surprise, squirmed
out from under the leg which held him, and Mayhew, realizing that this
move would bring his opponent back on top of him again, threw himself
free and sprang to his feet.  Up came the other almost simultaneously.

But as the man braced himself for a third charge, Mayhew changed his
tactics, and not waiting to get into a wrestling position, leaped in
and drove his right fist to the other's jaw.

Down went the man, his skull crashing against the planking as he fell.

Standing astride his prostrate body, Mayhew waited, with clenched
fists, for him to rise again.

But all the fight had been knocked out of the man.  He opened his eyes,
ran one hand bewilderedly across his forehead, then he looked up
appealingly at his conqueror.

"Katango," he moaned.

"I suppose that means 'enough' in your language," replied Adams Mayhew,
with the trace of a smile on his lips.  "Get up!"

Then, suddenly realizing that he was in a foreign land, among strangers
presumably hostile, he backed away from the prostrate body, and
surveyed the surrounding crowd, alertly and vigilantly.  As he cast his
eye over the throng, he saw the face of the beautiful yellow-haired
girl who had gotten him into this trouble.  She smiled at him, and he
grinned back at her.  By her side there stood the handsome bearded man
who had befriended him.

This person stared at Mayhew long and steadily.  Then he bent down and
whispered something to the girl.  She gave a start of surprise, and her
pretty face clouded as she replied.  The two seemed to be arguing.

Then the bearded man stepped forward out of the surrounding crowd and,
placing his right hand on the front of his own left shoulder, bowed
slightly.  Impelled by a natural politeness and gratitude, Mayhew
returned the gesture.

"Tekuo kemel?" the man solicitously inquired.

But Mayhew shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I can't understand you."

The gentleman stroked his square-cut black beard with one hand, pursed
up his lips, and gazed at Mayhew for a moment through narrowed lids.
Then he smiled and held out one hand to Mayhew.

"Kom!" said he.

"Now you're talking," replied the young American, taking the proffered
hand.



As they were about to leave, the girl with the yellow curls stepped up
to them with a sweet expression of friendliness and welcome in her blue
eyes.  She placed a slim, dainty, jeweled hand on the wet and begrimed
sleeve of Mayhew's shirt and spoke to him in her tinkling silvery
voice.  Yet it was all in the strange language of these people.  The
only word which he recognized was "porto," and he still had not the
slightest inkling as to the meaning of that word.

He flushed with embarrassment, cast one swift glance at the girl's
lovely face, and then lowered his gaze and shifted his feet uneasily.
The girl drew back her hand with a gesture of distaste.

The black-bearded man looked from one to the other of them, with pity
and understanding in his kind eyes, nodded slightly, then pursed up his
lips and shook his head.

"Kom.  Porto!" said he, and there was a queer note, an intriguing tone
to his deep voice as he spoke the word "porto."

Then this kindly gentleman and the American whom he had taken under his
protection began to move away.

The crowd parted to let them pass, and now began to break up.  But as
Mayhew was leaving with his new friend he glanced around to see what
had become of the pretty girl and of his late enemy.

The latter had arisen and was brushing himself off, and smoothing his
rumpled tunic.  And, to Mayhew's disgust and annoyance, the girl was
standing very close to the fellow, talking to him solicitously; almost
ostentatiously, it seemed.

Then the black-bearded man led Mayhew through the crowd, and along the
wharf.  Mayhew felt ill at ease, and very dirty and conspicuous.

At the shore end of the wharf was a stone-paved street, flanked by what
appeared to be warehouses.  Along this street they passed.  No vehicles
or beasts of burden were in evidence, but there were large numbers of
gayly garbed persons of both sexes and of various races, many of whom
stopped to stare at Mayhew as he went by.  Some plucked the sleeves of
their companions, and even rudely pointed at Mayhew.  There were
whispered conversations and some laughter, all evidently directed at
their strange visitor.  Mayhew felt more and more conspicuous and
uncomfortable.

Many of these people appeared to be acquaintances of his host, for they
greeted that individual with the gesture of the right arm diagonally
across the chest, with right hand on left shoulder.  To these, the
black-bearded man courteously returned the salute.  Some even presumed
to shout some evidently ribald comment, but these the man silenced with
a frown and a peremptory shake of his head.  And occasionally the
intriguing word "porto" was used; but this seemed to displease the man.

Such was the courtly and assured bearing of his new friend, Mayhew soon
got over his embarrassment and timidity, until finally he held his head
proudly erect--despite his strange and dripping garments--and strode
along beside his host as an equal.  The man, noticing this, smiled and
nodded approval.

Thus they passed on, up the street of the warehouses, until they came
to a large public square, around which were grouped ornate and towering
buildings of carved marble, chased with gold, and capped with domes and
towers and minarets all tiled with that precious metal.  Mayhew forgot
the staring multitudes and his own uncouth appearance in his awe and
wonder at the scene.

As the young American stood staring about, he suddenly noticed that
something across the plaza had attracted the attention of his
benefactor.  A crowd was gathering in front of one of the buildings, an
excited crowd, that gesticulated and pointed at something in their
midst.  Down the various streets, which converged at this public
square, many people came running, to swell the crowd.  And thither
Mayhew's bearded friend now made his stately way, followed by Mayhew.

As they reached the outskirts of the jostling throng, someone shouted:
"Julo!" and the crowd made way for them.  And so Mayhew was able to see
what it was that had caused all this commotion.  It was a bulletin
board on the face of the building; and on the board was posted what
appeared to be a handbill or notice, written or printed in characters
resembling Egyptian or Chinese.  But the outstanding feature of this
poster was its heading: a picture of a huge, fat, repulsive, black
spider!

The moment the eyes of the bearded gentleman fell upon the poster his
handsome face contracted into a scowl.  As he read on his jaw became
set and his hands clenched.  Finally he wheeled around, and wrapping
his toga majestically about him, he stalked out of the crowd like a
thunder-cloud of wrath.

Of course, Mayhew hadn't the slightest idea what it was all about.  The
spider-heading on the poster had somehow cast a chill over him; but,
beyond that, the poster had conveyed nothing.  So, with a puzzled
frown, he ran his fingers through his sandy hair and followed his
patron across the public square.

The streets which radiated from this plaza were flanked with lesser
buildings of much the same architectural style, and up one of these
streets for several blocks the stately, bearded man continued his slow
and dignified march, his face softening as he progressed.  Finally he
halted before a doorway a bit more elaborate and gold-encrusted than
the rest.

"Ya," said he, indicating the place with a lordly wave of his hand, a
slight inclination of the head, and a friendly showing of white teeth.

But suddenly he recoiled from the door and clutched his toga in front
of his throat as he stared aghast at what he saw before him.  Adams
Mayhew looked at the door, to see what it could be that caused his
friend this consternation.

It was a small piece of paper or parchment; and imprinted upon it was a
black spider, exactly like the one at the top of the notice in the
plaza.  Only that, and nothing more.

Mayhew turned his glance from the spider to the face of his friend.  It
was ashen.

But as he looked, the man regained a measure of his composure.  With a
determined shake of the head he stepped forward, ripped the offending
piece of paper from its place, tore it into little bits, and scattered
them in the street.

Then, his face once more serene, he pointed to the scattered bits,
placed his finger on his lips, and looked fixedly at Mayhew.

Mayhew nodded.  He understood the gesture of silence, even though
everything else about the occurrence had been a mystery to him.

His host, satisfied, rapped three times with a golden knocker which
hung from one of a pair of carved, golden doors.  The doors swung open
at the sound, and two black men, naked to the waist, bowed low within
the entrance.

With a slight inclination of the head, the man bade Mayhew enter.



The doorway led into a spacious, golden-pillared hall, down which there
approached a young-faced, though white-haired, woman in a maroon gown.

Her face wore a puzzled expression as she drew near, and she uttered an
explanation coupled with that mysterious word, "porto."

But her husband--for it was evident that she was the wife of the man
with the small black beard--hurriedly spoke several sentences, which
were evidently some sort of an explanation relating to Adams Mayhew.
She paused, clasped her hands with an involuntary little gesture,
wrinkled up her forehead, and said:

"Oh!"

But what she had thought, or what was the purport of the man's
explanation, or what she thought now, Mayhew could not even guess.

On the chance that it was the correct thing to do, he placed his right
forearm diagonally across his chest and bowed low.

Then her husband, with a word of excuse to Mayhew, drew her aside for a
moment, and they conversed together in low tones.  At the conclusion of
their conference, they turned their guest over to one of the black male
servants, who--grinning broadly--led Mayhew away.

Down the ornate hallway they passed, into a flower-filled court, and
thence by an outdoor staircase to a second story balcony, and what
evidently was a sleeping apartment.  Here the black man signaled to
Mayhew to remain, and then withdrew.  Mayhew sat down gingerly on the
edge of a gaudy divan.

Soon the black servant returned, bearing a kimono-like robe of flowered
crepe material which he handed to Mayhew, who slipped off his dripping
sailor clothes and put on the gaudy bath-wrap.

Then the Negro led him to a large room of glazed figured tiles,
depicting scenes evidently of the golden city and the surrounding
country.  In the background of one of the pictures, the volcano which
Mayhew had seen from the Alaska hung ominous and menacing, surmounted
by a black pall of smoke.  Somehow it fascinated the young American.
The shape of the mass of smoke was vaguely reminiscent of the sign of
the spider which had caused so much excitement that afternoon.

In the middle of the tiled room there was a sunken swimming pool, and
along the walls there were marble benches, and cubicles containing
showers.

The young whaler had never seen either a shower bath or a swimming
pool; but his attendant, with a very puzzled expression on his shiny
ebony face, demonstrated their use.

On his return to his own room, Mayhew found that during his absence his
wet and dirty clothes had been removed.  On the couch lay, a blue and
white striped toga, a sleeveless undershirt, a strip of white
cheese-cloth, several feet of blue ribbon, and some jeweled bracelets
and armlets and clasp-pins.  Mayhew put on the undershirt, and the
Negro showed him how to wrap the white cloth around his waist to form a
crude undergarment, how to don the striped toga, and how to tie the
fillet in his hair.  He rebelled, somewhat at the fillet, and
positively refused the ornate jewelry.

When finally dressed, he surveyed himself in a mirror, and was
surprised to see how completely he looked a native of these parts.
Then his attendant led him back to his host and hostess.

Both of them gave a start of surprise as he entered, and Marta, as her
husband called the woman, could be heard to whisper: "Porto?"
inquiringly to her husband.  But the man shook his head with an amused
and quizzical smile, and advanced to greet Mayhew with extended hand.

Then the host led the guest into a small adjoining room, in one corner
of which there stood a large globe of the world, mounted on a tripod.
Here at last was something which might furnish the key to all these
mysteries!  With a glad "Ah!" Mayhew stepped over to it.

But it bore no map of the earth like any he had ever seen before.
True, there were continents which vaguely resembled North and South
America, Europe, Asia, Africa and Australia.  But the Gulf of Mexico
extended northward in a narrow V until it joined the Great Lakes, and
there was a second group of lakes apparently in the midst of the
Rockies.  Siberia was connected to Alaska by a narrow band of land.
The Mediterranean Sea was an inland lake.  A large island lay in the
south Atlantic, almost touching the northern tip of Africa.  And the
Pacific was filled with three parallel, almost adjacent continents,
stretching from east to west.




CHAPTER IV

THE LOST CONTINENT

This was not the earth!  It was some travesty on the earth.  Perhaps a
strange planet!  Mayhew rubbed his eyes and brushed his hand across his
troubled forehead.

Then he swept his arm around him to indicate the surrounding city and
pointed to the globe.  His host instantly caught his meaning, and
indicated the north-eastern corner of the northerly one of the three
Pacific continents.  Mayhew studied the location.  Yes, that would be
just about the latitude and longitude of the Alaska when he was last
aboard her.

He pointed to the island which lay in mid-Atlantic.

"Atlantis," replied his host.

Mayhew had never heard of any such place.

So he pointed inquiringly to the land of his present location.

"Mu," replied his host.  "Ra Mu.  Ulu-umil Ra."

Quite a mouthful!  Mayhew could not be sure how much of that was the
name of the place, and how much was description or explanation.

South America, the man designated as "Xibalba."  But as to North
America, he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders; apparently the
place had no name.

Then Mayhew pointed to himself and to the north Atlantic seacoast, but
his host shook his head incredulously.  Apparently it was inconceivable
to him that any one could live on the continent that had no name.

Their geographical conference was interrupted by the entrance of one of
the Negro servants with a message for Mayhew's host, who at once left
the room, signaling to his guest to follow him.

In the great hallway there stood the beautiful girl of that afternoon's
encounter on the pier, now in earnest conversation with the hostess.
As Mayhew entered with his host, the girl looked up, gave a start and
blushed, then held her head high and turned away.

Mayhew put his arm diagonally across his chest and bowed to the two
ladies.  But the girl ignored him.  Instead of looking at Mayhew, she
turned to the host, addressed him as "Julo," and in an undertone asked
him a question which included that ever-present word "porto."

But Julo shook his black-bearded head, and his eyes twinkled
mischievously.

"No, Eleria," he said, then spoke a string of unintelligible syllables.

The girl and he disputed for several minutes.  Then she bade good-by to
Julo and Marta, and left without even a glance at the luckless Adams
Mayhew.

She had been gone only a few minutes, when there was a commotion at the
door, and the ferret-faced young man Mayhew had fought that afternoon
at the wharves forced his way in at the head of a squad of rough
looking individuals, garbed like him in blue-bordered tunics, and like
him armed with broadswords.

As the leader of the intruders saw Mayhew he stopped, and his jaw
dropped with surprise at Mayhew's new clothes.

Then, pointing his finger, he shouted, "Porto!" and sprang forward,
followed by his men.

But Julo, the host, stepped between them.  Calmly and authoritatively,
but with flashing eyes, he addressed the young centurion, until
apologetically the latter withdrew at the head of his cohorts.  But, as
he left, he flashed a look of hate at Adams Mayhew, and shouted at him
a string of words, ending in the mysterious epithet, "porto."

Not understanding what was said, Mayhew could merely shrug his
shoulders, and make the Muian gesture of hand on shoulder, at his
departing enemy.  His gesture was met with a sneer.  Then the man was
gone.

Julo turned on Mayhew with an expression of supreme contempt on his
handsome aquiline face.  It was the first look other than one of
courteous gentlemanliness that he had ever given his guest.  Then his
expression softened and changed to understanding and mild amusement.

Dinner followed soon after, served in elaborate style from utensils of
solid gold.  Julo at once set about teaching Mayhew the language of Mu.

Finally Mayhew was escorted off to bed by the huge Negro who had been
assigned to him.  His host and hostess accompanied him as far as the
courtyard and there bade him goodnight.



Sleep came quickly to the tired young man.  And as quickly came a
sudden awakening in the middle of the night.

His first reaction was to miss the accustomed roll and toss of the
barque Alaska.  Vaguely he wondered if the vessel had made port, or if
it were drifting on an unusually calm sea.  Then in a flash he
remembered that he was ashore on the mirage-continent of Mu, in the
house of the kindly Julo, who had befriended him.  He turned and
stretched himself on the luxurious sleeping couch, then stiffened to
alertness as he heard a slight scraping sound in the courtyard below.

It was not much of a sound.  On board ship, it would have passed as the
momentary rattle of a bit of tackle.  On shore, back in New Bedford, it
might have been an alley-cat, or the scuffing of a pebble by the foot
of a late passer-by.  But here in this quiet household the sound,
slight though it was, was out of place.

Springing noiselessly to his feet.  Mayhew crept through the doorway of
his room out onto the second story balcony which overhung the
courtyard.  The rays of the moon, coming over the house-wall above him,
flooded the opposite side of the court, and thence diffused their light
throughout the entire inclosure.  Near the middle of the court, shaded
from this reflected light by a bush, crouched a black form.

As Mayhew watched, the figure slunk forward.  There was something
indefinably Oriental about it, and in one hand it held a dagger.  It
was headed for the doorway through which Mayhew had seen his host and
hostess withdraw after bidding him good-night.

His first impulse was to warn the household.  But instantly he realized
that the only certain effect of a shout for help would be to put the
prowler on his guard.  Doubtless servants would come running, but the
intruder was by now only a few paces from the door of Julo and Marta,
and might easily be able to reach his victims before aid could arrive.

So, catlike, Mayhew raced around the balcony to a position just above
the assassin, and then as silently clambered over the edge of the
railing, and slid down one of the posts.

As his feet struck the ground, the man, with hand already on the latch
of Julo's door, heard him and wheeled.  Then the two of them launched
themselves at each other.

Mayhew caught the wrist of the upraised dagger-arm of his adversary
with both his own hands, and thrust his right elbow beneath the other's
chin.  A wrench of his powerful fingers, and the poniard clattered to
the tiles.  Then the other's free hand was at Mayhew's throat.

"Help!" shouted Mayhew.  "Murder!  Help!"

Although these words were in English, the tone of voice meant "help" in
any language.  Doors opened.  Foot-steps sounded on the tiles of the
court, and on the balcony above.

Then a cloud passed across the face of the moon, and the whole
inclosure became suddenly and ominously dark.

Mayhew's assailant was jerked away from him by unseen hands.  Other
unseen hands seized Mayhew and pinioned his arms.  Warm smelly human
bodies engulfed him.  And over all could be heard the babel of shouts
in a strange tongue.

Then the clangor of a gong.  Then lights.  Mayhew suddenly found that
he was no longer pinned down.  He scrambled dazedly to his feet.

Silhouetted in the doorway of Julo's sleeping apartment stood Julo
himself, with toga hastily draped across his shoulders, and a lantern
in his hand.  Six or eight huge Negroes stood about Mayhew, staring at
him and at Julo and at each other, with surprise and confusion on their
black features.

Julo snapped out a question.  Several of the servants, with much
shrugging of the shoulders, began to explain; but their master silenced
them, and pointed a forefinger at Mayhew, with a sadly accusatory
expression on his handsome face.

What could Mayhew say, not knowing more than a few words of the
language!  He could at least try signs and pantomime.

So he pointed to the gallery by his own bedroom door, and then to
himself.  Julo nodded.  Then Mayhew pointed to his own eyes, and to the
center of the courtyard.  Julo nodded again.

Then Mayhew pointed to the bush, by the side of which he had first seen
the prowler; and, going over to it, crouched beside it, and began
sneaking toward Julo's door.  Julo stopped him with a peremptory
gesture, and shot a question at the Negroes.  But they shook their
heads, and shrugged their shoulders.

Back toward Mayhew, Julo turned, with a frown on his handsome face, and
moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.  But, just as he was
about to speak there came a shout from the shadows in a far corner of
the courtyard, and every one crowded over with lights to see what it
was about.

It was the dead body of one of the Negro servants, lying on its back
with a dagger through its heart!  And, pinned to the breast by the
weapon there was a piece of parchment bearing the sprawled figure of a
loathsome black spider!

All stared at it for one long moment.  Then Julo set down his lantern,
walked over to Adams Mayhew, placed his left palm on the young man's
shoulder and warmly shook his right hand.

Of the mob of assailants who had invaded Julo's house, there was not a
sign, but for the rest of the night a Negro servant stood guard in the
middle of the courtyard, and one slept in front of Julo's door, and one
in front of Adams Mayhew's.

With daylight, the household took up its usual routine.  Everything
seemed so peaceful and serene that Mayhew began to doubt if the events
of the night before had not been merely a dream.

His language lessons progressed, under the tutoring of his genial host
and hostess.  But when he sketched upon a piece of paper the rough
figure of a spider, and asked the name for it, Marta clutched at her
heart and hurriedly left the room; and Julo, with a sudden scowl,
seized the paper and tore it into little bits.  Mayhew apologized--in
English, of course.



Shortly before noon Julo gathered his household together and led them
from the house, he and Marta and Mayhew clad in brilliant togas, and
the blacks naked to the waist, with baggy pantaloons, and scimitars in
their sashes.  An air of alert tenseness pervaded the group, but they
reached the public square without any untoward event.

Ascending the steps of one of the buildings with his retinue, Julo
knocked on the door.  It was opened by a white-bearded old man in a
flowing yellow robe, with a flaming red swastika emblazoned upon its
left breast.  He and Julo exchanged a few sentences, and the party was
admitted.

Never had Mayhew seen so much gold; the entire interior of the building
was literally encrusted with it.  The party passed through rooms of
increasing brilliance, until they came out into a huge amphitheater.
The whole was made of white marble, every inch of which was covered
with ingeniously carved gold fretwork.  Around the walls ran tier after
tier of marble seats, surmounted by a canopy of fluted gold, supported
on spiral golden pillars.  But beyond this canopy the room had no roof,
being completely open to the sky.  In the exact center of the
amphitheater stood a square altar of unadorned white marble.

Some of the seats were already occupied.  Julo and his party were shown
to places, and seated themselves.  Other persons came in, until the
place was nearly filled.

A few minutes before noon a bell sounded, and all conversation ceased.
Then, through a doorway beneath the stands, a procession of
yellow-robed priests entered the arena.  They filed once around the
circuit, then the leaders advanced to the center with golden baskets
containing wood and tinder and incense, which they piled upon the
altar.  Then all except the high priest ranged themselves along the
wall at the foot of the stands.

The high priest, kneeling beside the altar and raising his hands aloft
toward the sun, began to intone a chant.  Mayhew could make out none of
the words, except the oft-repeated syllable, "Ra," which he had learned
was the name of the sun.

As the priest ceased his chant, an even deeper hush settled over the
audience.  Then there came a flash, like lightning from the cloudless
sky, and the pile on the altar blazed up.

A sigh, as of relief, passed through the crowd.

"Doubtless some easily explainable trick," thought the American, "but
these people accept it as magic from their god."

A tiny cloud passed across the face of Ra, the sun; the fire began to
smoke; a tenseness came over the crowd; and in that instant a cry of
mortal agony rang out, as one of the circle of priests who lined the
wall of the arena pitched forward on his face.

The hilt of a dagger protruded from his back, pinning to him a small
piece of parchment, bearing the dread insigne of the spider!  That, and
nothing more.

Yet no one had been standing behind the stricken priest!

For an instant the near-by throng recoiled from their dead comrade.
Then, at the command from the high priest, they picked up the body and
hurried it to the altar.  Sweeping aside the now smoldering sacrificial
fire, the officiating prelate directed the gentle removal of the knife,
and the placing of the dead body, face up, upon the altar.  The sign of
the spider he tore into small pieces and trod under foot.  Then began a
second chant to Ra, the sun, who by now had reappeared from the cloud.

To Adams Mayhew the entire performance was merely a part of the temple
ritual, the worship of the sun god of these people, culminating in
human sacrifice.  How revolting!  He marveled that a person of the
evident intelligence and culture of Julo, his host, who had exhibited
such repugnance at the spider-topped poster in the public square, and
at the spider-marked piece of parchment plastered on his own front
door, should nevertheless be driven by his superstitions or his
religious fanaticism to attend temple services dedicated to the thing
which he abhorred.

Mayhew glanced apprehensively about him and noted that Marta's face was
white and quivering, and that Julo's black-bearded jaw was firm and
set, and that the black guards, with drawn scimitars, were standing
around the three of them in hollow-square formation, facing
protectively outward.  But perhaps this, too, was all a part of the
ritual.

Then Mayhew remembered last night's fighting in the courtyard, and the
Negro who had been found dead there, with the mark of the spider upon
him.  Surely a man's own religion would not creep into his household in
the dead of night to commit assassination.  Much perplexed, Adams
Mayhew turned his attention back to the arena below him.

The high priest was still praying to Ra, the sun; and he seemed to be
putting into his words much more sincerity and depth of feeling than he
had put into the original chant which had accompanied the lighting of
the sacrificial fire.

As the aged prelate prayed, the body on the altar stirred slightly;
whereupon all the priests burst into a joyous hymn of praise, and two
of their number rushed forward to the center and bore their stricken
comrade tenderly away.  Then every one, including the audience, knelt
in silent prayer.

The tension appeared to have been greatly relaxed.

If this was all mere ritual, it was well acted!



On the return of the party to the house of Julo, Mayhew's language
lessons were resumed.  Nothing further of excitement happened,
although--or perhaps because--guards were posted every night in the
courtyard, and no member of the household ever went out in the streets
unescorted.  Moorfi, the huge black man who had been assigned to Mayhew
on the day of his arrival, always slept on the balcony just outside his
door.

Marta became increasingly nervous in Mayhew's presence, and treated him
as though he were an insane person who must be carefully coddled, lest
he break loose and do violent damage.  But Julo still displayed
confidence in him, and regarded him with an amused and whimsical
tolerance.

Naturally Mayhew was most anxious to return to America at the earliest
possible moment, but in this desire he was unable to evoke any
cooperation or even sympathy from his otherwise kind and considerate
host, who absolutely refused to believe that any civilized people
inhabited that barren and desolate continent, although he accepted
Mayhew's announcement of his name.  "Adamo Mayho" was as near as he
could come to pronouncing it, however.  Mayhew finally gave up the
attempt to interest his host in the proposition of return, merely
resolving that at some later date he would try to find passage home on
some one of the many trading vessels which made port at this Golden
City.  And perhaps the presence here of the yellow-haired Eleria may
have had something to do with dimming his eagerness to return home.

As the young American rapidly mastered the language of Mu, many of the
matters which had puzzled him were cleared up.  But many more were not.

For example, he learned that the island, or continent, on which he was
located was known as "Mu" or "Ra Mu," "Ra" being the name of the sun,
or sun-god, whom these people worshipped.  Mu claimed to rule the
entire world, which was known as "Ulu-umil Ra"; that is to say, the
empire of the Sun.

Also he learned a little, but not much, about "the spider."  The people
of Mu did not know much about this creature themselves, except that he
was supposed to be the head of a secret organization of some sort,
which was bent on world domination.  None of his followers had ever
been apprehended.  His whereabouts were unknown.  Whoever attempted to
thwart him was marked for slaughter.

The spider's demand for tentative recognition and a parley, posted in
public squares on the day of Mayhew's coming, had been the culmination
of a series of acts of terrorism.  Julo had been leading and directing
the investigation of the spider's activities.  Hence the marking of
Julo's door, and the midnight attempt to assassinate him.



In spite of the rapid progress Mayhew made in learning the language of
Mu, there was one word the meaning of which kept eluding him, namely
the word "porto."  Apparently it was the name for something which he
resembled.  Also, because the mention of it always appeared to
embarrass his hostess, he deduced that it was an uncomplimentary
epithet; and so at a very early stage of his language lessons he gave
up asking even his host about the word.

This was most unfortunate, as events later turned out; for a knowledge
of the meaning of that word "porto" might have saved him considerable
discomfort and even danger.

But, although many matters appeared inexplicable, he did learn
something about his host and his enemy, and the positions which they
occupied in the community.  Julo was a magistrate of some sort, a
person high in the councils of the city.  Tirio was a centurion of the
police, rather dissolute, and quite a leader among the younger set.
Also suspected of plotting against the government.  A trouble maker and
discontent-spreader.  Although he did not come directly under the
jurisdiction of the magistrate Julo, he stood in considerable awe of
him.  Tirio hated and feared Julo, much as a jackal hates and fears a
lion.  Most of this, Mayhew learned from the faithful Moorfi.

In fact, Mayhew learned a great deal from Moorfi, who was a most
garrulous and entertaining Negro, with an effervescent sense of humor
and doglike loyalty.

Not all of Mayhew's time was spent indoors, nor even in the courtyard
of Julo's house.  Once or twice each day he explored the Golden City,
sometimes accompanied by his host.  Always, regardless whether or not
Julo was with him, he was followed by Moorfi and one or two other
blacks.  Moorfi had been assigned as his personal body-servant, and had
developed quite an attachment for him.

On these walks Mayhew never happened to run across the ferret-faced
Tirio; but twice he met the beautiful golden-haired girl, Eleria, and
each time she ignored him completely.  Just why she acted this way, he
could not imagine.  Her coolness and disdain were even more
inexplicable than Tirio's hatred.

One afternoon, Mayhew and Moorfi were strolling along together through
an unfrequented part of the city, followed by another huge black, a
new-comer in the household of Julo.  Moorfi was in the midst of telling
Adams Mayhew a rather long and involved funny story about two traveling
merchants, when suddenly a door was flung open just abreast of them,
and four burly ruffians, garbed in the blue-bordered white tunics of
the police swarmed out upon them, with broadswords in their hands.




CHAPTER V

KIDNAPED

Although taken completely by surprise, Moorfi was not in the least
nonplussed.  With one sweep of his left hand he thrust his master
behind him, at the same instant drawing his scimitar and barring the
way to the aggressors.  The muscles of his bare brawny back and
shoulders rippled with alert excitement.

Here, then, at last was the menace for which Mayhew had been tensely
awaiting all these weeks.  Here was the justification for the vigilance
with which he and the other members of Julo's household had been
guarded.  The Spider had struck again.

Mayhew itched to get into the fight himself, for these thugs were
evidently minions of that public enemy, the Spider; but unfortunately
he was unarmed.  So he turned, to urge the other black into the fray.
But, to his surprise, he saw that he was standing irresolute, with his
scimitar still in the sash of his pantaloons.

"Come on!  Help, Moorfi!" shouted Mayhew.  "What are you afraid of?"

But still the black did not stir, and there was a strange gleam in his
eye that Mayhew did not like.  Moorfi, warding off the attack of four
blades, was falling back toward Mayhew and the other Negro.

"Here, give me your sword, if you're a coward!" exclaimed the young
American, exasperated, as he reached for it.

But, with a quick and unexpected movement, the Negro suddenly clouted
him on the side of the head with one huge hand, sending him reeling
against the building.  Then the black man drew his scimitar and leaped
at Moorfi's unprotected back.

"Kataka, Moorfi!" shouted Mayhew.

With the lithe grace of a black panther, Moorfi wheeled, and met the
descending blade with a sweep of his own.

Mayhew staggered to his feet.  But his view of the fight between Moorfi
and the other Negro was now cut off by the four thugs, who all pounced
on him as he rose.  He drove out his fist at the foremost and then went
down again, with the four on top of him.

For a few moments he struggled, but his adversaries proved too much for
him.  His striped toga was yanked off of him, torn into strips and used
to bind him.  When the four thugs finally arose, Mayhew's ankles had
been strapped together, his elbows bound behind his back, and his mouth
gagged.

In the street in front of him lay the slashed and carved carcass of a
huge Negro.  Over the prostrate form stood Moorfi, his broad back
gleaming with perspiration, and a red and dripping scimitar in one
clenched fist.  Unconcernedly he stooped and wiped his blade on the
baggy pantaloons of his fallen victim, then picked up the other's
scimitar from where it lay unreddened on the paving stones of the
street and turned majestically, with a weapon in each hand, to face the
four thugs.

Flashing one brief glance at Adams Mayhew, he addressed them, saying,
"Well, I have disposed of his guard, and am at your service, gentlemen."

Mayhew gasped in amazement at this display of faithlessness on the part
of his supposedly devoted Moorfi.  Even the four bruisers appeared to
be a bit flabbergasted at this latest development.  They shifted their
feet uncertainly.

One said, "But isn't this fellow the one who tried to defend this
'porto' from us, when we first attacked him?"

"I think not," replied another.

"I'm sure that the _dead_ Negro is one who resisted us," said the
third.  "I remember this fellow springing to help us."

"Well," remarked the fourth, "all Negroes look alike to me.  Let's not
take any chance of his being the wrong one."

But the third thug spoke up again authoritatively, "Captain Tirio told
us that he had planted one of his own servants in Julo's household to
help us with the kidnaping.  And didn't this black man lead our victim
right here to the appointed spot at the appointed hour?"

At this mention of Captain Tirio, Mayhew gave a start.  He had thought
that the attackers had represented the mythical Spider, and now they
turned out to be merely minions of Tirio.  Then a new idea occurred to
him; perhaps they represented both Tirio and the Spider; perhaps those
two were allies!

Meanwhile one of the thugs was asking Moorfi, "What is your name,
fellow?"

"Tuggi," replied the black man without hesitation.  "Tuggi, of the
household of Tirio."

"There!  You see--"

"Quick!" interrupted another of the thugs.  "Some one is coming down
the street.  Here you, guard the corpse.  I go to headquarters to
report finding it.  The rest of you, into the house with the prisoner!"



The huge black man slid his two scimitars into his sash, and
effortlessly lifted the trussed-up Adams Mayhew in his arms.  As they
passed into the house through the still open door with two of their
captors, he whispered hurriedly in the ear of the young American,
"Courage, master; it is all for the best.  We may learn something by
getting inside their house; and I could not attack them while you were
bound."

The door closed behind them.  They stood in a dimly lit corridor.

"Where shall I put the prisoner?" asked the Negro.

"Set him down here," replied one of the thugs, "while I go to report to
Captain Tirio."

"Just a minute," interposed Moorfi, lowering his human burden to the
floor.

Then as the departing man paused and turned expectantly, Moorfi leaped,
and swung at him with his scimitar.  The blade caught the man on the
side of his neck and he went down with a gurgling groan.

"Surrender, in the name of the magistrate Julo," hissed Moorfi, turning
on the other thug.

But, no coward, the other drew his short broadsword and rushed in, too
close to be reached by the longer weapon of the Negro, at the same time
calling loudly for help.

The noise of many approaching footsteps could be heard.

Moorfi dropped his scimitar, seized the wrist of the sword-hand of his
assailant, and closed with him.

The scimitar thudded point downward to the floor and stuck there
humming, within a few inches of Mayhew's feet, its edge toward him.  In
an instant he had thrust his feet against it, thus severing the strip
of cloth which bound his ankles.  Then backing around, he freed his
elbows.

Without waiting to untie the gag about his mouth he snatched up the
scimitar and drove it into the body of the man who was grappling with
the Negro.

As the man collapsed, Mayhew tried to shout, "Quick, Moorfi, the door!"
But all that came was a stifled grunt.

Then a throng of armed men bore down upon them from the corridor.
Moorfi drew his remaining scimitar and side by side the two friends,
black man and white, with their backs against the door, fought against
the oncoming horde.

As Mayhew battled in the dimly lit corridor, he heard a familiar voice
beyond and behind the throng of enemies, shouting, "Don't injure the
prisoner.  He must be captured unscathed."

Then some heavy object, hurtling through the air, struck him on the
forehead and he knew no more.



When he regained consciousness he was being carried hurriedly through
the house.  His ankles had again been tied together, and his elbows
again were securely pinioned behind his back.  His head ached terribly,
and his ears hummed.

Through the confusion of his senses, he heard the voice of Tirio
exclaiming, "The curse of Ra upon you!  Why did you let the black man
escape?  Now he will warn Julo, and we'll have the whole town upon us!"

So the faithful Moorfi was safe!  Adams Mayhew heaved a sigh of relief.
Then his head swam and a black fog engulfed him.

When he awoke it was night.  He was lying, still bound and gagged, on a
rough mattress which swayed gently up and down.  His head throbbed
dully.  Around him he could hear the hum of voices, the lap-lapping of
water and the rhythmic dip of oars.  Overhead the stars shone.  An
intermittent warm breeze brought to his nostrils the sweet exotic scent
of some pungent flower.

Mayhew felt unutterably tired, and drifted off to sleep.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the stone floor of a small
stone-walled room.  He felt dizzy and bruised and battered.  For a few
moments he just lay and stared dully about him.  Then he vaguely tried
to remember who he was and how he had gotten here.

He was Adams Mayhew, of the crew of the whaling barque Alaska.  That
much was clear.

Then events began slowly to piece themselves together in his mind.  The
mirage.  His fall overboard from the Alaska.  The girl, Eleria.  The
rat-faced Tirio.  The fight on the wharves.  The kindly Julo, and his
wife Marta.  The faithful Moorfi.  The various manifestations of the
Spider, whoever that might be.

As his mind cleared, events came back to him more rapidly.  He was the
guest of Julo, magistrate of one of the seven cities of Mu.  There had
been a fight in the streets and he had been kidnaped.

He stretched his arms and felt of his bruised muscles; thus he noticed
that he was no longer bound.  He ran his fingers perplexedly through
his sandy hair.  He coughed, and noticed that he was no longer gagged.

Then he got unsteadily to his feet.  His striped toga was gone and he
was clad only in undershirt, waist-cloth, and sandals.  He felt stiff
and cold.

When he had stretched his cramped limbs and had slapped himself warm
again he began to examine his surroundings.  Although still somewhat
dazed, there was growing in him a resentful realization that the
rat-faced Tirio was responsible for his present predicament.

The room was about twenty feet square.  On two sides were window
openings, through which he could see blue sky and white clouds.  He
limped over to one of the windows and looked out and down.  The room
where he stood was in the second story of a stone castle.  Green
meadows stretched away to a wide river.  Beyond the river were more
fields, and then woods.  Just this side of the woods a herd of large,
stocky, russet-colored animals was browsing; but they were too far away
for Mayhew to make out what they were.

He turned to the other window.  Nothing there but rolling meadows, with
blue hills beyond.

He turned back to the room.  It was bare of all furnishings.  One of
the walls held a massive wooden door.  In the fourth wall there was a
small arched opening into another room, similar to the one he was in.

In fact, so exactly alike were the two rooms, perhaps this supposed
opening was merely a mirror.  Mayhew stepped over to investigate; sure
enough, a replica of himself approached him from the other side.

Mayhew paused and surveyed his image.  Not so battered up as he had
thought!  He grinned.  His image grinned back at him.

Then he noticed that the reflection wore a striped toga, whereas he had
thought that his toga was gone.  He glanced down at himself; he had
nothing on but his underwear, dirty and bedraggled underwear at that.
He glanced back at the mirror, with a puzzled expression on his face;
but the face in the mirror continued to grin.

Then the man in the mirror spoke.

"So it's true," said the man, and stepped through the opening towards
him.




CHAPTER VI

"PORTO"

As the image of himself stepped out of the mirror and confronted him,
Adams Mayhew fell back a pace, and gasped with astonishment.

"Who--who are you?" he asked.

The reply astonished him even more.  It was a single word: "Porto!"

That strange word again!  But here at last was the chance to solve the
mystery of its meaning.

"What does that mean?" asked Mayhew.

"What does what mean?" countered the other man.

"That word.  That awful word 'porto'!"

"Awful?" laughed the man.  "'Porto' isn't a word, it's my name.  I'm
Porto.  Do you mean to say that you've been doubling for me all these
weeks and have never heard my name?"

It was now Mayhew's turn to laugh.

"I've heard it often enough," he said, "but I never knew what it meant.
I thought that it was some sort of insulting epithet, and so I always
felt reluctant to inquire about it.  If I had inquired the explanation
would probably have solved a lot of questions which have been puzzling
me."

"For instance?"

"Well, Tirio's hatred for me, and Eleria's scorn."

The face of his double clouded.

"So Eleria is scornful, is she?" he asked.  "Curse of Ra!  Then she
believes me a coward!  I credited her with more trustfulness than that."

"But who are you, and what is this all about?" Mayhew inquired.

"I must be brief," Porto replied, glancing nervously around, "for we
haven't very much time.  I'll give you only the high spots of my story.
Tirio hates me--never mind why--partly because of a girl, and partly
because he fears my interference in certain schemes in which he has
secretly engaged.  So he publicly challenged me to a blood feud,
although he knows that I am more than a match for him."

"That was either courageous or rash of him."

"It was neither.  For, instead of facing me personally, he caused me to
be shanghaied aboard a trading vessel, and then gave out the story that
I had run away for fear of him.  But," bitterly, "I never expected
Eleria to believe any such yarn about me.  Well, anyway, I escaped from
the ship one night, swam to another ship, and eventually landed in
disguise at a small port on this island.  Imagine my surprise at
learning that I had already returned several weeks before, and had had
a fight with Tirio on the wharves, but since then had remained in
hiding in the house of Julo, afraid to meet Tirio again."

"But, what are you doing _here_?"

"Early last evening, on arriving at the city, still disguised, I
learned that Tirio had just kidnaped me, and had disappeared with me.
Knowing his habits, and his hangouts, I came directly here with quite a
crowd of choice friends, whom I had hurriedly gathered, though I had
some difficulty--thanks to you--to persuade them that I hadn't turned
coward."

Mayhew began to protest, but his double silenced him with, "I'm sorry I
was rude, but you can readily understand how I feel.  This castle is
now surrounded, but of course my friends won't interfere, so long as
Tirio fights fairly and doesn't call in any of his thugs."

"Tell me one more thing," asked Mayhew.  "Is Tirio allied with the
Spider?"

Porto looked startled, then thoughtful.

"He might be, at that," he said judiciously.  "I wouldn't put it beyond
him, if he had a chance, for he, too, has been plotting against the
government.  Of course, no one knows who belongs to that sinister
organization.  And yet I rather think that Tirio does not.  One of his
own best friends was recently marked for slaughter."

"All the more reason to suspect him, if you'd ask me."



But Porto interrupted with, "Now you and I must hurry and exchange
clothes.  I'm fully armed.  I want that rat-faced Tirio to get the
surprise of his life when he comes here to badger you, or me, or
whichever of us he thinks you are."

Mayhew laughed.  Then asked, "How did you get in?  And how am I to get
out?"

"I climbed up a vine on one of the towers, and then, by means of a
rope, I crawled down to one of the windows of the next room.  I'll get
the rope now."

He stepped out through the archway and in a moment was back with the
rope, saying, "With this I can lower you down to the ground."

"But I don't like the idea of sneaking out of here," objected Mayhew.
"Wouldn't it be much more fun for the two of us to confront Tirio
together?  Let's one of us fight him and pretend to get knocked out by
him, and then have the other one of us step into the room and carry on.
He'll think he is seeing a ghost."

Porto smiled appreciatively, but shook his head.

"It would never do!" he asserted.  "This is a blood feud, so I must
vanquish him alone and unaided.  Come on, change clothes with me, and
let me lower you out the window; the guards will be here any moment
with your breakfast."

But just then there came the sound of the sliding back of the bar which
held the door.

"Too late!" whispered Porto.  "All right, we'll have to try your
scheme.  Sit down and look weak and dazed.  I'll step into the next
room and await developments."

As they both did as planned, the door swung open, and Tirio entered,
clad in the tunic of the police.  Striding truculently over to where
Mayhew lay on the floor, Tirio addressed him, "Well, fellow, do you
still claim that you are not Porto?"

"Oh, no," replied Mayhew readily enough.  "I'm willing to admit that
I'm any one you say I am."

"Good!" exulted Tirio, rubbing his hands together.  "I guess that the
manhandling my men gave you last night knocked some of the cockiness
out of you.  Come, stand up and let me take a look at you."

"I don't choose to get up," said Mayhew simply, continuing to lie on
the floor.

Tirio's face went red.

"Don't you realize that you are alone in my castle, and at my mercy!"
he shouted.

"Am I alone?" asked Mayhew innocently.  "Now, you know, I thought that
there were at least two of me here."

"Enough of this foolishness!" exclaimed Tirio, drawing his broadsword
from its scabbard at his waist and waving it menacingly.  "Stand up or,
by Ra, I'll cut a hole in you."

Mayhew scrambled hastily to his feet.

"I'm sure you wouldn't do anything like that," he said in a mock
ingratiating manner.  "You are by far too honorable a centurion to
violate the rules of blood-feudery.  I am unarmed, as you have
doubtless noticed; so it wouldn't be exactly ethical, would it, for you
to cut a hole in me, as you so naively suggest?"

But Tirio had by now sufficiently recovered his composure so as not to
be irritated by this line of sarcasm.  Instead of flaring up again, he
met sneer with sneer, and coolly announced, "You think so?  Well, you
will never carry back to the city any word of my chivalry; and there is
no one else here to note whether or not I observe all the exact
niceties of the blood-feud code."

"Isn't there, though?" said a quiet voice behind the centurion.

Tirio wheeled to confront a man standing in the archway to the
adjoining room, a man toga-clad and calm, with arms folded.  Quite a
different person from the dirty, disheveled, toga-less man whom he had
just been baiting; and yet strangely the same.

"Porto!" exclaimed Tirio aghast.

"The same," replied the vision.  Then, whipping out his sword, "Prepare
to defend yourself."

"But who--?"

"Oh, just my double.  There's two of me, you know."

"But it's against the rules!" Tirio fairly screamed.  "You're taking a
mean advantage of me!"

"Just as you took unfair advantage of Adamo Mayho here?" taunted Porto.
"Oh, no.  I'll do my own fighting, and Mayho will keep out of it."

At the mention of this name, the centurion steadied somewhat.

"So he isn't you, then?" he exclaimed with a relieved gasp.

"Naturally not!" Porto scornfully replied.  "I have no occult power,
whereby to duplicate or project myself.  Come on and fight."

"But how can I know that he will keep out of the fight?"

"In the first place, he is unarmed.  In the second place, you have my
word of honor.  In the third place, you have _his_.  Hasn't he, Mayho?"

"Yes," replied Mayhew, "that is as long as he plays fair."

"I doubt it," said Tirio.  "Help!" he suddenly shouted.

"Quick, Mayho, the door!"

Steps were heard running toward them in the corridor, and shouts of,
"Yes, captain, we come."

The door was standing open, toward them.  The stout wooden bar which
sometimes served to lock it from the outside was leaning against the
door-casing.

Porto glanced around at the opening and quick as a flash the centurion
lunged at him with his sword.  But Porto turned in time and deflected
the blow with his toga-wrapped left arm, then lunged back at his
opponent.  Tirio, being clad in a tunic rather than in a toga, parried
the blow with his sword; but was forced to fall back away from the door.

Meanwhile Mayhew leaped past the two contending men, snatched up the
bar, slammed the door shut, and wedged the bar slantwise against it,
with the bottom of the bar in a crack between two of the stones of the
floor.

And just in time!  For several heavy bodies immediately crashed against
the portal from the outside.  Mayhew threw his weight downward upon the
bar, thus wedging it more tightly in place, then turned to watch the
fighting.

Mayhew's double was driving the centurion slowly backward around the
room; and, even as Mayhew looked, dealt the man a cut across the left
shoulder, and then recoiled just enough to avoid a vicious swipe in
return.

Tirio felt gingerly of his wound with his left hand, and shouted,
"Help!"

"Enough of that!" crisply admonished Porto.  "There's a well-armed
force of my friends concealed in the tall grass just outside this
castle, a force strong enough to be more than a match for all your
henchmen.  I've a whistle here.  If you try any trickery, or if your
thugs succeed in breaking down that door, I shall blow the whistle, and
you'll never live to tell that you defeated me."

But Tirio continued to call for help.  The thudding of shoulders
against the door changed to sharp blows as of a battering ram.  The
door quivered and shook at each impact, but the wedged bar held.



Porto continued to drive Tirio backward around the room.  Again his
blade flashed out, nicking the centurion's arm.  Porto's face wore a
grim smile.  He had established his supremacy over his enemy and was
now playing with him.

But suddenly Tirio's yells for help ceased.  A sly look of cunning
crept into his evil face and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he edged
toward a certain portion of the wall of the room.  The pounding on the
door increased in violence.

At last Tirio threw up his hands and stumbled backward.  Porto lunged
forward at him, sword extended at full arm's length.  The stroke almost
reached the unprotected breast of its intended victim.  But the
rat-faced Tirio had gauged exactly his own backward leap.

And now, as Porto recovered from his lunge, Tirio, instead of sweeping
in on him, stepped sidewise and flung his weight against one of the
stones of the wall.  The stone yielded slightly, and at the same
instant the section of floor on which Porto was standing gave way and
Porto dropped into a yawning black abyss.

A stifled scream of surprise.  The clatter of a sword on a metal chute.
The swish of a sliding body.  A dull thud.  Then silence.

Tirio straightened and turned, broadsword in hand, to face the unarmed
Adams Mayhew.

"Your turn next, Mayho," he growled.

For a moment the young American stood dazed by this sudden turn of
events.

Then he cringed backward in apparent fear against the wall.  The
centurion, his evil little eyes, snapping hate, strode over toward him,
sword aloft.

But Mayhew's terror had been only pretended.  His apparent cringe was
really a crouch.  As the sword was about to sweep down upon his unarmed
form, he suddenly launched himself catlike upon his adversary.  His
left hand caught the sword-wrist of the centurion.  The fingers of his
right hand seized the other's throat.  His face he buried in the
other's breast, to shield it from the blows which Tirio's left hand now
showered upon Mayhew's head.

For a moment they swayed together thus, then crashed down in a heap
upon the stone flagging, close by the edge of the yawning hole through
which Porto had disappeared.

The pounding on the door continued.

Mayhew dug the fingers of his left hand into his adversary's wrist
until the sword dropped and went clattering down the chute.  Then he
transferred this hand, too, to Tirio's throat and squeezed mightily,
oblivious of the blows now rained upon him by both fists of the latter.

The centurion's eyes bulged.  His face became purple.  His lips were
flecked with foam.  His blows gradually weakened.  Then his entire body
went limp.

At the same instant one upper corner of the door gave way with a crash.

There was no time to lose.  If Mayhew would save his friend and double,
Porto, he must get out of here before the minions of his enemy got in.
Heaving the body down the chute, to the accompaniment of shouts of
baffled rage from the faces which showed through the splintered
aperture of the door, he leaped across to one of the windows, and
shouted, "Help!  Help for Porto!"

The tall grass waved below in the morning sunlight, but nothing else
happened.  There was no sign of the friends of Porto.

A knife, hurled through the hole in the door, struck the side of the
window casing, glanced off, and dropped to the ground below.  The men
at the door of the room were now rapidly enlarging the opening with
axes.

Seizing Porto's rope which lay in a heap on the floor, Mayhew tied one
end to an iron hook which projected from the wall beside the window,
threw the other end out, and lowered himself over the edge.  A sword
whizzed by his head.  His last view of the room, as his face
disappeared below the sill, disclosed one of the thugs of Tirio
clambering through the now enlarged hole in the door.

Down the rope scuttled the young American.  The rope parted above him,
tumbling him to the ground in a heap.  A sword dropped point-down
beside him, missing him by a fraction of an inch.  Then he quickly
regained his feet and stumbled off through the tall grass toward the
grove of trees which was supposed to conceal the friends of Porto.

Once he glanced back, and saw the window which he had quitted, framing
a half-dozen evil men in blue-bordered tunics, shaking their fists and
shouting maledictions after him.

The grass of the meadow was waist high.  As Mayhew was striding along
through it a man suddenly rose from its concealment, and confronted him
with the question, "Where are you going, Porto?"

Was this friend, or foe?

"Who are you?" asked Adams Mayhew, at once on the alert.

The man sneered.

"You've been acting very queerly of late, Porto," he said.  "But can it
be that you have forgotten your friend Angosto?"

"I'm _not_ Porto," Mayhew replied.  "I'm merely his double, and the
reason for all these seemingly queer actions of your friend is that I
haven't known until just now that he and I were twins."

"A likely story, Porto."

"But I'm _not_ Porto," Mayhew excitedly exclaimed.  "Quick!  Porto is
in trouble.  He was winning the blood-feud, when Tirio suddenly opened
a chute in the floor, and Porto disappeared.  Where are his friends?
We must hurry back and rescue him!"

"Hold on," objected Angosto.  "You are Porto yourself.  You've been
defeated by Tirio.  He has stripped your clothes from you.  And you are
now running away.  You look pretty much of a wreck, if you'd ask me."

"I didn't ask you," exclaimed Mayhew, beginning to lose his temper.
"But we are wasting valuable time.  Porto is in danger."

A third man stood up out of the surrounding grass and joined them.

"What's all the dispute about?" he asked.

"Porto is afraid to fight Tirio, and is sneaking home," sneered Angosto.



Whirling around to face the new-comer, Mayhew exclaimed, "You look as
though you had brains.  Will you take a chance that I'm telling the
truth when I say that I'm not Porto, and that Porto is in danger due to
Tirio's trickery?"

"Who are you, then?" asked the other, incredulously.

Chafing at the delay, Mayhew briefly recounted his adventures since
landing on Mu.  But as to his origin, he merely said that he came from
a small settlement on the continent that had no name, and that his boat
had been sunk off the shores of Mu.  Not even to the kindly Julo had he
ever related the true details of his fall overboard and the
disappearance of the whaling barque Alaska; for these were too
incredible.

When Mayhew had completed his story the newcomer determinedly
announced, "I'll take the chance.  We'll attack the castle at once.
And, if it turns out that you really are Porto after all, as even I
still believe, we can turn you over to Tirio and wash our hands of you."

"Fair enough," agreed Mayhew.  "Come on."

The man pulled a whistle from the folds of his toga, and blew it.
Instantly a dozen men arose from the grass on all sides and came
hurrying over.  The situation was explained in a few words to their
incredulous ears; and then, drawing their swords with a resolute cheer,
they set out for the castle.

During the latter part of the conversation Mayhew had been vaguely
conscious of a loud and distant droning noise, like a woodpecker
pounding on a tin roof.  Now, as they started toward the castle of
Tirio, Mayhew glanced around in an attempt to locate the source of this
peculiar sound.  It came from overhead.  Far aloft, sweeping toward
them, was what looked like a huge dragonfly, with rigid tail and four
wings projecting sideward from near its head.  The noise, reverberating
against the flawless blue of the sky, became almost deafening as the
thing approached.  All the party stared up at it.

"What's that?" gasped Mayhew.

"Don't you know, Porto?" asked Angosto, incredulously.  "Oh, I forgot,
you claim not to be Porto.  That thing is one of the flying chariots of
the priesthood of Ra."

"A flying machine?" gasped Mayhew.  "Some crazy scientists in my own
country have claimed that men will sometime learn to fly, but of course
that's absurd."

"The priesthood have been doing it here for years," Angosto explained,
"but no one knows how they do it.  It's a closely guarded secret, and
the weird things are seldom seen."

The airplane passed by and out of sight.  By this time Mayhew and
Angosto and the other friends of Porto had reached the door of Tirio's
castle.

"Now how are we to get in?" asked one.

To their surprise the door was flung open and one of the tunic-clad
thugs rushed out.

"A truce!" he called.  "A truce!  The castle is overrun with
spider-men!  Come help us against the common enemy."

"Death to the spider-men!" shouted the leader of Mayhew's party.  "Come
on!  But," he urged in a lower tone of voice, "beware of treachery."

Then, with drawn swords, they charged through the open doorway into the
dark interior of Tirio's castle.




CHAPTER VII

THE SPIDER-MEN

They eyes of the invaders had scarcely adapted themselves to the
dimness of this lower corridor of Tirio's castle, after the contrasting
bright tropical sunlight outside when they were set upon by a veritable
pack of little yellow men.

Mayhew stumbled over a prostrate body and fell to his hands and knees.
He could see more distinctly now.  The body wore a blue and white
tunic.  The fighting passed on into the interior.

A sword was clutched in the dead fingers.  Mayhew freed it and weighed
it in his own hand.  Then an idea came to him: if he was to rescue
Porto, how better than by disguising himself as one of the forces of
Tirio?  So he hastily donned the tunic and armlets of the fallen thug.
Then he too pressed on toward the noise of the fighting.

Another tunic-clad individual entered from a side corridor.  Before
this man was aware of Mayhew's presence, Mayhew had seized the man's
shoulder and had pressed the point of his blade against the man's ribs.

"Lead me to the dungeon at the foot of the chute, which runs from the
tower room," he hissed.

"Who are you?" asked the man, squirming a bit.

"Never mind," Mayhew replied.  "Lead on.  And no treachery."

"But we are all friends for the moment," objected the thug.  "The
castle is overrun with spider-men."

"How do you know?" asked the American.  "I thought that no one had ever
seen a spider-man."

"No one ever has before today.  But these are spider-men, all right.
Look!"

Mayhew looked.  In the hallway in front of them stood two small,
slant-eyed, Oriental-looking individuals, each holding a pair of sharp
daggers.  Each was clad in a flaming red tunic, on the breast and back
of which was emblazoned the black, squat, repulsive spider symbol, with
which Mayhew had become so familiar.  A moment ago the corridor had
been empty.

As he stared at these two weird new-comers, they sprang.  One launched
himself at Mayhew, the other at Mayhew's captive.  The American swung
his blade at the left wrist of his assailant, at the same time
crouching and driving his left fist into the man's midriff.  The man
crumpled, and Mayhew dropped astride him and disarmed him.

Glancing up, the American satisfied himself that his companion was
holding his own in the knife duel with the other spider-man; then
turned his attention back to the man beneath him.  But, to his
surprise, he found himself, kneeling astride of nothing!  The
spider-man was no longer there.  And yet Mayhew had not felt him
wriggle out from under.

Passing his left hand perplexedly through his sandy hair, Mayhew
scrambled to his feet and looked hastily and alertly around.  But he
stood alone in the corridor.  The two spider-men and the minion of
Tirio had all vanished into thin air!

He shook his head with perplexity, and much disturbed, passed
cautiously on along the corridor.  A stairway attracted his attention
and gave him an idea.  If he could get to the tower room in which he
and Porto had fought with Tirio, perhaps he could go down the chute and
find his friend.  He sped up the stairs.

In the upper hall he found a coil of rope.  The room which he sought,
he identified by its broken door.  Yes, there was the hole in the
floor, still gaping open.

He knelt at its edge and stared down, but could see nothing except the
beginning of the chute, shading off into the black depths below.

"Porto!" he called.  "Tirio!"

No answer.

So, sheathing his sword, he tied his rope to the hook by the window,
and then threw its other end down the chute.

But, just as he knelt to lower himself down the chute, he was pounced
upon from all sides by a perfect swarm of little yellow spider-men.
The attack was unexpected.  He had not heard or seen them enter the
room.  Yet here they were, and he was unarmed and at their mercy.

Against overwhelming odds he fought.  Fought, though he lay upon the
floor beneath a pile of humanity.  He heard one of the enemy gasp and
then go shrieking down the chute, to a thud and silence.

His own wind was cut off.  He strained to breathe.

Gradually Adams Mayhew's senses cleared again.  He still lay at the
bottom of a pile of warm and smelly human bodies, but they were picking
themselves up.  He drew great gulps of air into his tortured lungs, but
the air tasted sulphurous and strangely unrefreshing.  Although the
mist cleared from his eyes, the redness of all his surroundings still
persisted.

He struggled to his feet and stared around, but recognized nothing.

Although he had not passed completely out--he was sure of that one
fact--nevertheless the room of Tirio's castle, where he had been but an
instant before, had now miraculously metamorphosed into a vaulted cave
with stalactite-covered walls and ceiling, lit by the reddish glare of
flickering torches.

On the ground beside him lay another man, the henchman of Tirio, by
whose side he had fought in the lower hallway of the castle, and who
had so miraculously disappeared in the midst of that fight.  Around the
two of them stood scores of the little yellow men, in their red tunics
with the spider insigne.

One of them was announcing, "Excellency, we bring you the last two of
the wearers of the blue and white."

"Fools!" hissed a voice, and its metallic menace sent a chill through
Mayhew and caused the hairs to rise on the back of his neck.  "Fools,
this is not the man.  Neither of these is the centurion Tirio."

Mayhew's gaze sought the source of this obscene voice.

He saw a square-cut throne of blood-red marble.  On each of the two
corners of the top of the back there reposed a white and grinning human
skull.  In the seat of this throne there sprawled a black spider with a
yellow face!  Was it a spider?  Or was it a man?

Yes, it was a man.  But what a creature!  It was a fat, squat, bloated
hunchback, clad in a tight-fitting, closely-knitted black garment.
Lean clawlike fingers gripped the two arms of the throne.



The creature's head was bald and parchment-skinned.  Its eyes were
slanted.  Its nose and chin were both hooked, until they nearly met.
Its mouth was wide, its lips thin and cruel; and through them there
projected two long, sharp, white dog-teeth, like poison fangs.

"Take them away," it croaked, waving one taloned hand toward Mayhew and
his prostrate companion.  "Take them away and feed them to the eternal
fires."

Instantly several of the little yellow men leaped upon Mayhew and tied
his arms behind his back before he had a chance to resist.  The
henchman of Tirio was jerked to his feet and similarly tied.  Then the
two of them were prodded with sharp knives out of the presence of the
repulsive creature on the red marble throne.

To the accompaniment of many flaming torches they were driven through
winding passageways of solid rock.  It seemed they went miles.  It
became a treadmill existence like sleep-walking.  When either of them
stumbled and fell, as occurred increasingly often, the luckless one was
kicked and prodded and knifed to his feet again.

Gradually the smell of sulphur in the air became more and more
oppressive.  A flickering red glare, somehow different from that of the
torches, loomed ahead down the corridor.  At regular intervals a shriek
of agony could be heard.  Each shriek ended abruptly, as though
suddenly snuffed out.

Finally the passageway widened out into a huge cave, at the far end of
which there was an inferno of flames, rising from the level of the
floor and extending a hundred feet or more upward, to disappear through
an aperture in the roof.  Silhouetted against these fires were four or
five small groups of men, and at the very edge of the flaming abyss
there stood a score or more individuals armed with long spears.

As Mayhew's party entered the chamber, one of the groups ahead bustled
a resisting figure up into the midst of the spearmen, who promptly
presented the points of their spears to the poor creature's back and
forced him to the brink.  He struggled to escape them, but he had to
move or be impaled, until at last he toppled over the edge with a
despairing shriek which came to an abrupt end with a puff of flame.

It reminded Adams Mayhew of a moth flying into a lamp, and being
suddenly snuffed out.

Victim after victim was driven over the edge of the eternal flames,
until finally there were left only Mayhew and the henchman of Tirio.
Of these two, Mayhew's turn came first.  In spite of his struggles, he
was prodded forward and turned over to the spearmen.  His bonds were
cut, doubtless to render his death agonies more interesting.  Then,
with the sharp spears pricking into his back, the relentless march to
the flaming brink began.

He reached the edge and looked down.  And now he saw that what he had
taken for flames, when viewed from the entrance to the cavern, was not
flames at all, but rather the reflections from a seething caldron
below, cast upon a rising cloud of smoke and steam.  He glanced upward,
and saw this cloud being sucked into an unending funnel above, a
veritable chimney.

Down again into the pit he stared.  Not more than twenty or thirty feet
below the ledge on which he stood, there boiled and surged a lake of
molten fire.  It flowed and seethed and jostled.  Parts of it bubbled
upward, and then spread outward like springs of glowing water.  Still
other parts, caught between two opposite streams, eddied and whirled.

Sometimes real flames would leap upward and lap the rock on which he
stood.  One such flame, reaching higher than the others, singed his
hair and eyebrows and eyelashes, and drove him back against the sharp
points of spears.

Recoiling from a score of cuts, he leaned suddenly forward again, lost
his balance, and toppled at the brink.  But, with a mighty effort, he
flung his body back against the spear-points, and did not flinch as
they bit into his flesh again.

The rock upon which he stood crumbled.  His sandaled feet slid over the
edge, and he landed sitting on the very brink.  The smell of burning
flesh--or leather--assailed his nostrils, and intense pain shot through
his legs.

Flinging himself upon his back, he lifted his legs high out of the
licking flames, only to have them beaten down again with the points of
spears.  Other spear-points jabbed into his neck and shoulders, and
pushed him slowly toward the edge.

With one last despairing effort, he rolled over onto his face.  His
entire body from the waist down was now hanging over the flames, but
the caldron was for the instant indulging in one of its momentary
lulls, and the cool breeze, which the draft of the devil's chimney
sucked through the caverns toward this spot, reduced to some extent the
searing heat on his lower limbs.

He grabbed for the haft of one of the prodding spears, only to have the
sharp edges of its point tear his palm as it was yanked from his grasp.
Again he grabbed, this time with both hands and higher up.  And this
time he was prepared for the backward yank.  He held tight, and threw
up one knee.

Out of the pit he came.  And when the spearman, too late, changed his
tactics and thrust instead of pulling, Mayhew was already on his feet
again, and able to push the spear to one side and let go.

Then, before the spearman could recover or any of the others could jab,
Mayhew lunged forward, flung his arms around the spearman, dragged him
to the floor, and rolled over with the spearman on top, so that the
latter's body would protect him momentarily at least, from the thrusts
of the others.

In this position, the American held on like grim death.

For a few seconds Mayhew was able to hold the body of the spearman
protectingly above him.  But knives, jabbing into the muscles of his
arms, soon loosened his hold, and the man was dragged off of him.

Mayhew was jerked to his feet and, bleeding and staggering, was once
more hustled to the edge of the pit.

As he tottered at the brink, a shout of command echoed through the
chamber.  The spear-thrusts ceased; but Mayhew, too weak to stand any
longer, lurched over the edge into the eternal flames.




CHAPTER VIII

TO BE A SLAVE

The next thing Mayhew knew he was lying painfully on a hard stone
floor, while a group of men, weirdly illumined by flickering red light,
were standing above him, arguing about something.

"But I tell you the boss said he wanted two, not one."

"Maybe so.  Maybe so.  But what good is this fellow, thoroughly
scorched and full of spear-holes?"

"There's no harm in trying him.  If he lives and stands the work, well
and good.  If he dies, he dies.  And if he lives and can't do the work,
back he can go to, the eternal fires."

At this point Mayhew interposed with a faint, "What happened?  Didn't I
fall into the volcano?"

"You did, fellow," one of the guards replied.  "But I dropped my spear,
reached over, and grabbed you, just in the nick of time.  You nearly
pulled me in with you.  And now, after all my trouble, some of these
yellow friends of mine insist on throwing you back in again."

The speaker, although he wore the red tunic of the forces of the
spider, had the features of a white man.

"But I don't understand," persisted Mayhew, now sitting up and staring
around him.  "Why was I pulled out at all?"

"Somebody yelled, 'Stop!  Save him!  We need two!'" explained the white
spearman.  "And so, without thinking, I grabbed."

"Two what?" asked Mayhew.

"Two slaves.  His excellency, the spider, keeps a certain number of
thousands of slaves.  All over that number go to feed the fires of our
goddess."

"Then you don't worship Ra?"

"Pele forbid!" chanted the group in unison.

Things were going fine.  So long as Mayhew could keep up this
conversation, he was staving off the fatal trip back to the eternal
fires.  He brightened perceptibly, in spite of the pain of his burns,
and his faintness from loss of blood.

"So I'm to be a slave?" he mused aloud.

"Not a chance," replied one of the group.  "You're too done for."

"Look here," said the white spearman, wheeling around upon the last
speaker.  "The boss sent for two, didn't he?  Well, then, we'll send
him two."  Then to Mayhew, "Stand up, fellow.  If you can make it, your
life is saved.  Good luck to you."

The American staggered to his feet.  His tunic was gone--burned off,
probably.  His sandals were charred.  His legs were blistered.  One
hand was throbbing painfully.  And he was covered with blood.

But he was still alive!

"Lead on," said he, grimly setting his teeth.

"Just a minute," interposed the white spearman.

Walking over to Mayhew, he placed, one of his feet alongside one of the
American's and studied the comparison.

"A bit large," he mused, "but all the better.  Here, fellow, sit down
while I fix you up."

Mayhew was glad enough to obey.

But one of the yellow spearmen objected.

"You're a sentimental fool," he said.

The white spearman wheeled around upon him with a menacing, "Pele is
hungry for such as you."

The objector promptly subsided.  Then the white spearman reached up
under his own red tunic and removed his nether undergarment, which he
tore into strips.  Tenderly unfastening the charred remains of Mayhew's
sandals, he bound these strips around his feet.  Then he removed his
own sandals and adjusted them over these bandages.

"There, fellow," he said, getting to his feet and dusting off his
hands, "now you have a fighting chance to survive."

Mayhew, too, arose.

"Thank you ever so much--" he began.

But his benefactor cut him off with, "It's nothing.  I may be an exile
from my own people, but I'm still human."

"His excellency shall hear of this," muttered one of the others.

"And if so, so will Pele," snapped the white spearman.

"Let's get going," interrupted the messenger who had come for the two
slaves.  "And I'll need two guards."

"Take Tolofo.  We don't want him," chorused several.



And so it was that Tolofo, the white spearman who had befriended
Mayhew, was one of those to accompany him on his long and painful
pilgrimage.

The two prisoners and the messenger carried torches.  Tolofo and the
other guard carried spears.  In addition, the messenger and the two
guards wore broadswords hung from a belt of polished steel links.

The route led for about a mile through winding subterranean tunnels.
Mayhew gritted his teeth and struggled to keep up with the others, but
it was grim work.

Finally they reached the foot of a circular shaft, through the far
distant top of which could be seen the blue sky.  Around the walls of
this shaft there ran a spiral staircase, up which the party began to
climb.

Mayhew's feet by now had ceased to hurt.  But, what was worse, they had
become numb.  He had hard work controlling them; they refused to track,
yet he stumbled upward.

In his unsteady condition, fearing the sheer edge of the steps,
unguarded by any rail, he hugged the wall, until the yellow spearman,
bringing up the rear, bumped against him.  Unable to recover his
balance, he lurched toward the edge.  The yellow spearman jabbed at him
with his weapon; but Tolofo, turning, drove in with his own spear,
warding off the blow, and with the same motion forcing Mayhew back upon
the step.

"It would be very unfortunate," Tolofo remarked in a casual tone, "if a
yellow spearman should accidentally fall to the bottom of this shaft."

"It would be more unfortunate," interposed the messenger, "if some one
were to report how it happened."

"And it would be still more unfortunate," the white spearman retorted,
"if two yellow men fell down the shaft."

The party resumed their upward climb, Tolofo keeping close to Mayhew,
and between him and the edge, the rest of the way up.

At last they reached the top, and stood on a mountain spur.  Behind
them towered the smoking volcano, which Mayhew had seen before, but
never so close as this.  Before them were foothills, and beyond those
were rolling prairies beribboned with streams, and dotted with groves,
villages and farms.  In the far dim distance shone the domes and
minarets of the Golden City, and beyond that sparkled the sea.

The clear mountain air felt most refreshing after the sulphurous fumes
and the torch-smoke of the caverns.  The light of Ra, the sun, was most
cheering, after the red glare of Pele, the fire goddess.

Mayhew's head began to clear.  His wounds had already limbered up
considerably, and now the feeling began to return to his numbed legs.

For a few moments the party sat on the rocks and rested, then they
turned to the left and took up a winding trail along a shoulder of the
mountain.  For hour after hour they trudged on, over rough volcanic
rocks, sometimes uphill, sometimes down, but rarely on the level.

To keep his mind off his troubles, Mayhew let his thoughts dwell on the
crowded affairs of the last few hours.  Less than a day ago he had been
peacefully living in the Golden City of Mu, a guest of the magistrate
Julo.  Since then he had been kidnaped by Tirio; had met his own
double, Porto; had fought first against the forces of Tirio, and then
with them against the spider-men; had been miraculously spirited away
from Tirio's castle to the caves of living fire, where he had met the
spider face to face; had been almost sacrificed to Pele; and finally
had trudged miles and miles.

He thought of Eleria.  Mistaking Adams Mayhew for his double, Porto,
and misinterpreting his ignorance for cowardice, she had never
relented, had never unbent toward him.  And yet it was her presence in
the Golden City, and the hope of breaking down her reserve and
eventually making her acquaintance, that had reconciled Adams Mayhew to
the gradually growing realization that for him at least, America
somehow no longer existed, and that he was doomed to spend the rest of
his existence on the continent of Mu.

With these thoughts he plodded doggedly on.  His thought became blurred
and incoherent.  On a treadmill, through a thick haze, he pursued the
floating vision of a cameo-cut face, surmounted by an aureole of
honey-colored hair.  At length, even this face vanished.  A black fog
engulfed him.  Adams Mayhew was "out on his feet."

"Halt!" sung out a peremptory voice ahead of them.  "Who comes?"

The five men halted.  Mayhew swayed for a moment.  Then his knees
crumpled, and he sunk silently to the ground.

Ages later, he came to his senses again.  Every muscle of his body
ached.  His feet and legs stung and throbbed excruciatingly.  But he
was lying on soft mats, and over him was bending a kindly face masked
behind a luxuriant and bushy blond beard.

"Well, fellow," said the voice of Tolofo, "you've had a long, hard
pull, but you've made it."

"Where am I?" weakly asked the American.

"At one of the labor camps of his excellency."

"And what are _you_ doing here?"

"I've had a stroke of luck, which shows that it pays to do a kind deed.
When we reached here ten days ago, one of the foremen had just died.
The boss liked my looks and gave me the job.  So here I am, sitting
pretty.  All of which is probably a good thing for you, too.  I had
quite an argument with the boss as to what to do with you."

"I suppose he wanted to send me back to Pele," wryly.

"Not at all.  Much simpler than that.  Just heave you into the sea."

"Are we near the sea?" asked Mayhew, an immense longing welling into
his heart.

"Just a few hundred paces."

Mayhew sat up and sniffed the salt breeze.  In the not far distance he
could hear the pounding of surf upon rocks, and the sucking rattle of
pebbles under receding waves.  A smile formed upon his face and he sank
back contentedly among the sleeping mats.

"You'll do, fellow," remarked Tolofo approvingly.




CHAPTER IX

THE STORM

A few days later Mayhew was up and about.  He had been staying in the
foreman's own private cave, but now he was transferred to one of the
prison cells of the workers, an evil smelling hole, barred with an iron
grating and shared by a dozen rough men.

This entire squad, which Tolofo commanded, was made up of white men.
Some had been gentlemen before their capture by the Spider, and some
had been bums, but all were now indistinguishably vicious and desperate.

Tolofo ruled them with an iron hand, yet always with such fairness and
consideration that the men soon grew to respect and almost love him.  A
warm bond sprang up between him and Mayhew.  At first the other men
resented this, but after Mayhew had thrashed the camp bully for
accusing Tolofo of favoritism, they respected him too.

This particular labor camp was located near the head of a deep rocky
fjord.  Inland from the fjord and separated from it by a thin but high
wall of rock was a small salt-water lake, in which the tide rose and
fell in unison with the sea outside, thus indicating some concealed
connection between the two.  From this lake, the slaves of the Spider
were employed in tunneling into the heart of the mountain, for the
rumored purpose of providing a canal, which should lead to a secret
harbor, close and convenient to the throne-room of his excellency.

Other labor battalions were at work excavating this supposed harbor,
and in digging outward therefrom to meet the tunnel on which Mayhew and
his fellow laborers were engaged.

Mayhew's wounds and burns at last were healed.  His singed hair grew
out again, long and unkempt.  And a bushy blond beard developed.  Soon
he was able to do a day's digging alongside the best of them.

Then came the day of the great storm.  The gang was working in the
tunnel, when the sea end of it gave way to the beating of the waves,
and a sudden rush of waters engulfed them.  An instant ago they had
been picking and shoveling, by the light of a score of flares.  Now
they found themselves caught and tumbled about in the swirl of a
whirlpool, with all of the torches but one extinguished.  Toward that
one light they fought, choking, gasping, clawing at each other and at
every projection of rock.

Mayhew was the first to reach firm ground and drag himself out upon a
ledge.

Above the reverberating din of the pounding waves, he shouted, "Use
your heads!  Help each other!  Don't fight!"

Another slave pulled himself up on the ledge beside the American and
lay whimpering.  Mayhew shook him into coherence.  Then, as successive
surges brought the clawing mass of humanity within their reach, they
seized two of their friends and pulled them ashore.

Soon all the squad were accounted for.  They ceased their efforts and
panted from their exertions.

Suddenly one of them exclaimed, "Where's Tolofo?"

All the workers were saved, but not the foreman.  Mayhew snatched the
torch from its niche, and held it far out over the black waters.  Just
at the limit of its beams he thought he saw a rising and falling shape
which might be a human body.

Handing the flare to the nearest man, he said, "Hold it for me," and
plunged in.

He reached the floating shape and grasped it.  Just then the light went
out.  An eddy whirled him around and he lost all sense of direction.
Holding tight to the tunic of the body, he tried to swim toward where
he imagined his friends to be; but suddenly the waters sank down,
sickeningly down, down, sucking him with them, and then something hard
and sharp struck his head from above.

For a moment he was stunned, but he never loosened the grip of his
right hand.  When he opened his eyes again it was to the gray daylight
of a driving storm.  He was in the basin of the salt lake.

But the return swell was bearing him back again toward the face of the
rock wall of the tunnel.  Frantically he attempted to stem the tide.
The waters sucked him on and down.  But just as he reached the face of
the cliff the current turned, and carried him out again.  Almost
exhausted, he swam toward the rocky shore of the lake.

Alternately he was swept this way and that, but at last he made it, and
hauled himself and the body of Tolofo out onto a low pinnacle of rock,
where he lay and held on for dear life.

The side of the basin was too steep for him to climb, even if he had
not been burdened by the body of his friend.  All he could do was hold
on.  The waves broke over him, the storm beat upon him, yet still he
held on.

But gradually his hold weakened.  He shouted for help, against the roar
of wind and wave, but no one answered.




CHAPTER X

ANOTHER IMPERSONATION

Adams Mayhew clung with one hand to the wave washed rock, and with the
other to the tunic of Tolofo.  He resolved to let go of the rock before
he would relinquish his hold on his friend; but he bent every effort to
retain both.

A pebble dropped on him.  He heard a slipping, scraping sound above the
roar of the storm.  Glancing up, he saw a man-like shape descending the
face of the cliff.  A hand reached out and touched him.  With a lurch
he let go of the rock and grasped the hand.  It pulled him to his feet.
Then, with the last ounce of strength remaining in him, he passed the
body of Tolofo up to the man above.

A few minutes later Mayhew himself was being handed from man to man up
the face of the cliff.

The whole squad regathered in the quarters of the foreman.  Tolofo at
last opened his eyes, but he was very weak, and kept spitting blood.

They told him how Adams Mayhew had rescued him.

"Fellows," said he, "I'm done for.  I think my whole side is caved in.
Mayho, you're a good fellow.  With that beard you look enough like me
that a stranger would not know the difference.  Why not _be_ me?  And,
when I die, bury Adamo Mayho."  He coughed painfully and spat.

"It hurts to talk," he said, yet he kept on.  "You know something of my
story; how I fled from the Golden City, an outlaw, accused of a crime
of which I was innocent.  I have been a spider-man for six moons, a
spearman all that time.  This--information--will--enable--you--"

A paroxysm of coughing ensued.  His head flopped to one side, and his
stiffened body relaxed and slumped.  Tolofo, the renegade, was dead.

A subdued gang of burly men stripped the body of its blood red tunic
and carried it through wind and rain to the edge.  of the cliff.

"Too bad we haven't a priest to consign his soul to Pele," mused one.

"To Pele with Pele!" shouted another.  "He was white, even if he was a
spiderman.  His soul will go to Ra."

"I used to work in one of the temples," diffidently put in a third.  "I
can give part of the ritual."

"Go on," urged a fourth.

So they laid the body face-up upon the rain lashed rocks and the thug
who had once been a temple attendant haltingly recited the chant to Ra.
As he finished there came a rift in the clouds above and a single beam
of sunlight shot down for an instant upon the little funeral group.

"Over with him, while the sun-god smiles!" whispered one, and the body
of Tolofo splashed into the raging lake beneath.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
Amen," said Mayhew under his breath, as he turned away with a tear in
his eye.

"Well," remarked one of the others, "we've buried Adamo Mayho.  What
are your orders, Tolofo?"

Mayhew snapped back to the present.

"My orders," said he quietly, "are that one of you go down to
headquarters, report to the boss the breaking of the sea-wall and the
drowning of Mayho, and convey my request for an extra issue of wine
because of the hardships which you have been through."

"Three cheers for Adamo Mayho!" shouted one.

"Careful!" cautioned another.  "You mean: three cheers for Tolofo."

Thus the new Tolofo rose phoenixlike from the ashes of the old.

That night Mayhew slept in the quarters of his friend and former chief,
and the next day he took up his duties as foreman of the gang.

At noon a messenger arrived with a letter for Tolofo.  Mayhew opened
it; then ran his fingers through his hair.  The crest of the letter was
a squat, sprawled, hairy black spider; that was familiar and
understandable enough.  But Mayhew had not sufficiently mastered the
written language of Mu to be able to make out more than one or two of
the hieroglyphics which formed the message.



This presented a quandary.  Was Mayhew, in his guise as Tolofo the
foreman, supposed to be able to know how to read?  Nothing to do but
take a chance and find out.

"Any reply?" asked the messenger.

"Speak when you're spoken to," the American curtly answered.  "There
will be a reply, but I shall not have it ready until tomorrow.  Go down
to headquarters and ask them to put you up for the night."

When the messenger had departed, Mayhew hastily called his squad
together and asked, "In my previous existence did I know how to read?"

No one could remember.

"Can any of you read?"

The man who had worked in a temple claimed to be able to read a little;
but, after perusing the letter for several minutes, he had to admit
that he could make nothing of it.

Later in the day, the boss came by to see what progress they were
making toward clearing up yesterday's debris, and to give them
instructions for sinking a new shaft a safe distance back from the
present water-filled tunnel.  When they had agreed upon the details of
this new project, Mayhew drew the letter out of the pouch which hung
from his sword belt and handed it over to the boss.

The latter read it through with pursed lips, then stared fixedly at
Mayhew.

"You've read this yourself, of course?" he asked.

"Well--no," admitted the supposed foreman.  "I tried to, but somehow I
couldn't quite catch the drift of it."

"Why, I thought that you could read!" exclaimed the boss.  "You were an
educated gentleman before you enlisted under the Spider."

"True," admitted Mayhew, putting on a sheepish expression.  "But I was
a wild youth, and my education was rather neglected.  That's how I came
to get into the trouble which drove me to seek refuge with his
excellency."

"Yes, I know," mused the boss.  "But you always claimed to be able to
read."

"True again," said Mayhew, "and I threw a pretty good bluff at it, too.
I did it in the hope of advancement."

"Well, at least you have the good sense to risk your reputation, rather
than to conceal this letter.  Are you sure that Adamo Mayho was
drowned?  That he didn't escape?"

"Why--yes," stammered Mayhew.  Then, recovering his poise with an
effort, he continued: "Has any one who has gone over the hill ever
gotten by the guards?"

"No.  But you are reported to have been unduly friendly with this
Mayo," pointedly accused the boss.

"He was my best worker," Mayhew boldly countered.

"Well, you have produced wonderful results with your gang," grudgingly
admitted the boss.  "It's a good thing for Mayho that he _is_ dead, if
he is; for this letter is an order from his excellency that Mayho be
seized and bound at once, as a dangerous character, and sent back to
the throne room.  Reading between the lines, I think I can see that
Pele is hungry."



At the close of the work that day Mayhew was still thanking his lucky
stars that he had changed places with the dead Tolofo.  But he did not
remain thankful for long.

As he was locking his squad in their cells for the night, one of them
beckoned to him and whispered, "How about leaving the grating unlocked?
Some of us might want to go over the hill, you know."

"You're crazy," Mayhew replied.  "In the first place, you couldn't make
it, even if I helped you.  And in the second place, I'm foreman now."

"Is that so?" sneered the other.  "What good does it do us to have a
fellow slave for foreman, unless he helps us to escape?  Think it over
for a day or two.  One of us overheard you talking with the boss this
afternoon, so we know what was in that letter from his excellency, the
Spider.  We know what is in store for Adamo Mayho, if he gets found
out.  So think it over--_Tolofo_."

"I'm doing this for your own good," Mayhew retorted, but somehow his
words did not sound particularly convincing.

He did think the matter over--very seriously--that night.  Truly he was
in a fix, and just when he had thought that everything was rosy.  If he
helped his former pals to escape, it would mean court-martial for him.
And if he did not help them to escape, it would mean exposure and
certain death in the eternal fires of Pele.

Late into the night he lay awake, puzzling over his predicament.  And
at last, along toward morning, a happy solution occurred to him.
Perhaps not a happy solution, but at least an alternative which might
possibly succeed.  He would go over the hill with his men.

If intercepted, his credentials as foreman might possibly get them
through, if he could think of a plausible story to explain their
presence wherever they happened to be caught.  The more he thought of
this plan the better it seemed.

At last he arose from his sleeping mats, tiptoed out of his cave, and
walked softly to the cave which quartered his men.  Tapping on their
grating to arouse them and attract their attention, he explained his
plan.  It was enthusiastically received.  He was restored to their good
graces.

In fact, as one of them expressed it, "Good old Tolofo is a regular
fellow again."

It was decided to make the break the following night.  Several of the
men knew the surrounding country for quite a distance.  But, beyond
that, their fate was on the knees of Ra.

But with the morning there came a message summoning him before the
boss.  And the boss informed him of a decision to send him back to the
throne-room of the Spider, to explain to his excellency the strange
disappearance of Mayho.

Mayhew's first reaction was intense relief.  His problem was solved for
him.  But the more that he thought about the situation the more he came
to realize that he was merely being plunged from one danger into
another.

The Spider might see through his assumed identity.  Some person at
court might recognize him as not being Tolofo.  Or his gang, cheated
out of their planned escape, might tell the boss that he was an
impostor.

Perhaps his men would believe him, when he explained the situation to
them.  Perhaps they would realize that their own self-interest would be
best served by keeping quiet until his return, in the hope that they
could then effect the planned escape.

But, when he got back from headquarters to his own cell, he found that
a substitute foreman had already led his squad off for the day's work.
So, with ominous forebodings, he packed up the few belongings of the
predecessor whose name he had assumed and accompanied the messenger of
the Spider.



The return trip was a revelation to Adams Mayhew.  Having traversed the
road in the reverse direction in a wounded and fainting condition, he
had always thought of it as extending interminably for thousands upon
thousands of miles.  Now, to his intense surprise, he found the trip a
remarkably easy one.  By noon they had reached the top of the spiral
shaft.  In a few moments they were at its bottom.  And a half hour more
brought them to the caves of eternal fire, and the throne room of the
Spider.

After a slight wait, Mayhew was ushered into the presence of his
excellency.  In view of the fact that everything else had appeared to
diminish in impressiveness since his first arrival at these mountains,
he half expected that the same would hold true of the Spider.

But it did not.  The creature squatted, as repulsive and terrifying as
ever, on its skull-topped throne of red marble.  Again the hair rose
involuntarily on the nape of the young man's neck at the awful sight.

At one side of the throne there stood a crystal globe on a steel
pedestal.  Clutched in his claws, the Spider held a scroll of parchment
which he appeared to be perusing.

Mayhew waited until the creature glanced up.  Then placing right hand
upon left shoulder, according to the Muian custom, he bowed low before
the throne.

But the Spider stiffened, and flashed a baleful glance at him, hissing
out, "What now, Tolofo, cannot you forget your former nationality?"

Adams Mayhew did some quick thinking.  Glancing around, yet without
moving his head to indicate that he was doing so, he noted that the two
attendants who had led him into the presence of their ruler were both
standing erect with right arm extended straight forward, palm to the
front.

Instantly he whipped into the same position, stammering, "Your
excellency will forgive the fact that your august appearance awed me
into a long-accustomed gesture of humility."

The face of the Spider softened into a toothy leer.

"A pretty speech, Tolofo," said he.  "But now let us get down to
business.  I hear that you lost one of your slaves.  How did it happen?"

The story which Adams Mayhew then related was one which had been
carefully thought up by him on his trek hither across the mountains.
It was quite simple, namely a true account of the breaking of the
sea-wall, and the subsequent rescue of all the members of the squad
except one.  But the teller was Tolofo, rather than Adams Mayhew; the
missing man was Adamo Mayho, rather than Tolofo; and the story ended
right at that point.

"So I led the rest of them back to their cell, sent word to the boss,
and drew an extra ration of wine for them.  That is all, your
excellency."

The Spider fixed him with a piercing stare from beady black eyes.  Then
lowered his gaze and perused the scroll.

Mayhew shifted his feet uneasily.  Had this uncanny creature seen
through his deception?

Finally the Spider again looked up at him.

"Tolofo," said he, "something tells me that you are lying to me."  He
paused to let that sink in; then continued, "And yet your record gives
me no cause to suspect you.  You are unquestionably a fugitive from the
justice of Mu, and thus cannot possibly be conspiring with the empire
against me.  Since joining my order you have been frank and
independent, almost too frank and too independent at times.  I know all
about your having befriended this Adamo Mayhew; but then there is
nothing to indicate that you knew that he was a henchman of the
magistrate Julo, who has been plotting my downfall.  Julo, the very
same judge who convicted you!  Had you known that, you would not have
befriended Mayho, I feel sure."

"I thank your excellency," murmured Mayhew, inclining his head slightly.

"Don't thank me too quickly," bristled the Spider.  Then to the guards,
"Take him away, while I meditate on what disposition to make of his
case."




CHAPTER XI

THROUGH THE CRYSTAL

Adams Mayhew did not have long to wait for the decision of the Spider.
In a very few minutes he was summoned back into the stalactite
encrusted throne room.

This time he made the proper salute, and the squat creature on the
throne grinned appreciatively.

"You improve," said he.  "How would you like to work for me; Tolofo?"

What new trap was this?

"I do not understand," Mayhew replied guardedly.  "Already I have
served your excellency faithfully for a matter of six moons."

The Spider bristled.

"Fool!" he hissed.  "I mean my personal service."

"The honor overwhelms me."

"You sneer at me!" fairly screamed the Spider, convulsively gripping
the arms of the throne with his taloned fingers.  Then relaxing, as his
mood shifted, he grinned toothily, and said, "But no, I keep forgetting
that you are Tolofo, the frank, the truthful.  So I believe you."

For the second time that afternoon, Mayhew murmured, "I thank your
excellency."

But still he kept his eyes open and his wits alert for some trap.

Again the monarch's mood shifted.  Suddenly clapping his hands, "Out of
here!  Away, all of you.  I would speak with Tolofo alone."

The yellow courtiers hurried away.  In an instant the cavern was
deserted, save for the repulsive creature squatting on the blood-red
throne, and the stalwart young American seaman who stood before him.

"And now, Tolofo," said the Spider, "you may sit at my feet."

Lest he irritate the monarch, Mayhew obeyed.  The crippled hunchback
became almost human.  Leaning forward, he gazed down upon the man at
his feet with as ingratiating a smile as his twisted features would
permit.

"Tell me, Tolofo," he simpered, "am I handsome and awe-inspiring?"

Mayhew played a hunch.

"No, your excellency," he replied with simple directness.  "You are
never handsome.  And for the moment you deign not to be awe-inspiring,
although usually you are."

The Spider's hands clenched, and his eyes narrowed.  Then he laughed a
mirthless cackling laugh.

"You're refreshing," he said.  "Oh, these fools, these yellow fools!
_They_ would have said that I was beautiful.  Yet, if I thought myself
beautiful, why would I have chosen as my symbol and emblem the
repulsive spider which I resemble?  And I am glad to learn from your
lips that occasionally, when I try, I can cease to be awe-inspiring.
Much as I hate your accursed race, I need a _white_ man, to tell me the
truth.  Yes, that shall be your job, Tolofo, to stand at the right hand
of the Spider, and tell him the truth!  Rise now, and stand beside me."

Mayhew did so.  The Spider clapped his hands, and his attendants
returned.

"Take this man," he directed them, "and clothe him in black tights and
a black jersey like unto mine, and a sword and pouch on an iron chain.
And give him an apartment next to mine."

So Mayhew was led away, and duly bathed and clothed and fed.  Then, in
a small cave which he was informed was to be his, he lay down on
luxurious rugs to sleep.  But before he slept he resolved that he would
use his new position to work the undoing of this monster who menaced
the race which had befriended him.



He was awakened by an attendant with a lighted torch.  How long he had
slept he had no means of knowing, for all hours of the day and night
seem alike when one is living underground; but he felt thoroughly
rested, and the attendant informed him that it was morning.

Breakfast was served him in his quarters.

Then the attendant brought him shears, a razor, hot water, soap and a
polished steel mirror.  Mayhew, fearful lest some one might recognize
him without his bushy blond beard, merely trimmed it into some
semblance of neatness and regularity.

Word was brought that the Spider wished to see him, and he was led into
the presence of his excellency.

"Stand by my right hand," the creature snapped.  Then, when Mayhew had
taken the invited position, "Have you traveled much, Tolofo?"

Mayhew did some quick thinking, but could form no idea of what he might
be letting himself in for.  When in doubt, tell the truth.  Mayhew did
so.

"Excellency," said he, "I have sailed this sea, and have landed on many
of its shores, including the continent which has no name.  But never
have I visited any part of Mu, other than the City of Gold."

"So you have visited the continent which has no name?  Um!  Some day I
shall have you take me there, if you have the brain to learn worluk.
Also there may be parts of the Golden City which you can penetrate for
me.  Let us begin at once.  Bring me that globe, and place it at the
foot of the throne."

Mayhew brought the crystal sphere, on its black pedestal.  The Spider
leaned forward, brushed one taloned hand across his parchment forehead,
and then gazed intently into the limpid depths.  A white-fanged smile
broke across his thin, cruel lips.

"My, what a perfect specimen," he breathed.  "Look, Tolofo, can you see
what I see?"

Mayhew stared steadily into the crystal globe, then ran his fingers
through his sandy hair.

"Excellency, I see nothing," he was forced to admit.

"Place the fingertips of your left hand upon my brow."

The young man did so.  At once the clear glass clouded to a milky,
pearly hue, which then began to whirl and churn like the lava of Pele.
In the midst of this iridescent confusion there appeared a shapeless
black blob.

"It looks like a spider," said Mayhew, feeling that some remark was
expected.

The sinister monarch laughed.

"It is not, but it soon shall be," he cackled.  Then clapping his
hands, he commanded, "Bring the worluk powder."

Attendants came running in with a flat iron bowl, which they placed on
the cavern floor before the throne.  Then one of them plucked a torch
from its niche in the wall and dipped the lighted end into the bowl.
The contents began to smoke, a thick white cloud, which rose only to a
height of ten or twelve feet, and then stopped abruptly, to rise no
further.

The Spider brushed Mayhew to one side.  Then, gripping the arm of the
throne with his left hand, he extended his right hand toward the pillar
of smoke, and began to wave his fingers at it.

As if actually carved and shaped by the motions of that clawlike hand,
the smoke bulged and solidified into a perfect sphere, which then
gradually cleared until it became hazily translucent, resembling a huge
ball of glass draped with a thin net of gray gauze.

The Spider scowled, and concentrated an intent stare upon this huge
sphere, still weaving his fingers before him.  Mayhew gasped, for a
picture was taking shape within this immense gazing-crystal of smoke, a
picture like the formless mass which he had just seen in the lesser
crystal, when his fingertips had been pressed to the brow of the Spider.

The black blob formed, but now Mayhew could discern what it was.  It
was the back view of the naked torso and head of a man--a black
man--seated on some steps in the courtyard of a Muian house.  Every
detail became as distinct as though the scene were actually located
within the cavern throne room, separated from the watchers only by a
thin and transparent drapery.

The Spider hissed a sharp command, "Bring me two of my most powerful
assassins, armed with small clubs."  Then to Mayhew, "I shall show you
how we recruit our slaves."

Two burly yellow brutes came running, each holding in his right hand a
leather covered metal billy.

"You see that Negro?" directed the Spider, pointing to the vision.  "I
want him, silently and unharmed."

The two thugs gave the customary Roman salute; then, to the intense
surprise of the American, they dashed through the curtain of haze which
separated the throne room from the garden scene.  The Negro, as though
startled by some slight sound, quickly turned his head, but down
crashed two clubs on his upturned brow and he slumped insensible to the
pavement of the courtyard.

Quickly and lithely the two yellow men dragged the black body through
the curtain, to the foot of the throne, and again saluted their ruler.
He waved his hand as though brushing away something; then ran his
fingers tiredly across his eyes, and sank back upon his red marble
throne.  The ball of smoke and its vision faded and vanished.  But the
Negro still lay sprawled before them.

"That," announced the Spider wearily, "is worluk.  But it is very
exhausting."  Then, to the two assassins, who were standing expectant,
"Take him to the tunnel gangs."

Their faces fell.  Probably they had been hoping to see this choice
morsel fed to the eternal fires of Pele.

As the two yellow men picked up the still unconscious Negro, Mayhew got
his first good view of the black man's face, and had difficulty in
suppressing a gasp of recognition.  For the Negro was Moorfi, faithful
Moorfi, who had been his servant in the household of Julo.

"A favor, most gracious excellency," he said.  "I am much impressed
with the splendid physique of the slave.  May I have him for my
personal attendant?"

The Spider looked at Mayhew with a queer look.

"Did you not recognize the scene?"

"No."

"It was the courtyard of the house of Julo, whom you hate because he
was the magistrate who sentenced you.  Do you not fear a servant of
Julo?"

That was so.  In his guise as Tolofo, Mayhew was supposed to hate Julo,
actually his friend and benefactor.

"This Negro may never have heard of me.  I will sound him out!"

"Very well.  But you take a dangerous chance.  Be careful, for you are
likely to prove of value to me."

So the Negro was carried away to Mayhew's quarters.



Attendants brought the Spider a large goblet, from which he drank.

"Have some?" he proffered.  "It's sea water, my favorite liquor.
Besides being very refreshing, my partaking of it symbolizes the union
of Ocean and Pele, which I hope some day to accomplish."

Mayhew shook his head.

"I thank your excellency," he said, "but one who has sailed as much as
I have grows to dislike salt water."

The Spider frowned at him.  The frown became a diabolical leer.  The
taloned hands clutched the two arms of the throne.  The yellow face
became livid, then gray.  The little squat, hunched-up frame shook and
quivered, as with some intense emotion.

Mayhew stepped back aghast, and as he did so the Spider rose from his
seat, and, with a gurgling gulp, flung himself at the retreating
American.

But the move was feebly made.  The monarch slumped to the floor and
rolled over onto his back, where he lay sprawled out, with his head
painfully twisted and his eyes staring wide and sightlessly above him.
His whole body flopped and twitched like a fish in the bottom of a
boat.  His thin lips, drawn back over sharp fangs, were flecked with
pink foam, which pulsated and bubbled in unison with his groans.

The attendants fled shrieking.

Quick as a flash Mayhew sensed the trouble.  One of his shipmates on
the barque Alaska had been subject to just such seizures.  It was
epilepsy.

So, gingerly approaching the writhing creature, he turned it over onto
its belly, whipped off his own jersey, folded it up, and placed it
beneath the creature's face to ease the pounding of the crooked
features against the hard stone floor of the cavern.

Then he held the body from rolling over in its convulsions, and waited.
There was nothing else to do.

Gradually the paroxysms subsided, and the slaty cheeks resumed their
normal yellow hue.  The Spider coughed and spat, then nodded his head
feebly and smiled a sickly smile.

"Your excellency is all right again," said Mayhew in an encouraging
tone.

The Spider pushed himself into a sitting posture by means of his long
arms and nodded his head.

"Support me," he said.  "Kneel down behind me, and let me lean against
you."

Mayhew did as directed.  It required all his self-control to suppress a
shudder of revulsion as that obscene body rested upon his breast.

For a few moments the Spider lay back and panted.

After a while Mayhew suggested, "I think your excellency is now well
enough to stand up and return to the throne."

The vulture head turned on its short neck and regarded him over one
shoulder with a wry smile.

"So you don't know?" said the Spider.  "I thought that every one knew.
I shall never be well enough to stand.  Pick me up and carry me to my
throne."

So this world menace was a helpless cripple!  A warped but mighty mind,
in a warped and impotent body!

Mayhew picked it up in his powerful arms and sprawled it back upon its
skull-topped crimson throne.

The Spider regarded him with a look of almost kindness and gratitude.

"You alone, Tolofo," he said, "did not flee in terror from my seizure.
I did well when I chose you to stand at my right hand."

"How often do you have these attacks?" asked Mayhew, with real concern
in his voice.

"Sometimes two a day.  Sometimes not once in many moons."

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Speak."

"Give up the sea water.  I had a friend once who had the same trouble,
and he found that too much salt always brought it on."

An expression of sadness passed across the frightful face of the Spider.

"I wonder if this symbolizes the failure of my great venture," he mused.

Then his mood changed, and he clapped his hands.  Attendants came
slinking back shamefacedly.

"I am tired," the monarch announced, "and I would have diversion.
Bring me a maiden."

A few minutes later a yellow Oriental girl was led into the cavern.
She was daintily and exquisitely formed.  The tips of her firm young
breasts were covered with tiny cones of burnished steel.  From a belt
of steel links there hung a loincloth of flaming scarlet.  Steel
bracelets encircled her perfect arms and legs.  Her dark hair was done
in a knot, and fastened with many skewers of steel.  And she exhaled a
perfume of water-heliotrope.

She walked into the room with an air of timidity, mingled with quiet
dignity and pride, which clearly indicated that she knew that she had
been chosen that day from among the slave girls to be the bride of the
great king.

But it was a king whom she had never seen.  As her eyes fell upon that
squat creature, sprawled upon his blood-red throne, her face went stark
with horror, her fingers curled and tensed and were brought up before
her mouth, and then she slumped pitifully to the floor, where she lay
sobbing.

"So you don't like me, eh?" snarled the Spider, his lip curling.
"You're afraid of me, eh?  I'm repulsive to you, am I?  Well, I'll
_make_ you like me.  Stand up!"

But she only groaned and sobbed the harder.

Two attendants pulled her to her feet, but she hung limp between them.

"Look at me!"

But she hung her head and averted her gaze.

One of the two attendants slapped her smartly across the face.  Mayhew
tensed.  This was going too far.




CHAPTER XII

THE SPIDER STRIKES

The Spider turned his vulture face slowly around toward the young man.
An inscrutable smile played across his features.

"Curb your natural chivalry for a moment," he said, "and you will see
that I mean the maiden no harm."  Then to the attendants, "Slap her
again!"

One of them did so.  The beautiful yellow girl opened her eyes and
stared at the mad monarch for an instant.  With a quick gesture he
extended his right hand toward her, its fingers rigid, and waved it
with a slight quiver.  Instantly her body stiffened and her stare
became fixed and vacant.  The two attendants let go of her, and she
stood alone.

"Come, my dear," cooed the Spider, in as seductive a voice as he was
capable of.

Like a sleepwalker she advanced to the throne.  She crawled into the
lap of the repulsive creature seated there.  She laid her cheek against
his with a contented little sigh, and began running her slim fingers
caressingly over his face and head and arms.

"I would be alone," he said simply, and Adams Mayhew and the other
attendants left the room.

At his quarters, Mayhew found the huge Negro sitting up and staring
stupidly around.  Not a sign of recognition did Moorfi give him.

Mayhew closed the door and said in a low voice, "Quiet, now, and show
no surprise.  I am Adams Mayhew."

The Negro arose incredulously.

Finally he smiled and said, "For the love of the good Ra, I believe
you're right.  But what are you doing here?"

"Spying on the Spider.  He thinks that I am Tolofo, a fugitive from
Julo's justice.  Have you ever heard of Tolofo?"

"Can't say that I ever have."

"Well, stick to that story.  Are Julo and Marta well?"

"Perfectly."

"And Eleria?"

The Negro grinned.

"Nicely too.  But she won't have anything to do with Porto.  Still
thinks you and he are the same fellow."

"So Porto is safe?  Did he tell what happened at Tirio's castle?"

"Only to Julo.  'Fraid any one else would think he was crazy with all
this talk of spider-men appearing and disappearing and all that.  And
as for your disappearing, that story certainly wouldn't be believed,
for every one knows that you and Porto are the same fellow.  And now
you're somebody else, again.  Can't you be yourself for a little while?"

"I'm afraid I'm doomed to spend the rest of my life in one
impersonation after another," Mayhew wryly replied.

"Well, doesn't it beat all!  It reminds me of a story of two
sea-captains--"

But Mayhew cut off the narrative with, "And what has become of that
rat-faced centurion?"

"Oh, Tirio's back running around the city again.  He and Porto called
off the blood feud, on account of having fought the spider-men
together.  But how did you get here?"

"The same way you did."

"And how is that?  I was unconscious when it happened."

"It's a long story.  Keep your eyes open, and you may learn how.  You
are to be my servant while we're here."

"While we're here?" quoted Moorfi with a grimace.  "No one ever gets
out of the clutches of the Spider."

"I mean to," said Mayhew grimly.  Then, "Does Eleria see much of Tirio?"

"No, she doesn't speak to him either.  But sooner or later she'll make
up with either him or Porto, and then the blood feud will be on again.
They're both in love with her."

Mayhew groaned.

"Just think!" he exclaimed.  "Here am I, and Eleria is a hundred miles
away with those two men."

"You wouldn't want her to be here, would you?"

And Adams Mayhew, remembering what he had just seen in the throne room
of the Spider, answered an emphatic, "No!"

Then he cautioned Moorfi always to address him as "Tolofo."  A slight
slip of the tongue by the faithful black, and he and his master might
both go to feed the eternal fires of Pele.



Evidently the little yellow girl kept the Spider amused for the rest of
that day, for he did not again send for Adams Mayhew.

But the following day, and for many days thereafter, the supposed
Tolofo was in attendance on his sovereign a large part of the time.
And always he sought to ingratiate himself, and to learn as much as he
could of the methods and plans of the sinister Spider.

Daily he practiced worluk, until whenever he pressed his finger tips on
the brow of his patron, he was able to see in the crystal globe
whatever the Spider envisioned there.  Sometimes he would even almost
succeed in forming visions of his own, but they never were quite
distinct, nor could he ever completely shape the gray smoke from the
iron bowl.

The Spider also offered to teach him how to tame the yellow girls of
the harem, and how to bend their wills to his pleasure, but this Mayhew
refused to try.  And, although the Spider obscenely twitted him for his
chivalry, the old creature did not press the point.  But Mayhew did see
many beautiful maidens come before the Spider and recoil from their
fate in stark horror, only to be reduced to doll-like automatons by a
few waves of his taloned hand.

By means of the mind and memory of the Spider, projected into the
crystal gazing-globe, Adams Mayhew paid optical visits to many parts of
the empire of Mu.  And often when the ball of transparent smoke was
formed, he witnessed assassinations and kidnapings.

But he learned that this powerful alchemist whom he served was limited
and hampered in many ways.  The Spider could see in the crystal sphere,
and contact by means of the ball of smoke, only such places as he had
formerly visited in the flesh.  And not even all of those, but only
such as had particularly impressed themselves upon him when he had
visited them.  Also, although he could project his minions through the
curtain of worluk smoke into actual presence in the scenes which he was
envisioning, yet he could not pass through the smoke-screen himself.

And his infirmity kept him pretty well tied down to the throne room
cavern and his adjoining quarters.  It was almost pathetic how he
longed to travel, to visit parts of the world which he had never seen,
and in particular to visit other parts of the continent of Mu.  This
longing would have been actually pathetic, had it been due to a desire
to mingle with his fellow men.  But it was actuated by a fiendish wish
to extend his occult power by adding to the spots which he could summon
to sight in the visions of his crystal globe, and into which he could
launch his assassins through the medium of the magic smoke.

Moorfi was occasionally present, in attendance on his master, at some
of these sances, but Mayhew kept him away as much as possible, lest he
make some break which would reveal to the Spider Mayhew's true
identity.  The reason which Mayhew gave to the Spider, however, was
that Moorfi might see an attack on some former friend of his, and
attempt to interfere.  This explanation not only served to excuse
Moorfi's absence, but also still further established Mayhew's devotion
to the cause.  And this was to come in very handy at a later date.



One day, after the American had become proficient in reading the
Spider's crystal-visions, by the mental rapport induced by the pressure
of finger tips of the one on the brow of the other, the mad monarch
summoned him to attend one of his daily sances.

"Ah, Tolofo," remarked the Spider, "touch my forehead quickly, if you
would see a most beautiful girl.  Of course, I know that you are cold
to the charms of the little darlings of my own yellow race.  But here
is a white beauty, who will quicken even your sluggish pulse."

Mayhew shrugged his shoulders and placed the tips of the fingers of his
left hand upon the brow of his patron.  The crystal-clear globe clouded
with a pearly haze, which straightway began to swirl twist before his
eyes, soon becoming a kaleidoscopic vortex of peacock hues.

Then gradually the vision cleared and took form.  It was a street scene
in the Golden City.

And in the midst of the street stood the beautiful Eleria!

Adams Mayhew gasped, and his fingers trembled on the brow of the
Spider.  The latter leered up at him, and said, "I thought that that
would interest even you.  Shall I send for her through the ball of
smoke, to be a plaything for you here in these dismal caves?"

What could Mayhew reply?  He could not disclaim his interest, which had
been all too evident.  He certainly did not wish to subject Eleria to
captivity here; but, on the other hand, neither did he wish to leave
her in the Golden City within reach of his two rivals.

As his mind struggled to frame an appropriate answer to the offer of
the Spider, the latter suddenly pushed Mayhew away, and shouted,
"Quick!  Bring worluk.  He comes!  The man whom I have been seeking
these many moons."

The vision swirled and vanished.  Gone was Eleria.  But also, with this
swift shift of the mad monarch's mood, was gone the necessity of
replying to his question.

Slaves came running with the iron bowl of powder, which they promptly
ignited.  The smoke billowed upward, and took shape at the wave of a
clawlike hand.  The same street scene appeared in the midst of the
smoke, with Eleria still standing there.

But there was one addition.  Down the street toward her was swaggering
the rat-faced Tirio, in his blue bordered centurion's tunic.  Eleria
was smiling, and seemed glad to see the newcomer, who saluted and
stopped to chat with her.

Mayhew set his jaw and clenched his fists, and the Spider, glancing up
at him for an instant, grinned approval.

But then the centurion began to move away.

The Spider clapped his hands in command, and shrieked, "Where are those
assassins?  Why aren't they here?  My man escapes me!"

Attendants scattered to seek out the cause of the delay, but no
assassins appeared.

"Quick, Tolofo, you!" shrieked the Spider.  "Into the smoke and seize
him for me!"

And such was the hypnotic power of that command that Mayhew leaped
forward without thought or hesitation; and, passing through the curtain
of smoke, he grappled with his old enemy.



The cavern throne room vanished, and Mayhew was back in the Golden
City.  And, as on the day of his first arrival there, he was engaged in
a hand-to-hand combat with Tirio, the centurion.

Although his onslaught had taken his enemy completely by surprise, yet
the latter fought with the ferocity of a cornered rat.  In a few
minutes Mayhew was down on his back, with Tirio sitting astride him,
the hands of each locked on the arms of the other.

"What's the matter with you?" Tirio panted.  "Who are you, with your
bushy yellow beard, and that strange black costume?  I've seen your
face before, hut your beard hides most of it.  You look like Porto, but
he was clean-shaven yesterday.  If you are Porto, desist; for the blood
feud is off."

For reply, Mayhew gave a heave, and the struggle resumed.  Tirio
reached for his sword.  But a warning shout, "Beware, Tolofo!" came
from the air above.  Mayhew had a momentary vision of a yellow man in a
red tunic stooping down and snatching the blade from Tirio's hand.

Tirio blanched.

"So you are Tolofo," he gasped, "turned spider-man, and come back for
revenge.  I swear that it wasn't I who framed that case against you.
Help!  Police!"

Mayhew thought of the Biblical proverb, "The wicked flee when no man
pursueth," and smiled grimly.  So it was Tirio who had been responsible
for the undeserved exile of the dead overseer.  One more debt which the
rat-faced one must be made to pay!  But how could this ever be
accomplished?

Quite a crowd had gathered by now.  Eleria was no longer in evidence.
In a moment the police would be here, in response to Tirio's frantic
calls for help.

Then the supposed Tolofo would have to go back to jail; and if he
should declare himself to be Adams Mayhew, this disclosure would in no
way diminish the hatred of the centurion, who would take great pains
that word of the prisoner's true identity should not get out.  Mayhew
was in a fix.  The only solution seemed to be to kill his opponent
before help came, for with the death of Tirio would die all suspicion
that Mayhew was the escaped convict, Tolofo.  So, with grim
desperation, he clutched now for Tirio's throat.

And then he felt a strange inexplicable pull on him, as from a gigantic
magnet.  As he wrestled with his opponent, each turn and twist and roll
seemed to carry the two of them further up the street toward the spot
from which the American had first launched his attack.  The crowd
receded as they rolled.

He heard gruff shouts, "Make way!"

The crowd parted.  And then Tirio got his hands on Mayhew's throat.
Mayhew's wind was completely cut off.  He gasped and strained for
breath.  A red haze spread over his vision.  No longer did he feel the
magnetic pull.

Then the hands of his opponent were torn from his throat, and his
opponent's body was dragged off of him.  With great painful sobs the
air came back into his tortured lungs.  His vision cleared.  Yet still
the red color of surrounding objects persisted.

For he was lying on the floor of the throne room cavern of the Spider.
His enemy, held in the clutches of two burly yellow brutes, was staring
with wide-mouthed horror at the scene.

"Take him away!" waved the Spider.  Then to Mayhew, "You did a good
job, Tolofo; but if I hadn't sent one of my men to seize Tirio's sword,
you would have been done for."

"I thank your excellency for saving my life," breathed Mayhew, getting
to his feet and gently feeling of his neck where his opponent's hands
had been.  "What do you plan to do with the victim?  Feed him to the
eternal flames of Pele?"

Mayhew grinned as he said this.  Not because of any personal joy at
thus getting rid of his enemy and rival, for he would take no pleasure
in the cold blooded slaughter of even such a one as Tirio; but rather
because there suddenly flashed through his mind a realization of irony
of playing off against each other these two enemies of the government,
so each would destroy the other.

But the Spider's reply suddenly shocked him out of his complacency.

It was, "Certainly not!  Haven't I told you that I have been trying for
many moons to get him here, so that I can propose an alliance to him?"

Instead of having helped the government of Mu, Mayhew had assisted in
what might prove to be its undoing!  The only crumb of comfort to this
situation was that he had at least separated Tirio and Eleria.

"Well," announced the Spider, "let's do some more fishing."

And he stared again into the crystal globe.

At that instant one of the attendants announced a man, seeking
audience; and the Spider commanded that the man be brought in.  The
newcomer was small and yellow, but well muscled.  He carried a spear.

After the customary Roman salute he looked askance at Mayhew and said,
"I'd rather not have him present.  What I have to say is for the ears
of your excellency alone."

"You will speak in the presence of any one I choose to have present,"
snapped the Spider.  "Proceed."

Still looking at Mayhew furtively out of the corner of his eye, the man
said, "But, your excellency, what I have to say is that this fellow
beside you is _not_ Tolofo, but an impostor!"

All this while, Mayhew had been racking his brains to identify the man,
whose face seemed strangely familiar.

Meanwhile the Spider was snarling his reply, "That is a rash charge,
Koko; and, if you cannot substantiate it, it will mean for you the fate
to which you have pushed so many others."  Then, turning to Mayhew,
"What say you, Tolofo?"

The Spider's remarks had finally given the American his clue.  This man
was the one who had quarreled with Tolofo over his kindness to Adams
Mayhew.

Mayhew shrugged his shoulders as he replied, "It is what I might expect
from Koko, your excellency.  He and I never got along together during
all the time that we were spearmen at the eternal fires of Pele.  I
have heard rumors that he jealously resented my promotion to
foremanship, and again when you honored me by elevating me to this post
by your side."

"Koko," snapped the Spider.  "Where did you get this insane idea?"

"In a message from one of Tolofo's own squad at the excavations, your
excellency.  The message stated that Tolofo is dead, and that this
person at your side is none other than the slave, Adamo Mayho."

"What say you, Tolofo?"

Again Mayhew shrugged his shoulders, as he replied, "I tried to be fair
and merciful to my men, your excellency.  Several of them,
misinterpreting my kindness, approached me to let them go over the
hill.  Naturally I refused.  This yarn is probably revenge for that
refusal.  Also possibly an attempt to implicate me, before I report
them."

"You should have reported the episode at once when it happened,
Tolofo," snapped the Spider.

"Your excellency, the episode occurred the night before I was summoned
here.  I overlooked it in the excitement of moving."

"Very well.  Your explanations are satisfactory.  As for this lying
troublemaker of a Koko, take him away and lock him up--until we hear
from the slave who started the accusation.  He, the slave, is to be
sent for at once."

The informer wilted and was dragged away.  And an ominous gloom settled
over Adams Mayhew.

But the Spider did not notice this change in the mien of his favorite,
for he at once turned his interrupted attention back to the
gazing-sphere.

"Your fingers!" he commanded.

And Adams Mayhew once more established rapport with the mind of his
patron.  Once more the limpid depths curdled, then swirled, then
cleared, this time disclosing the courtyard of the house of Julo.  As
they gazed beautiful Eleria entered the scene.  Her cameo face was,
distrait, her dainty hands clasped upon her breast, and she was panting.

Julo--suave, majestic and kindly--entered the courtyard.  Excitedly the
girl rushed over to him, placed both her hands upon his shoulders and
looked up appealingly into his face.  Of course, the two watchers could
not hear what she was saying, but it was evident that she was
recounting the abduction of Tirio which she had recently witnessed.

"Once more this pearl of a white girl plays into our hands," announced
the Spider gleefully.  "Once more she lures a victim into my web.
Quick, the worluk, and four assassins!"

"But, your excellency," objected Mayhew, horrified, "surely you do not
plan to kill that girl!  What has she ever done to you?"

The Spider grinned as he replied, "No, no.  Merely Julo.  He is an
enemy who has long escaped me."

Mayhew groaned inwardly.  Here was his best friend about to be
slaughtered, and he was powerless to prevent it.

The assassins arrived.  The bowl of powder was brought and lighted.
The globe of transparent smoke was formed by a few waves of the
alchemist's hands.  Julo's back was turned.

"Go get him!" hissed the Spider, and the four thugs, with daggers
up-raised, leapt from the red-lit cavern into the courtyard of Julo.

But after them leapt Adams Mayhew.

"Kataka, Julo!" he shouted, shoving the nearest assassin aside.

Julo turned, just in time to seize the wrist of one descending dagger
hand.  Then he and Mayhew and the four spider-men went down together in
a heap.

"Help!" shouted Julo, and black servants came running.

One of them seized Mayhew and dragged him off the heap.

"Don't you know me?" gasped the American.  "I'm Adams Mayhew.  Let me
alone, and help Julo."

"You're one of these vanishing spider-men, that what you are," retorted
the Negro, "and I'm helping my master right how by keeping you off of
him."  He lunged at Mayhew.  In self-defense, the latter was forced to
grapple with him.  But the American was no match for the black, who
quickly got the upper hand.

Then once, again Mayhew felt the magnetic drawing force of the will of
the Spider, slowly causing him to ooze out from beneath the body of the
Negro, and to rematerialize in the red-lit throne room of the volcanic
caverns.

He had saved Julo--that is, he hoped he had--and now he was being
pulled back to the lair of the Spider, there to pay the penalty for
thwarting the plans of the monster.  Doubtless he would speedily be
thrown to Pele, and this time there would be no escape.




CHAPTER XIII

MU STRIKES BACK

Strange to relate, more than he feared for his own fate, Mayhew
regretted that all the spying which he had done on the plans of the
Spider would now go to waste.  And also that he would never see Eleria
again.

So with all his might he clung to the body of the Negro, and opposed
his own will-power to that of the Spider, striving desperately not to
be sucked back through the ball of smoke into the cavern, where sat the
monster on his skull-topped, blood-red throne.

But, despite his efforts both physical and mental, the sunlight
gradually became a reddish glare, the weight of the black body upon him
gradually became more tenuous and unreal.  He could even dimly see the
squat figure of the Spider, Seated on his crimson marble throne, his
arms stretched out, pulling Adams Mayhew back into his clutches.

Then something snapped.  The figure on the throne pitched forward
toward him, a fishy, vacant look upon its face.  The cavern faded.  The
sunlight reappeared.  Adams Mayhew was lying on the flagging of the
courtyard of Julo's home, beneath a burly Negro who was trying to
throttle him.

"Get up!" snapped an authoritative voice.  "Get up, Tombi.  What have
you there?"

At the same instant Mayhew felt a tug at his waist.

"Watch out, sir," the Negro replied.  "This is a spider-man, and he's
armed."

"I'm watching out," said the voice, "and I've taken his sword.  Get up."

The Negro cautiously let go of Mayhew and got to his feet.  Mayhew also
rose, and faced the frowning Julo.

"Well," said the latter, smiling grimly, "at last we have secured a
specimen.  That is, unless suddenly you vanish like the rest."

"Get me out of here, and into some bedroom," Mayhew urged, "and then
I'll not vanish.  The Spider has no power in places where he has never
been."

And he made a dash for one of the surrounding doorways.

A Negro stepped to intercept him, but Julo commanded, "Let him go, and
follow."

Safely within the room Mayhew halted, and panted, "He can send his
assassins in here from the courtyard, but he cannot drag me back, and
they can expect no aid from him while out of his sight."

"But who are you?" asked Julo, with a puzzled frown.

"I'm Adams Mayhew."

Julo walked over and inspected him carefully.  Then burst into a laugh,
a rather sheepish one.

"I believe you are, at that," said he.  "Well, of all the amazing turns
of fate!  Eleria, come and see who's here.  It's an old friend of
yours."

But there was no reply.

"Where is Eleria?" Julo demanded of the servants, but she was nowhere
to be found.

Suddenly a realization dawned on Adams Mayhew.  The assassins of the
Spider had taken her back with them.  He sank to a bench and held his
face in his hands.  For he was thinking of the fate, which he had
witnessed, of the little, yellow girls in the harem of the Spider, and
he was picturing the same fate meted out to Eleria!

At length he roused himself and turned a haggard face to Julo, who
stood looking down at him with deep and kindly concern.

"I know," said the magistrate.  "You don't need to tell me.  Our little
friend has vanished with the spider-men.  Perhaps she has gone to the
fate from which you have just saved me."

"Worse than that, sir," replied Mayhew soberly.  Then briefly he
sketched the hypnotic love-powers of the Spider.

"Well, you have seen the creature face to face, and have survived,"
said Julo.  "Others can do the same."

"But that doesn't save Eleria," gloomily replied the American.

"Maybe it does.  Tell me all you know, and then we can make our plans."

So Mayhew rapidly sketched what he knew of the personality, powers,
forces and ambitions of the Spider, together with his own history since
his disappearance from the castle of Tirio.  Julo had already learned
from Moorfi of the original kidnaping, and from Porto of the fighting
at the castle.

When Mayhew concluded, Julo clapped him on the shoulder, and said,
"Well, at last we know who, what and where the Spider is.  You have
brought us more information as the result of a few months' work on your
part, than the entire secret service of the Empire of Mu has been able
to glean in as many years.  Let me congratulate you."

"You say you know who the Spider is.  Who is he?"

"Many years ago, shortly before we began to hear rumors of the menace
of the Spider, a paralyzed hunchback, a great scientist, of the yellow
race, visited this city, to demand from the government a high official
position, in recognition of his scientific attainments.  I remember his
calling at my house, and being carried into the courtyard.  His request
was refused and, threatening reprisals, he went back to his own city.
Soon thereafter his death was reported, and the government breathed
more easily, for he was a brilliant man with considerable of a personal
following.  But it now appears that he did not die."

"But what about Eleria?"

"Fortunately Mu and Eleria can be served by the same move.  I shall
organize a secret force and attack his stronghold.  You can act as our
guide.  We shall move first to the fjord where you labored as a slave.
There we shall put a stop to his excavations.  I can't imagine what
they are for, but undoubtedly their purpose is sinister.  Then you can
lead us to the shaft which gives entrance to his underground domains.
Through that shaft we shall enter, put an end to the Spider, and rescue
Eleria.  Now that we know the source and nature of his powers, they
need no longer terrify us."

"He may possess other powers."

"You saw no indications of any in all the months that you were with
him?"

"No."

"And his forces appear to be small?"

"Yes.  Very small."

"Then on with the attack!"

Mayhew next gave his host a list of all the places in the city which he
remembered having seen through the crystal globe of the Spider.

For fear that information of Mayhew's return might eventually find its
way to the ears of the enemy, he was taken to the jail and locked up
there under the name of Tolofo.  But many were the conferences held in
his cell.

Thither, among others, came Porto.  At first he and Mayhew were rather
cool to each other, but one day Julo got the two of them together, and
spoke to them in a fatherly way.

He said, "You are both in love with Eleria."  They glared at each
other.  "And so is Tirio."  They glared at Julo.  "And so most likely
is the Spider.  In fact, it is hard to conceive of any one not
succumbing to the charms of so exquisite a creature as she is."  A look
of horror spread over both of their faces.  "I fancy that either of you
would rather the other should get her, than to have her fall prey to
the Spider, or to his ally Tirio."  They nodded.  "Then, by the name of
Ra, shake hands, and promise each other to stand by the winner against
all the world.  And may the best man win."

They did so.  Porto the Muian and Adams Mayhew the American then became
fast friends, although avowed rivals for the hand of Eleria.

Mayhew continued to wear his beard, lest the Spider catch sight of him
shaven in the crystal globe, and thus might learn that Adamo Mayho was
not dead.



At last the night arrived for the departure of the expedition.  Under
cover of darkness, Mayhew was smuggled out of the jail and aboard ship.
The jail-keeper was instructed to give out word that Tolofo had
escaped, for it might later be necessary for Mayhew again to
impersonate the dead overseer.  He was seen only by the men who shared
the same boat with him, and to them he was introduced by his right
name, or rather by its Muian variant, "Adamo Mayho."

Two nights later they reached the naval rendezvous off the coast just
north of the volcano.  There were several hundred boats of the
prevailing Muian type, long and low, with triangular, awning-striped
sails.  These boats, in all, held many picked men.

Although there were many deep fjords along this volcanic northern
coast, Mayhew's detailed description of the place where he had worked
had led his friends to believe that they could identify the particular
chasm.  So they drew in close to shore near where they supposed the
camp to be, and sent Mayhew with a small party to reconnoiter.  It
proved to be the correct place, so the party returned to the beach to
report, and Mayhew by prearrangement went on alone.

Skirting the headquarters, which was wrapped in slumber, he proceeded
until he came to the cave which he had formerly occupied as overseer.
It was rather isolated from the rest of the camp, so, without fear of
arousing any one but its inmate, he knocked loudly on its door.

After repeated rappings, a sleepy voice inquired, "Who comes?"

"A messenger from headquarters."

"In the name of Pele, what do you want at this late hour of night?"

"I am sent by his excellency to take over your job, and am instructed
to stay with you until the transfer has been arranged."

"Have you brought written authority with you?"

"I have."

"Then slip it under the door."

In preparation for just such a request, Mayhew's friends in the Golden
City had prepared an appropriate order on parchment, copying the
spider-crest and the style of printing from one of the notices which
the Spider himself had caused to be posted in the city.  The language
of the order was largely based upon Mayhew's recollection of the
language of similar orders during his term of service with the Spider.
Also Mayhew was clad in a careful copy, made from memory, of the
spider-crested red tunic, worn by members of the enemy order.  But in a
bundle he carried a tunic of plain design, for use later in the night.

There were sounds of striking a light within the cave.  Then
illumination glowed around the edges of the door.  Mayhew pushed the
parchment underneath and a few moments later heard the sliding of
bolts.  The door opened and a man peered out.

"Well, well," he boomed.  "My old friend, Tolofo!  So you have come
back to take over the job from which I ousted you.  Well, turn about is
fair play.  Come on in.  I hope that I do as well by myself, when I
return to his excellency, as you did; but probably it will be just my
luck to go back to guarding the fires of Pele.  Come in, and make
yourself at home."

Mayhew had never seen the man who superseded him.  But it was evident
that this jovial yellow person had been a friend of Tolofo's and a
spearman of Pele.  With that to start on, and by being rather guarded
in his conversation, he could doubtless escape detection until an
opportunity presented itself to slip a knife between this fellow's ribs.

Ugh!  He shuddered at the thought of killing in cold blood, and
especially such a friendly soul as this!  The man appeared to have been
a close intimate of Tolofo, and hence probably a decent sort.  And now
Mayhew must strike down, unarmed and unwarned, the friend of his
friend.  Every atom of his nature recoiled from the task, yet it was
necessary for the cause--and for Eleria.

At the thought of her he shuddered again.

The overseer, noticing this, said, "You are cold, good Tolofo, let me
pour you some wine and throw a sleeping mat over your shoulders.  The
night is damp, and you have come a long way.  Have you eaten?"

This was too much!  He was to eat and drink at his victim's table, and
be tenderly cared for by him.  But he must--for Eleria.  Chivalry to an
enemy has no place when a woman's honor is at stake.  Mayhew sat down
heavily on a stool by the table.

The yellow man closed and barred the door.

"You seem tired as well as cold," he said in a friendly voice, "but
soon I'll have you fixed all right."

He waddled over to a closet, from which he produced a jug and two
goblets.  These he placed on the table.

"Help yourself," he jovially invited, "while I get you that mat I
promised you."

Mayhew poured a glass of wine and raised it to his lips; then
hesitated.  This was too much!  The fellow was being too kind!  Mayhew
could not drink his wine and then cut him down in cold blood.  There
must be some other alternative.

With these thoughts he swung suddenly around to face his host.  And it
was well that he did so, for there stood the man, with dagger upraised,
behind Mayhew's stool.

Just in time the American threw himself sidewise to the floor, and down
came the dagger, driven deep into the table.  The wine jug overturned
and gurgled its contents out onto the table top, thence in a narrow
stream to the edge and off onto the floor.  The stool rolled into a
corner.

Catlike, Mayhew sprang to his feet--he had learned that from being
knocked into the scuppers aboard the barque Alaska.  Drawing his
broad-sword he rushed the spider-man.  A fierce exultation thrilled
him; no longer was it necessary for him to kill in cold blood!

But the other man stepped nimbly back to the wall, snatched his own
sword from where its belt and scabbard hung from a peg, and leaped
forward again to meet the onslaught of the American.

His agility belied his huge bulk.  Parrying Mayhew's first stroke, he
swept a return blow; and, as Mayhew stepped back to avoid it, the
yellow man with a sudden turn of the wrist caught Mayhew's blade with
his, wrenched it from his momentarily slackened grasp, and sent it
hurtling into a corner.  Then he charged again.



There was but one thing for the American to do.  Instead of fleeing, he
stepped in under the blow, planted his right fist in the fat belly of
the overseer and seized the sword wrist with his own left hand.

The fat paunch, however, had plenty of muscle behind its rolls of
flesh; so the blow only slightly winded the man.  But, combined with a
sudden wrench on his wrist, it was sufficient to cause him to drop his
sword.  Then the two men grappled.

The chunky yellow man not only outweighed the American, he also had
more strength and more wrestling skill.  And so it was not long before
Adams Mayhew's right arm was "in chancery," pulled up behind his back
with the hand opposite his shoulder blades.  His opponent had him at
his mercy, and could easily dislocate his shoulder at will.

Desperate, Mayhew lunged behind him with his left fist, but his
opponent deftly caught it, and now had both of Mayhew's arms in
chancery.  Then the man began pushing him toward the table, where the
dagger still stuck, imbedded in the wood.  The purpose was evident.
Mayhew braced his feet against the floor and strained backward, but the
yellow man bunted him with his knee, forcing him forward.

The time for fighting was over; the time for temporizing and persuasion
had arrived.

"What have you got against me?" asked Mayhew.  "We used to be good
friends."

"I've nothing at all against you," the other replied.  "But I don't
want you to get my job.  My return to the court of his excellency might
not result in promotion like yours did.  And I've no intention of
becoming a mere spearman again, if I can help it."

"But what excuse can you give for my death?"

"None; and I shan't have to.  I'll heave your body into the fjord and
say that you never arrived."

"It will go hard with you, if you are even suspected of my death, for I
am a favorite of his excellency."

"It looks like it," sneered the other, "deprived of your soft job, and
sent back here to be a foreman."

By this time they had arrived at the table.  Mayhew was pushed against
the edge, and then the upper part of his body was forced forward, until
his chin touched the board.  His captor then grasped both of his wrists
with one fat hand and the other reached for the dagger.

It was Mayhew's last chance for life.  Desperately he leaned his entire
weight on the table and kicked backward with both feet.

The lat yellow man was not taken by surprise, however, and braced his
own feet to withstand the shove.  But he had forgotten the dripping
wine.  He was standing in a puddle of the slippery liquid, and his feet
gave way and slid.

He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, and the combined
pressure of himself and Mayhew pushed the table out from under, and the
two of them crashed to the floor together.

Mayhew twisted around as he fell, thus landing on his back with his
hands free; and, as the overseer came down on top of him, he drove his
right fist squarely to the other's jaw.  Then he scrambled to his feet
and grabbed the knife.

The overseer slowly and groggily arose, blinked, shook his head, and
then lunged forward with a bellow of rage.  Mayhew met him with the
point of the dagger to his left breast, and the fight was over.

The American drew a couple of deep breaths.  But there was no time to
lose, as some one might arrive at any moment.  So he speedily set about
putting the room in order.

First he dragged the body over to the pile of sleeping mats, placed it
in a natural position with its back to the door, and covered all but
its head with one of the mats.  Then he rearranged the upset furniture
and mopped up the blood and wine.  He was just finishing when there
came a peremptory rap on the door.

Stepping over to it, he softly asked, "Who comes?"

"It's the guard from headquarters, on a round of inspection," shouted
the voice outside.  "Why are your lights lit at this late hour of the
night?"

Sliding back the bolts and opening the door a crack, Mayhew replied,
"Sh!  The overseer is asleep."

The guard entered, glanced at the recumbent figure on the sleeping
mats, then stared at Mayhew.

"Then who are you?" he demanded.

"Sh!" the American again replied.  "I am the new overseer.  Here are my
orders assigning me to the command of the third squad.  They direct me
to spend the night with the overseer of that squad."

The guard glanced at the paper, which it was evident he could not read,
and then started to stuff it into his pouch; but Mayhew snatched it
away, saying, "No, no!  I need those to prove my identity."

"But why didn't you report at headquarters?" grumbled the guard.

"There were no lights there, so I thought I would wait until morning."

The guard departed, still grumbling.  As soon as time enough had
elapsed for him to complete his rounds, Mayhew took the keys of the
dead overseer and set out for the cave which housed his former squad.
At the grating he called softly the names of several of them, until at
last a light was lit inside and one of the slaves came to the opening.

"By the holy name of Ra, see who's here!" the slave exclaimed.  "It's
our old pal, Adamo Mayho, come back to us!"

The others, thus aroused, crowded to the entrance.  Mayhew checked them
over.  All his old squad was there, with the exception of one named
Meeno; and there was one new face.

He was just about to ask, "What has become of Meeno?" when one of the
slaves asked that same question of him.

Mayhew instantly grasped the situation, and replied in an offhand tone,
"Oh, he is to be fed to Pele, for presuming to tell the Spider that I
am not Tolofo."  He paused to let this sink in; then, "But, as for the
rest of you, I have returned to keep my promise to set you free."

"Three cheers--" began one of them.

But another clapped a hand over his mouth with a "Be still, you fool!"

Mayhew unlocked the grating and led them to his own cave, where he
distributed swords and knives from his own clothes bundle and from the
stock of the dead overseer.  Mayhew donned a plain tunic.

He explained to them the plan of campaign, and they extinguished the
lights and waited.



They had not long to wait, for soon they heard the sound of fighting
farther down the ravine, as Julo's army fell upon the sleeping
guardhouse and headquarters of the spider-men.  Then Mayhew and his
little group sallied forth.  As each foreman, roused by the confusion,
opened the door of his cave to investigate, he was cut down.  Then his
keys were obtained, and his squad was released to augment Mayhew's
forces.  Soon all the prisoners were free, and most of them were armed.
They then took up a position, blocking the road which led to the
volcano, and thus preventing the escape of any spider-men to warn the
Spider.

In a few moments it was over; the enemy were wiped out to a man.  Then
began the silent and cautious advance up the trail, with Mayhew in the
lead, showing the way.  At this rate, they would reach the shaft, as
planned, before daylight.  They were jubilant.

But their jubilation was short-lived.  As they were passing through a
certain small crater-like pocket in the mountains, they began to smell
sulphur.  They gasped and sneezed.  And then, from a thousand jets in
the walls of rock, there burst upon them a perfect deluge of noxious
gasses.

Mayhew was the first to sense the situation.

"Up!  Up!" he urged.  "Up the sides, every man of you!"

The orderly advance became a scrambled rout as the men fought their way
up the rocky walls.  The word "fought" is literally correct, for the
men clawed and shoved at each other, forgetting friend and ally in
their mad struggle for self-preservation.

Some of the jets of gas became ignited from the torches carried by the
expedition.  Several explosions were heard.  Rocks began to roll down
the precipitous cliffs.  And molten fire began to pour from many
jet-holes.

Adams Mayhew, panting and pain-racked, coughing and straining for
breath, reached the top of one of the cliffs.  He glanced back down
into the inclosure.  The entire bowl was lit by the red glare of the
streams of lava, and the burning jets of gas, so that he could see
clearly the devastation below.

Hundreds of black forms lay huddled at the bottom of the ravine, some
crushed by rocks, some singed by fire, some twisted into grotesque
shapes by asphyxiation, and some still twitching slightly with expiring
life.  But not a man was struggling upward.

Around the rim stood many spider-men, silhouettes of red against the
velvet sky, still rolling rocks down on those below.  Then a gust of
poison fumes wafted up from the valley of death, blinding and choking
Mayhew, and he fled across the volcanic rocks, away from that awful
charnel-house.




CHAPTER XIV

ESCAPE?

How long or where he ran, after the sudden destruction of the army of
his friends, Mayhew never knew, for the last thing he remembered was
turning blindly away from that awful holocaust.  There followed a vague
treadmill nightmare of stumbling interminably over volcanic rocks in
the jet darkness of the night.

Then he awoke to find himself lying on the hard stone floor of a
red-lit cavern.  He stirred and groaned.

A voice above him hissed, "So, Tolofo, you have come back to me, eh?"

Blinking and rubbing his eyes, Mayhew looked up, to see the Spider
leering down at him from his throne.

"Get up!" commanded the Spider.

Mayhew struggled to his feet and feebly gave the Roman salute.  The
Spider grinned.

"Still game," said he appreciatively; then, "Your friends in the Golden
City didn't treat you very well, did they?  I did my best to save you,
but unfortunately I had one of my seizures just as I was dragging you
back to safety through the ball of worluk smoke.  Pretty forgiving of
me, too, I call it."

"Wh-what was?" stuttered Mayhew, sparring for time.

"My trying to rescue you after you had impulsively spoiled my attack on
our enemy Julo.  But, of course, I can understand your eagerness to do
the killing yourself."

Mayhew's head was beginning to clear, and gradually the astounding
realization was being forced upon him that the Spider had
misinterpreted his rush through the ball of smoke as an attempt on his
part to kill, rather than to rescue, his supposed enemy, Julo.
Perhaps, then, the Spider did not suspect him of complicity in last
night's happenings; or, more likely, the Spider was merely playing with
him, as a cat with a mouse.  Even so, the cat's play would mean a few
more minutes of life.

The next question of the Spider went far toward solving Mayhew's
problem.

"How did the Muians learn the location of my mountain stronghold?  Did
they extort this information out of you by torture?"

Mayhew drew himself up proudly, and said, with double entendre, "No one
can get from me information which I do not choose to give."

"Good!" exclaimed the Spider.  "I respect your loyalty.  But how, then,
did they find out?"

"I have an idea," Mayhew judiciously replied, "for there was a rumor
around the prison that some fishermen had seen signs of suspicious
activity along the north coast.  Spies were sent from the secret
service of Julo, to reconnoiter.  These confirmed the suspicions, and
so the expedition was dispatched."

The Spider thoughtfully nodded his vulture head.

"Yes," he said, "it sounds likely."

Then suddenly, "But how did you get here?"

The question did not take the young man by surprise; he had been
expecting it, and had gradually been formulating his answer.

So he said readily enough, "The moment that I learned of this menace to
your excellency, I realized the need of getting word to you.  So I
broke jail--"

"Yes," interrupted the Spider.  "I learned as much from my spies.  Go
on."

Mayhew continued, "--and made a bee-line for this volcano."

"But why didn't you go first to some spot which was within my occult
powers to drag you here through the worluk smoke?  As soon as I heard
of your escape, I combed the entire city for you with my crystal globe."

"I thought of that, but dared not risk it, for fear of recapture.  So,
in two days' time, I reached the mountains.  Not knowing any other
entrance here than the shaft on the path from the excavations, I made
for the sea coast, reaching the path around midnight.  My first thought
was to warn the guard at the diggings, but I found my way blocked by
the advancing forces of the Muians.  So I turned and fled before them,
and barely escaped being overwhelmed by the gas and flames which Pele
providentially sent to engulf them."

"Pele didn't send the flames," snarled the Spider.  "I did!  I, the
greatest living alchemist.  But continue."

"What happened after that, I do not know.  I found myself lying here."

"You were picked up by one of my patrols.  You nearly gave your life to
save me; and quite unnecessarily, for my spy system had already warned
me.  So I trapped the enemy in that sunken valley, and slew them all."

"All?" echoed Mayhew, thinking of Julo and Porto and his other brave
friends.

"Every man of them," growled the Spider with satisfaction.  "Thus do I
crush my enemies."

With superhuman effort, Mayhew forced a look of diabolic glee upon his
face.

"Praise be to Pele!" he cried.

"You are tired, Tolofo," solicitously observed the Spider.  "Go to your
quarters.  Bathe, eat, and rest.  Then return, for I have urgent work
for you to perform."

At his quarters, Mayhew found the faithful Moorfi in attendance.
Mayhew's first question was of Eleria.

"Yes, she is here," the Negro replied, "but--praise be to Ra--the
Spider has not yet sent for her.  You see, Tirio has demanded her as
one of the conditions of his allying himself with the Spider."

"Then they are not yet working together?"

"No.  And, although the Spider has alternately threatened to throw him
to Pele, and promised to share the world with him, he still holds out
for Eleria."

"Does Eleria know this?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Can you get word to her?  I dare not try to see her myself."

"I think so."

"Then suggest to her the following plan of escape.  Tell her who I am,
and that I suggest it.  She must save herself from Tirio by telling the
Spider that she prefers him to the rat-faced one.  This will please and
flatter the Spider."

"It is rumored that she has already said as much to Tirio,"
interpolated Moorfi, with a grin.

Mayhew continued, "She, the peer of them all, will be the first woman
ever to come to the Spider voluntarily.  When she comes, and before
submitting to his loathsome embraces, she must cajole him into showing
her his worluk.  Then let her note carefully some object in the vision
which hides some near-by spot from his view.  Let her leap suddenly
through the smoke, and hide in that spot.  It is her one chance for
escape and safety."

"I understand perfectly, and will see that she does," said the Negro
soberly.

Then Mayhew told him of the sad death of Julo and Porto and the rest of
the expedition.

"We did not realize that the Spider possessed other powers beyond his
worluk," he concluded sadly.

The huge Negro brushed a tear from his eye, then fatalistically said,
"The past is behind us.  It is now our problem to shape the future.  I
go to get word to Eleria."

"But don't tell her of Porto's death," cautioned Mayhew.

Then he bathed and ate and slept.



The next day the Spider sent for him.  When he appeared before the
throne and saluted, the Spider said, "Now as to your next task.  I
cannot come to terms with Tirio, the centurion.  But there is another
possible ally, who would be a thousand times more valuable, namely,
Alvo, Grand High Priest of Ra.  He covets my metaphysical knowledge,
and especially the secret of my worluk.  I need his airships.  As
matters now stand, I dare not leave these caves, for fear of capture.
My physical infirmities put me at a great disadvantage; my distinctive
appearance precludes disguise; and I cannot visit through my crystal
globe, nor send my assassins through my ball of worluk smoke, to any
spot which I have not visited in the flesh.  So if Alvo will swap his
secret of flying for my secret of worluk, I shall be able to visit many
more places, and thus add them to my repertory.  And I know, too, that
Alvo has chafed at the supremacy of state over church.  If he will ally
himself with me, then together we can overthrow civil authority and
make the church supreme."

"And have you proposed to the Grand High Priest this marriage of Ra and
Pele?" asked Mayhew.

The Spider grinned and rubbed his skinny hands together with
appreciation.

"An apt phrase," he chuckled.  "The wedding of the fires of heaven to
the fires of hell!  No, I have not yet proposed it to Alvo.  'Tis hard
to put it convincingly in writing.  But you are a glib talker; so I
shall send you as my ambassador."

Another chance at freedom!

"Willingly will I go," said Mayhew.

"But not in that costume or that beard," objected the Spider.  "The
black jersey would cause your arrest as a suspicious character, and the
big yellow beard would identify you as Tolofo, the escaped convict.  So
go to your quarters.  There I shall send shears, and a razor, and a
striped toga."

Mayhew saluted and left.  As soon as he was out of sight, his face
fell.  He had to shave; it was the Spider's orders.  And if he shaved,
the Spider would recognize him either as Adamo Mayho or as Porto, in
either of which cases his masquerade as Tolofo would be at an end.

But suddenly an idea occurred to him.  Accordingly, when the shaving
things arrived, he did not wholly remove his beard, but instead shaped
it into the square-cut Egyptian form so prevalent on the continent of
Mu.  If only this would get by with the Spider!

Then, clothed in a brilliant toga of red, white and blue--he smiled to
himself at this unconscious mark of his true nationality--he once more
presented himself in the throne room.

"How do I look?" he hopefully asked.

The Spider gasped.

"Excellent!  I would never know you."

"Then I'm ready to start.  How do I go?"

"By worluk, but not quite yet," the Spider ominously replied, "for
there is another matter which must first be disposed of.  I had almost
forgotten it."  He clasped his hands in command.  "Bring in Koko and
Meeno."

Mayhew blanched.  Since his return, he had forgotten that this menace
still overhung him.

Attendants brought in the yellow spearman and the white slave.  Mayhew,
wrapped in the dignity of his toga, took his accustomed position beside
the throne.

"Now, Koko," said the Spider, with oily sweetness, "you may repeat your
accusations against Tolofo."

The yellow man furtively eyed the figure beside the throne.

"This is indeed Adamo Mayhew, and not Tolofo," he said, but his voice
lacked the ring of positive conviction.

"Prove it!" snapped the Spider.

"My proof is Meeno, the slave."

"Meeno," said the Spider.  "Is this man who stands beside me Tolofo, or
is he Mayho?"

The white slave gave one terrified look at the superb figure with its
striped toga and square-cut beard; then prostrated himself before the
throne.

"May your excellency forgive," he whined.  "It is neither.  I never saw
this man before."

"Oh, yes you have, Meeno," thundered Adams Mayhew.  "Think.  Who was it
who saved you from the rush of waters?  Have you no gratitude?"

"It was you," whined the slave.  "I recognize the voice."

"And who am I?  Tolofo or Mayho?"

He was risking everything on the fellow's terrified state of mind at
finding him a favorite of the Spider.

"You are Tolofo."

"Good!  And what became of Adamo Mayho?"

"He was drowned."

"And did I ever agree to help you escape, or suggest that you do so?"

"No!"  The whine became a wail.



"There, your excellency," said Mayhew, turning to the throne with a
shrug.  "You see."

With a shriek of rage Koko, the yellow spearman, hurled his spear
squarely at the Spider.  It struck him in the chest and crumpled him
back into a corner of the huge square throne.  But--wonder of
wonders--it did not penetrate.

Recovering from the blow, the Spider seized the spear and cast it
contemptuously to the floor.  His eyes flashed balefully.

"To Pele with both of them," he snarled.  Then turning to Mayhew, and
in a lighter tone, he said, "You see, I am invulnerable.  I have other
powers besides worluk, and the skill to loose the fumes and fires of
Pele upon my enemies."

"How do you do it?" asked Mayhew, partly with real admiration, and
partly from a desire to secure useful information.

The Spider leaned forward and whispered confidentially, "It's really
very simple.  A weapon-proof vest beneath this black jersey."

Meanwhile the two conspirators were being dragged from the room,
screaming, "Mercy!  Mercy, your excellency!"

Mayhew held up his hand.

"Just a moment," he said.  Then, turning to the Spider, "For the
spearman, no mercy; he plotted against me and tried to kill your
excellency.  But the slave was merely a victim and tool.  He meant no
harm.  Spare him."

"I hope your brains are not as soft as your heart," the spider said
sadly.

"Both my brains and my heart are loyal to the cause which they have
espoused," Mayhew replied.

"Well said," approved the Spider, missing the hidden meaning in the
words.  "Very well, the man may live."

"Long life to Tolofo, and to his excellency!" cried the slave, as they
led him away.

"He puts you first," remarked the Spider wryly.  "And yet, why not?  It
was you who spared him.  And now I do not feel in the mood for worluk.
Send me a maiden, a plump one.  And you, Tolofo, come back in an hour."

In his quarters, Mayhew found Moorfi, who reported that the message had
gotten through to Eleria.  Then Mayhew recounted the events of the
throne room.

When he reached the point where the slave had been unable to identify
him either as Mayho or Tolofo, the Negro grinned and interpolated, "It
must have been two other fellows, like in the story of the two men who
had never been to Myax."

"We have a story like that in my own country," said the American, "only
in our story the city is St. Louis."

The mention of his own country made him sad.  Would he ever see it
again?  Had it, too, been destroyed in the same earthquake which had
caused the whaling barque Alaska to vanish, and had substituted this
strange and unknown Mu-dominated world for the world to which Mayhew
had been accustomed?

He was still wondering about the fate of America when the Spider sent
for him again.  The creature was in a very businesslike mood.  The
crystal sphere was at his side, the bowl of worluk smoking.

"You see that scene," he announced, as the smoke took shape at the
waving of his hand.  "This is the nearest I have ever been to the
principal temple of the most high Ra.  So it is there that I must start
you off.  Follow that path along the bank of the stream until you come
to a town.  It is the town of Forbosa.  Inquire there for Alvo, the
Grand High Priest of Ra.  Give him my message and return to this spot
with his answer.  Mark well the spot.  I will be awaiting you."

Mayhew saluted and stepped through the curtain of smoke.  Then looked
back.

But all signs of the Spider and his court were gone.  Mayhew was
standing on the green bank of a pleasant stream.  He was out in the
world.  He was free once more.  A feeling of exultation swept through
his being as he stretched his arms in the warmth of the life-giving sun.

But his exalted mood was swiftly succeeded by a realization that
somewhere miles away upon a skull-topped, red-marble throne, there
squatted a repulsive creature, who was watching his every move, and who
possessed the power to drag him back at will into the red darkness of
the volcanic caves.  He shuddered at the thought, and then strode
resolutely forward to put as much distance as possible between himself
and that loathsome form.

It was still morning, and the day was cool.  There was a well defined
path along the edge of the river, and walking proved to be easy.  The
stream was a sluggish one which wound its sinuous way, in fantastic
curves and bends, through fertile meadows and around wooded hills.
Tall fronded palms lined the river's banks, and at their feet were
masses of great feathery ferns which spread their long arms out over
the stream.  Huge lacy winged dragonflies and brilliant,
metallic-colored butterflies flitted about, close to the surface of the
water.



At times Mayhew passed along stretches of lowlands.  Here the river
broadened into shallow ponds, around whose shores red and yellow and
orange and blue lotus flowers dotted the thick matting of lily-pads
like varicolored jewels in a setting of green gold.

At other times the river would wind between hills smothered beneath
masses of impenetrable tropic jungles.

It was all serenely peaceful, serenely beautiful, and yet for Mayhew it
was ominously overshadowed by the dread presence of the Spider.  He
could almost feel the creature's hand on his shoulder, guiding him on.
He glanced apprehensively behind him.

In the dim purple distance stood the volcano; and, as Mayhew looked,
the pall of smoke at its summit seemed to take definite shape; a
globular black body, with eight wavy projections extending from it.
Mayhew shuddered.

Shaking off this gloomy mood, so incongruous in the midst of all the
lovely surroundings, he strode on.

Toward noon he began to come upon cultivated field after cultivated
field, and presently reached a small village.  At first he hesitated
about entering this settlement, lest some one mistake him for Tolofo,
the escaped convict.  And, if arrested, there was now no Julo to
identify and save him.  But then, he reflected, this was a risk which
he had to take.  So he strode boldly forward into town.

Attached to the toga, which he was wearing, he found a pouch of the
same material; and in this pouch there were a few coins.  So he hunted
out a tavern and bought himself a meal.

After ordering, he asked the waiter if this were the village of
Forbosa, and also the way to the temple of the most high god.  The
waiter said that this was Forbosa, and directed him to the temple.

His meal over, he set out for the temple, which was not far distant.

And now, as he trudged along, he learned the identity of those huge
russet-colored animals which he had seen long ago in the distance, that
day in Tirio's castle.  He passed many of them, both coming and going
on the broad highway, and found that they were hairy elephants!  Some
of them were pulling large rumbling carts, while others were carrying
passengers in ornate howdahs mounted on their backs.

At last he came to the temple, a stupendous structure of solid gold, or
so it seemed.  Its steps were of white marble surmounted by four golden
figures, portraying, respectively, a man, a buffalo, an eagle, and what
appeared to be a lion with oversize fangs and a short clubby tail.

Going boldly up the steps, Mayhew rapped on the temple gates.  They
were opened by an old man in a long yellow robe, with red swastika
emblazoned upon its breast.  He inquired the caller's name and business.

"Tell the Most Gracious Grand High Priest of the Flaming Ra," said
Mayhew, "that my identity and my message are for his ears alone."

Such was the assurance and dignity of the caller's bearing that the
temple attendant, instead of ordering him off the steps, actually
ushered him into an anteroom, and then went off through resounding
corridors to give the astoundingly audacious message to the Grand High
Priest in person.

On his way hither, Mayhew had seriously considered proceeding to the
Golden City, instead of to the temple, for he was now outside the
influence of the psychic powers of the Spider.  But three
considerations had deterred him from this change of plans.  In the
first place, with Julo and Porto both dead, there would be no one to
whom to turn.  In the second place, it would be of utmost value to the
government of Mu for him to learn and report whether an alliance was
effected between the priesthood of Pele and the priesthood of Ra.  And
last, but not least, Eleria was still in the clutches of the Spider!
So he had continued to act the emissary.



Presently the attendant returned and reported that Alvo would see him.
Accordingly he was conducted to a small and simple room, where a very
old but virile man, with smooth-shaven face and yellow gown and skull
cap, sat in a high-backed wooden chair behind a wooden table.  The
table bore ink and parchment and stylus, and was strewn with parchment
manuscripts.

Shrewd eyes appraised Mayhew as he entered and gave the customary Muian
salute.

"Well?" said Alvo.

"Your worship," Mayhew replied, "may this man withdraw?"

"You do not mind being searched for weapons?"

"Certainly not."

"Search him, then."

The white-bearded attendant ran his hands over Mayhew's body, removed
his broadsword, then left the room.

"Be seated."

Mayhew took the proffered chair.

"And now," said Alvo, "your errand."

So Mayhew sketched, rapidly and as enticingly as he could, the proposal
of the Spider for an alliance between Pele and Ra.  The venerable
prelate nodded from time to time, to indicate that he got some point;
but, apart from this gesture, his face remained expressionless, and
gave no indication as to what thoughts were going on inside his skull.

When Mayhew concluded, Alvo asked him a few brief questions, and when
they had been answered, said, "This matter requires serious thought.
Be our guest here until to-morrow, and then you will receive our
answer."

But Mayhew shook his head, for he feared that the Spider might grow
impatient awaiting his return.  And so he said, "I thank your worship,
but there are certain matters in Forbosa which I must attend to this
afternoon.  I will return to-morrow for my answer."

Alvo rang a small gold bell which sat upon the table, and the
white-bearded attendant returned, gave Mayhew his sword, and showed him
out.

A long, hard tramp back through Forbosa and by the side of the river
remained.  It was late that afternoon when he neared the spot where he
was supposed to stop beside a certain tree, well-noted by him, to be
sucked through the worluk haze back to the throne room of his master.
But he was several hundred yards from it, around a turn in the path,
when suddenly a girlish form, in flying white gown and with disheveled
golden hair, dashed around the corner toward him.  It was Eleria!




CHAPTER XV

THE FLAMING GOD

On catching sight of the strange, square-bearded young man approaching
her down the river path, Eleria halted in full flight, hesitated for an
instant, and then sped on again to meet him.

"Oh," she panted, "save me!  I am pursued by spider-men!"

Then she looked at him inquiringly, as though half expecting that he
would scoff at her fears, for many persons in Mu were inclined to doubt
the existence of the spider menace.

He laughed.  "You don't recognize me, then?  I'm Adams Mayhew.  But
quick!  I must help you to escape, without implicating myself, for
there is much espionage I still have to do at the court of the Spider.
May I carry you?"

Tired as he was, she was probably far more tired.

She hesitated for a moment, then blushed and nodded.  So Mayhew swung
her light body into his strong arms and ran back toward Forbosa with
her, along the river path.  He realized, however, that the assassins of
the Spider were probably gaining on them.

Accordingly, when presently they reached a fork in the road, he lowered
her gently to the ground and said, "Here, quick, into that clump of
bushes.  Any bits of your dress which may show through the leaves will
be mistaken for its white flowers.  I will go back and try to head the
spearmen off.  If I succeed, you lie here for about an hour and then
push on to Forbosa.  If I fail, I shall try to divide the party at this
bush.  Follow me, if I go down one trail alone.  Good-by, and good
luck."

And he strode off to meet the oncoming assassins.  Only a few paces and
they were upon him, three of them.  If he had been a strange Muian
gentleman, things would have gone hard with him; another body would
have been found, floating in a stream, with the mark of the Spider
pinned to its breast by a dagger.  Fortunately one of the men had seen
him in the throne-room in his new beard and attire, so this man hailed
him as an ally, and inquired excitedly if he had seen Eleria.

"Why no!" exclaimed Mayhew, showing a perturbation which he really
felt.  "What do you mean?"

"His excellency was waiting for your return, with her in his arms,"
explained the spearman, "when suddenly she stood up, jumped through the
screen of worluk smoke, and fled.  His excellency was so upset by this
that the ball of smoke wavered and broke.  He had to send for a new
bowl of powder, and by the time he got it going again the girl was out
of sight.  But he had been watching her all the time in his crystal
globe, and we had been summoned and were standing in readiness.  As
soon as the new smoke formed he sent us through.  She went along this
path, he said."

"Quick, then, let us catch her!" directed Mayhew.  "It is quite a
distance to town, and she will tire long before she reaches it."

"But how can it be you did not see her?  That is, unless she left the
path."

"I doubt if she left the path; she would have been too frightened and
excited to do anything but flee.  However, just a few steps from here
there is a fork.  She must have gone down the other branch from the one
I was on.  One of you," pointing to the one he knew, "go back to his
excellency.  Report to him that I gave his message to the person to
whom it was directed, that I am spending the night in Forbosa, and that
I have the appointment for tomorrow noon to receive my answer.  Also
report what we are doing about this search.  The rest of us will go on
to the fork, and there divide."

"Very well, sir," replied the spearman.

Saluting, he turned and went back along the path.

"Come on!" said Mayhew to the other two.

A few paces on they reached the parting of the ways.

Mayhew said, "I came down the right-hand path, so she must have gone
down the left, or I would have met her.  You two go down the left-hand
path as fast as you can run.  If she has gone that way, you can
undoubtedly catch her.  I will take the right-hand path on the chance
that she may have eluded me on that route.  If I catch her I will drag
her back.  If not I will put up for the night at the inn.  Don't
venture too near the town.  Now--run!"

They ran.  So did Mayhew, down the other path of the fork.  But as soon
as they were out of sight, he stopped and waited.  Soon Eleria hurried
up to him.  Together they went on to the town, she running and being
carried by turns.

They reached the town-without mishap and without meeting any one.  On
the outskirts, Mayhew gave the girl some of his money, and they entered
town separately, lest they be seen by spies of the Spider.  Separately
they put up at the inn.  Eleria sent out for a garment more
conventional than the filmy white gown in which she had fled.  Both
freshened themselves up, and then met surreptitiously in Eleria's room.

First she detailed how she had followed out the suggestions which he
had sent her through Moorfi.

"The only snag," she said, "was the matter of clothes.  Of course, if I
had to, I could have worn that awful harem costume."

She blushed prettily, and Mayhew coughed embarrassedly at a
recollection of those yellow girls crawling hypnotized into the arms of
the Spider.

"But," she continued, "how could I run through the country in that
deshabille?  Imagine my entering Forbosa with nothing on!"

She laughed gayly, the humor of the situation overcoming her
embarrassment.

"And so," she went on, "I persuaded that fatuous old fool of a
hunchback to clothe me in a costume more fitting to the dignity of an
empress, than to the physical seductiveness of a harem.  You know, the
Spider has actually asked me to marry him."

Mayhew expressed horror.

"It's scarcely any better than to be one of his concubines," he
asserted indignantly.

"Except that it's more complimentary," she pouted.

"I don't believe you really mean that," he said.

"Forgive me for being facetious," she replied, sobering.  "You have
risked your life to save mine, which is more than I deserve after
treating you the way I did back there in the Golden City."

"I would gladly do anything for you," he blurted out; then to cover up
his confusion, he went hurriedly on to say, "and the way you treated me
was perfectly all right, you know, for you thought that I was some one
else."



At this mention of "some one else," he suddenly remembered that the
disagreeable task lay ahead of him of breaking the news to her of the
death of Porto.  He coughed, and hesitated.

Noticing his perturbation, she asked, "What is the matter?"

"Oh, nothing.  Nothing," he said hurriedly.  "What do you plan to do
next?  You can't stay in Forbosa even overnight.  There will be spies
here, searching."

"Why, I suppose," she mused aloud, "that I shall send a message to
Julo, and then start at once for the Golden City.  There is probably a
night-elephant running between here and there."

Mayhew looked sadly upon her, and strove to think of adequate words by
which to convey the news of Julo's death.

Finally he merely blurted it out, and then recounted to her the sad
story of the ill-fated expedition.

When he finished she burst into tears.

"You do not need to tell me the rest," she said.  "For I know.  I can
feel it.  If there was dangerous patriotic adventure to be had, my
Porto would have been in it.  And now he's dead, along with the rest.
Oh, to think that I called him a coward!  And even after I learned that
he had not been a coward, I flirted with Tirio, just to annoy Porto.
And now Porto's gone, gone without knowing that I love him.  May Ra
forgive me!"

She flung her arms around Adams Mayhew's neck, and sobbed upon his
shoulder.

It was exquisite pleasure to have her slender arms about him, and her
dear head nestling on his shoulder.  And he was truly sympathetic with
her grief.  But the cause of it gave him many a twinge of jealousy.

At last she raised her head and stifled her sobs.  Firmly setting her
pointed chin, she tried to stiffen her still quivering lips.

"I must go now," she said.  "Come and see me the next time you are in
the Golden City."  Then, with a sudden thought: "Come with me now.  Why
can't you come with me now?"

He was sadly torn between love and duty.

"There's nothing I would like better," he said.  "But I owe it to
Julo's memory--and to Porto's too--to carry on the fight which they
started.  There is much still to be learned of the Spider's plans and
powers, and I mean to do it.  Until he is disposed of, none of us is
safe."

"Why not kill him and be done with it?  Haven't you had the
opportunity?"

"I've thought of that," said he soberly, "but, in the first place, he
is invulnerable, or nearly so.  And, in the second place, I am
convinced that he has a group of other master minds in the background,
ready to take over, if anything should occur to him.  He is too clever
to overlook the need for that."

Then Mayhew told the girl all that he knew of the Spider's powers and
plans, culminating in his proposed alliance with the priests of Ra.

"After tomorrow's conference," he said, "I shall send a note to you.
It will say merely 'yes' or 'no.'  Thus will I inform you whether or
not the alliance has been effected.  Then will you please go to the
authorities and tell them all you know.  I shall return to the Spider
to learn more.  If I ever escape him, I shall come to see you."

To his surprise, she flung her arms once more around his neck, sobbing
out, "Don't go!  I don't want you to go.  I've lost Julo, and Porto,
and every one I know; and I don't want to lose you too.  You're all I
have left in the world, except an old uncle.  I don't want you to die.
Come back with me to the Golden City!"

Gently he disengaged her.

"Dearest," he said, "I must go.  You would despise me if I quit the job
now.  Julo and Porto must be avenged.  The faithful Moorfi, who helped
to save you, is counting on my return.  I must go back."

She dried her tears.  He kissed her tenderly.

"Good-by, dear," he said.  "Go downstairs now, and find out about the
night-elephant."

He kissed her again, while she clung pitifully to him.  Then he left
the room and did not see her again before her departure.

That evening, in the main room of the inn, he kept his ears open for
news of any untoward occurrences in the vicinity, but heard of none.
He slept soundly in his room--how much better the fresh air of Forbosa
than the sulphur-tainted fumes of the caves of Pele--and left the next
morning, shortly before noon, for the temple of Ra.

His heart sang as he walked along, for his thoughts were of the lovely
Eleria.



At the temple he was admitted without delay and was led at once to the
plain small office of Alvo, the unpretentious supreme potentate of the
prevailing religion of the entire Empire of the Sun.  As he entered; he
inadvertently gave the Roman salute of Pele, instead of the triangular
gesture of Ra, and the prelate frowned.

But quickly dissembling his displeasure, he said, "I suppose you have
come for our answer to your master, the Spider."

"Yes," said Mayhew.

"Very well.  You shall have it, all in due time."  Not one muscle of
that poker-face gave the least inkling what the answer was to be.  "But
first may I be permitted to do you the courtesy of showing you through
our beautiful temple?  You have never been here before?"

Mayhew shook his head.

"Oh, of course," agreed the prelate, and there was just the faintest
tinge of scorn in his suave old voice.  "A worshiper of Pele would not
be apt to be familiar with the temples of Ra."

"I worship neither Pele nor Ra," said Mayhew without thinking; then bit
his lip.

But apparently no harm was done, for the high priest replied, "Ah, an
atheist then.  But even so, you appear to be a cultivated gentleman,
who can appreciate good architecture."

Impatient as Mayhew was to learn the result of his embassy, he could
not but politely accept the honor.

So the priest rang for another old man of nearly his own age and
appearance, and together they conducted their guest through the temple.
From the study of the high priest they took him down a long corridor
lined with the cells where dwelt the lesser priests and attendants.
Several of these cells they showed him; all were Spartan in their
simplicity and military in their neatness.

But the huge hall of worship was quite different.  Never, since his
arrival on the island of Mu, had Adams Mayhew seen so much gold.  Every
inch of the white marble walls was encrusted with ingeniously carved
gold fretwork.  Like the temple which he had visited in the Golden
City, this room was built in the form of an amphitheater, surrounded
with tiers of marble seats; and above the seats a canopy of fluted
gold, supported by spiral gold pillars.  Beyond the canopy, this room,
like the other, had no roof, being completely open to the sky.  It was
one of the "transparent temples," for which Mu was noted.  He
complimented the two old priests on its stupendous beauty!

"You have seen nothing yet!" they said, flashing a glance at one
another.  "For now, as a special tribute of hospitality, we shall show
you the holy of holies, a sight which is vouchsafed to few, even of the
priesthood."

Murmuring his unworthiness of this great honor, and really anxious to
receive his answer and be on his way, Mayhew followed them through a
small door beneath one of the sections of seats, and down a long dark
corridor, at the end of which one of the priests fumbled with a key in
a lock.

At last a door swung open, admitting them to a small dim room.  At
first, all that Mayhew could make out was a single narrow shaft of
bright sunlight, slanting down to the floor from a small round hole in
the ceiling.  All else was dark and indistinct by contrast.

Then, as his eyes became used to the peculiar combination of brilliance
and gloom, he noticed in the exact center of the chamber a gray stone
about five feet long, four feet high, and two feet thick, with a
slightly rounded top.  This stone looked as though it once had been
white, but now it was streaked and stained and aged to a mottled
gray--gray mottled with brown.  On the side nearest him there hung a
ring and two straps of gold.

"The altar of the Most High Ra," said Alvo.  "Step nearer, favored one,
and see a sight which few see."

Fascinated, Mayhew stepped forward.  He arrived at the stone and leaned
over to inspect it.  Suddenly, with a precision which evidenced long
practice, the two old men leaped upon him, seized his shoulders, swung
him around, and bent him backward across the stone.  In an instant,
rings far down each side of the stone were snapped about his wrists,
and one golden strap was bound across his neck, the other across his
hips.

His two captors stepped back and gloated over him.  Then one of them
reached into a niche in the wall and brought forth a long slim knife.

"Thus die those who dare oppose the religion of the one true god," he
hissed.




CHAPTER XVI

HUMAN SACRIFICE

Mayhew strained and wrenched at his bonds, but they would not give an
inch.  He desisted.

"I have not opposed your god," he replied.

"You came to us as the emissary of Pele, did you not?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then for that you must die."

In desperation, Adams Mayhew decided to tell the truth as to his
identity.  Surely these priests, who had thus repulsed the offers of
the Spider, could be trusted to keep his secret.

"I am a spy, a government spy," he blurted out.  "Captured by the
Spider, I changed places with one of his henchmen who died.  I have won
his confidence.  I pass freely in and out of his domain, and have given
much valuable information to the authorities.  I came here yesterday
and today--sent by the Spider, it is true--but for the real purpose of
sounding you out."

"An insult!" shouted the lesser priest.  "An insult which shall be
effaced by your death!"

But Alvo stopped him with, "Peace!  Desist!  We should be calmly and
serenely above all insult, in reliance on the knowledge that the great
Ra, who sees all and knows all, has faith in us.  But," turning to the
victim on the altar, "it does interest us to learn if the government
shares your suspicions of us."

"Certainly not," Mayhew hastened to aver.  "It was entirely my own
idea."

Alvo appeared much relieved.

"The government will not thank you for having meddled in our affairs,"
he said dryly.  "What is your name, infidel?"

Mayhew had not even introduced himself as Tolofo, for fear of being
turned over to the authorities as an escaped convict.  Now, for a
moment he hesitated.  He had three names to choose from.  The name
"Tolofo" might still get him into trouble, and thus prevent him from
returning to spy upon the Spider, and rescue the faithful Moorfi.  The
name "Adamo Mayho" would doubtless mean nothing to them.  Hence he
selected the third available name.

"I am Porto," he said, "of the Golden City."

Both men looked at him carefully.

"He does resemble Porto," admitted the lesser priest.  "I have had the
man pointed out to me.  But Porto wore no beard."

"I have only recently grown it."

To the other priest Alvo said, "There is yet time to check up on this."

So the other left on a waddling run.  During his absence, Mayhew
pleaded with Alvo, but the latter turned a deaf ear to his pleas.

At last the lesser prelate returned with an ominous gleam in his eye,
and reported, "I heliographed to our temple in the Golden City, and
they state that Porto is there."

"But that is impossible!" Mayhew blurted out, taken completely off his
guard by the astounding news.  "Porto can't be there.  He died in the
attack on the stronghold of the Spider."

"So!" hissed Alvo.  "Then you are an impostor, by your own admission.
Thus die the enemies of Ra!"

"But I tell you, I _am_ a government spy," pleaded Mayhew frantically.
"If you kill me, you're hurting the cause of Ra; not helping it.  I'm
Adamo Mayho, as they call me in the Golden City.

"I'm the double of Porto, and I took his name, thinking that he was
dead, and that you would be more likely to know of him than of me."

"Somehow his words have the ring of truth in them," mused the high
priest.  "But he is an atheist."

"I'm not an atheist," objected Mayhew.  "I worship Ra, but by another
name."

"Everything about you seems to masquerade under other names," snapped
Alvo dryly.  "But enough of this nonsense.  The time for the execution
has arrived."



Seeing that there was no further hope, Mayhew stopped his pleas and
clenched his jaw; resolving that if he must die, he would at least die
like a man, instead of a cringing coward.

"Go ahead and strike!" he challenged them.

"Not yet," replied the lesser priest, grinning ghoulishly, or so Mayhew
imagined.  "We do not strike until the eye of Ra falls upon your left
breast.  Then we snatch out your living heart, and offer it, still
beating, unto our god."

The "eye of Ra" was quite evidently the shaft of brilliant sunlight,
shining down through the small orifice in the ceiling of this dungeon,
and by now almost touching the right side of the victim.  Mayhew
twisted his head as far to the right as the golden strap across his
neck would permit, and observed the shaft of light.

Its approach was uncannily steady.  On and on came the golden ray of
death; while Alvo, the Grand High Priest of Ra, stood expectantly at
the head of the altar, the sharp sacrificial knife hanging poised in
his upraised hand; and the other old priest, standing at the foot of
the altar, began to intone "the death chant of the flaming god."

"O, Ra," he sang, "shine thy approval on this offering which we bring
to thee.  Touch his heart with thy shaft of gold, so that we may know
that thou hast chosen him for the sacrifice."

The chant droned on and on.  The sunbeam approached the altar and
bathed the side of the stone and the right arm of Adams Mayhew.  He
could feel its warmth on his elbow.  Then it passed over the edge of
the altar and shone upon the right side of his chest.

Fascinated, he followed it with his eyes, then shifted his gaze to the
sharp knife which hung poised above his diaphragm.  He no longer needed
to watch the ray of light, for he could feel the progress of its warmth
across his body.  So he watched the knife, knowing that when the ray
passed to a position above his heart, his chest would be ripped open
with one swift stroke, and his still beating heart would be plucked
out.  What happened after that would no longer concern him.

As the ray of death traversed his breast-bone, he tensed his muscles
and steeled his nerves to meet the end.  The chant ceased.  There came
an ominous pause.  Then the knife began its descent.

Mayhew gasped, and shut his eyes to blot out the sight.  A sudden
feeling of coolness swept, across his chest.  Was this the way the
fatal knife-thrust felt?  And could it be that he still lived to feel
it?

He waited for the outplucking of his heart, but it did not come.  He
heard an exclamation of disgust from one of the priests.  Then he
reopened his eyes.  The room was in darkness.  There was no shaft of
light.  And through the opening in the ceiling, the sky showed gray,
not blue.  A cloud was passing across the face of Ra, the sun.




CHAPTER XVII

THE KNIFE

At length the sky, as seen through the tiny aperture in the roof of the
crypt, turned from gray to blue again.  The shaft of sunlight beat down
once more through the opening.  The high priest leaned forward again
with his sacrificial dagger eagerly poised above the breast of Adams
Mayhew.

But it was too late.  The time for the sacrifice had passed, for the
shaft of light had gone beyond the breast of the intended victim, and
would not shine upon the blood-stained altar again until high noon of
another day.

"Ra blast him to Pele!" snarled the lesser of the two priests.

"Silence!" exclaimed Alvo reprovingly.  "Such language in the holy
temple is most unseemly!"

"Why not kill him even now?" urged the other.  "No man will ever know
but what we struck while the light was upon him."

"No man would know," mildly replied the high priest.  "But Ra would
know, and it would be on our consciences forever.  Ra himself has
refused to accept our sacrifice, so we must await another day."

"Shall we leave him here, or shall we remove him; and if so, just how?"

"That does present a difficulty," mused Alvo.  "We are two old and
feeble men.  If we release him, he might destroy us.  But on the other
hand we cannot permit any lesser priests and temple attendants to enter
this holy of holies, for the purpose of guarding us.  And if we leave
him here for twenty-four hours, he may perish of the strain, or at
least become so weakened that his heart will not be beating strongly as
we pluck it out on the morrow.  We are indeed in a quandary."

This conversation was being carried on in utter disregard of the
presence of Adams Mayhew, as though he were a mere bit of furniture or
a lower animal.  He decided that it was time for him to take a part in
the conversation.

So he interposed, "As proof of my innocence and good faith, O Alvo, I
will give you my word of honor that, if you release me, I will attempt
no violence, nor will I try to escape until you have gotten me out of
here and have placed me in the hands of competent guards."

"The word of a heretic is meaningless, Alvo," warned the lesser priest.

But Alvo replied, "Even so, I am inclined to believe him, at least this
much.  Do you therefore unshackle him, while I go to summon husky
guards to await just outside the entrance to the tunnel which leads
from the amphitheater to this spot."

He placed the sacrificial knife back in its niche and departed.  The
door clanged shut behind him.  The other priest leaned over the altar
and gloated at Adams Mayhew.  Then he walked to the niche, picked up
the sacrificial knife, and returned to the altar.

His eyes gleamed exultantly and evilly as he hissed, "And now, heretic,
we are alone together.  No one but you and I can know what shall now
occur within this crypt.  I shall slice your wrists in such a way as to
make it appear that you chafed them raw against your manacles.  Then I
shall run and tell Alvo that you became so violent that I dared not
loosen you.  No one but you and I will know the truth, and you shall be
dead, wandering, a lost soul, through the realms of Pele."

Seeking to appeal to the man's superstition, Mayhew exclaimed, "But Ra
will know.  Ra sees everything."

The priest shook his head and grinned toothlessly.

"Even Ra will not know," he asserted, "for Ra hides his head today."

It was true; the sky again showed leaden gray through the hole in the
top of the crypt.

Still gloating, the priest cautiously took hold of one of Mayhew's
wrists and studied it to find a place where his slashings would most
plausibly resemble the chafing of the manacles.  Mayhew strained to
snatch it free, but its fetters held it motionless.  Carefully the
priest began to saw.

But at that instant Mayhew suddenly remembered that his legs were free.
His neck was strapped to the top of the altar and his wrists to its
sides, but his feet and legs were free.  The priest was preoccupied
with his delicate task.

So Mayhew reared his legs into the air and flung his knees around the
neck of the old man.  Then he squeezed with all the force of his strong
young thighs.  The attack was so unexpected that the priest dropped the
knife, which would have been a most efficient means of defense against
even these tactics.  He tried to scream, but his wind was completely
cut off by the strong legs of his intended victim.

Mayhew squeezed and squeezed, until the body of the priest slumped and
went limp.  Yet still he continued to squeeze, until he himself was
exhausted.  Then he lay back on the altar and let the body slide to the
floor.

His enemy was dead.  But, in the reaction which followed his fatiguing
efforts, he felt nothing but supreme despair, for he had killed a
priest of Ra within the holy of holies, and thereby had undoubtedly
sealed his own doom irrevocably.  Limp and tired, he awaited his fate.

Alvo returned, flung open the door, gasped at the sight of his dead
subordinate, and then transfixed the man on the altar with a
penetrating glance of horror and reproach.

"You broke your word of honor, pledged by the holy name of Ra," he
said.  "And for that you shall most assuredly die."

"Alvo," asserted Mayhew in a level tone, "I killed in self defense.
This priest of yours--you will remember how eager he was to profane the
altar of the flaming god by killing me at other than the appointed
hour.  When you left, he tried to do it.  See, the holy dagger is no
longer in its niche, but lies on the floor there, where he dropped it,
when I defended myself against his cowardly attack.  He--"

"Enough," snapped Alvo, his eyes blazing.  "Doubtless he carried the
dagger merely as a defense against the violence which he
expected--quite rightly, as it now turns out--from a false-swearing
heretic such as you."

"But I did not break my oath," pleaded Mayhew.  "I swore to be peaceful
if and when released; and he refused to release me."

"A mere quibble," sneered Alvo contemptuously, "for he was about to
release you.  But I will hear no more.  Lie there and await your fate."

Then, picking up the body, he staggered with it from the crypt.  Mayhew
could hear him shout, as he passed down the corridor, "Come hither,
guards, and help me bear this body to the amphitheater, where we shall
pray to Ra to restore life to this, his faithful servant."

Mayhew sniffed grimly.  Circumstantial evidence, all against him.  And
yet he could hardly blame the high priest.



About an hour later Alvo returned, with a very sad and enigmatical
expression on his finely chiseled old face.

"Ra has refused to revive your victim," he said.  "The flaming god
still averts his face.  Perhaps there may be some truth to your account
of what happened here in my absence.  But I can afford to take no
further chances with you.  Here you must lie until noon tomorrow.
Then, at high noon, let Ra judge between you and me."

He departed.  For a time, Mayhew slept.  That wasn't so bad.  But
finally he could sleep no more.  He was able to exercise the lower part
of his body, but the cramped position of his arms and neck became
excruciating.

Morning came, and his senses cleared, though his neck and arms were
numb, and his throat was parched and dry.  Pink fleecy sky showed
through the hole in the ceiling, but this speedily changed to gray.
Darker and darker gray.

At this sight, Mayhew took heart.  Perhaps Ra would again avert his
face, and spare the victim for another twenty-four hours.  But could he
stand this ordeal for that additional length of time?  In the end,
there must eventually come a clear and unclouded noon.  And then the
knife!

He shuddered.  Then, with determination, he began to flex and unflex
his almost nerveless fingers.  He lifted and twisted each shoulder.  He
swung his head slowly from side to side.  He brought into play every
one of his cramped muscles, and gradually the blood flooded back into
them, and he was thoroughly alive again, alive from head to toe.

But, as the morning dragged wearily on, his hope began to fade.  The
sky, as seen through the small opening above him, changed to lighter
gray, then white.  Occasional rifts of blue appeared.  And then the
shaft of sunlight entered, and made a spot of light on one of the
walls.  That spot began to descend.  It reached the floor, and crept
ominously toward the altar.  Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside,
and Alvo entered with another priest, a young one this time.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE DEAD RETURN

"This young fellow owes his promotion to you," the high priest
announced with a grim smile.  "For the exigencies of the occasion have
demanded that I pass him over the heads of many of his seniors, in
order that the vicar of Ra on earth may be protected against any
repetition of your violence."

"Alvo," Mayhew levelly replied, "it astounds me that such an evidently
intelligent person as you should not be blessed by Ra with the
knowledge that, in attempting to strike at the Spider through putting
to death a supposed emissary of his, you are in reality playing into
his hands by doing away with the one man in all Mu who is in a position
to thwart him."

"Enough of these blasphemies!" shouted the high priest with flashing
eyes.  "Do not let the name of Ra cross your impious lips again.  The
service proceeds."

He snatched the knife from its niche, and took up his position by the
side of the altar.  The young priest stood at the altar's foot and
began the death-chant of Ra.  It was evidently quite new to him, and he
sang it haltingly.  But what did that matter!  The sky was clear above,
the "eye of Ra" approached with relentless precision, and the
sacrificial blade was in steady and experienced hands.

A shout was heard in the corridor outside.  "Alvo, a message!  A
message of most vital import!"

With a shrug of annoyance the high priest studied for a moment the
position of the beam of light.

"There is yet time," he announced.  "Suspend the chant.  I go, but I
shall return."

Then, laying the knife upon the floor, he sped from the room.  Mayhew's
tensed body relaxed and he sighed heavily.  Then he had an idea.

"Say, old fellow," he addressed the young priest.  "You owe your job to
me.  If you are grateful--no, I won't put it on that ground.  If you
are alive to the responsibilities of your new position as assistant
vicar of Ra, can't you persuade Alvo to hold up this execution until he
investigates the truth of what I've been saying?  It would be a
terrible tragedy to help the Spider by killing the one loyal Muian who
has access to the secrets of that fiend of Pele."

"It might be done," the young priest thoughtfully replied.  "Certainly
if you are telling the truth, your death would be on our consciences
forever.  And yet--let Ra decide!  He knows all things.  If you are
innocent, he will withhold his eye."

"Look here," said Mayhew.  "Send for Marta, the widow of the magistrate
Julo.  She can identify me.  She knows how I helped her husband in his
plans against the Spider."

"Yes.  I've heard about that.  You led him and many other brave men
into an ambush, from which the survivors have just returned.  Doubtless
Marta will thank you for _that_!  We learned all about it by heliograph
early yesterday afternoon.  Your identity was quite well established,
before Ra finally hid his face for good."

Mayhew groaned.  Every fact on which he had depended for exoneration
seemed to be turned against him.  The priests now knew that he had been
telling the truth as to who he was, and yet they still believed that he
deserved to die.

At this instant Alvo bustled in again.  The young priest resumed the
chant of death.

But Alvo interrupted with, "No.  No!  There is to be no sacrifice.
Release the prisoner."

Mayhew slumped, and his senses reeled with relief.

As the two priests fumbled with his bonds, he shook himself again and
weakly inquired, "What has happened?"

"Ra be praised that the message came through in time," said Alvo
devoutly.  "But then it was Ra's own self that delivered the message.
Ever since Ra hid his face yesterday afternoon, the temple in the
Golden City has been trying to get word to us that you are indeed a
loyal friend of the government, and an enemy of the Spider."

Tenderly they helped him from the altar and led him out of the room of
death.  As they all passed out of the tunnel into the amphitheater a
surprising sight met Mayhew's eyes; Porto, standing with outstretched
hands of greeting.

"But," Mayhew exclaimed, "the Spider said that every man of the
expedition perished."

"He may have thought so," replied Porto.  "What happened was that we
advanced in two bodies.  Only the smaller body, which served as an
advance guard, was trapped.  The rest of us fled back to the ships, and
returned to the Golden City for reenforcements.  From now on we fight
in the open.  All Mu is being aroused to the necessity of destroying
the Spider."

"And Eleria--"

"Arrived safely at home yesterday morning.  She is being carefully
guarded."

"I'll wager that you had considerable to do with saving my life just
now."

"I did, but it was a close shave.  The temple in the city sent out
inquiries as to whether I was there or here.  Word of this inquiry
reached me a few hours later.  At once I sensed that you must be the
cause.  By the time I learned that you were to be executed as an
impostor it was evening, and so we could not send a heliograph message.
Leaving word that the message must be gotten through with the first
clear sky, I set out for here.  I traveled all night.  My elephant
proved balky and delayed me.  I was desperate.  I arrived here just
now, to find that the message had gotten through, and that you were
saved."



At this point the high priest interrupted to say sententiously: "Glory
be to Ra, who delivered the message, before he smiled upon the
sacrifice."

"Didn't I say that it could be safely left to Ra?" added the young
priest.

Mayhew and Porto were served a meal in the personal apartment of the
high priest.  The latter withdrew in response to a summons from an
attendant.

"I could be very happy," Mayhew asserted, "if Moorfi were free, and if
Julo hadn't been killed."

"What's this?" said a genial voice from the doorway.  "Lamenting my
death, Adamo Mayho?"

And Julo himself stepped into the room, accompanied by the high priest.

"I thought I told you!" exclaimed Porto.  "Julo was with the party that
did not fall into the web of the Spider."

It was a glad reunion.  After the greetings were over Mayhew related in
detail all that had occurred since their last meeting, and all that he
had learned about the Spider.

"Come back with us to the city," begged Julo.  "You have risked enough
for the cause.  Eleria and we are now safe.  Fight in our army if you
wish, but do not again thrust yourself between the Spider's jaws."

"I must," said Mayhew soberly.  "Moorfi is still in the caves of Pele,
and I cannot desert him.  Furthermore, it is important that we learn
how the attempted alliance with Tirio and his confederates is working
out.  And also what other secrets the Spider must have up his sleeve."

"I guess you are right," assented Julo thoughtfully, "but I hate to
have you go.  You are almost a son to me.  And I owe you my life at
least once.  Yes, you had better go.  And there is one thing which I
wish you to particularly try to learn.  What is the purpose of those
extensive excavations, on which the Spider is so assiduously working?
I cannot even guess, and yet I feel certain that they constitute the
worst menace that has ever confronted this continent; far more of a
menace than merely the Spider himself."

So that afternoon Mayhew went back through Forbosa to a certain tree by
the bank of the lotus-strewn stream, and waited.

He waited for some time, for evidently the Spider was not expecting
him.  But at last he saw the red haze which he had learned to know so
well, and passed through the screen of worluk into the cave of the
Spider.  Once more he stood before his master.

The Spider's narrowed and penetrating eyes were upon him, seeming to
read his very thoughts.

"Where have you been all this time?  And why did you delay in
returning?" hissed the creature.

"Perhaps your excellency would first care to know the results of my
mission," Mayhew coolly replied.

"Tolofo," said the Spider with one of his characteristic rapid shifts
of mood, "one thing that I like about you is the way that you stand up
to me, instead of cringing before me like all these cattle.  Yes, you
may tell me about your mission, although I can see from the expression
on your face that it was not successful."

"No, your excellency," Mayhew replied, in as regretful a tone as he
could muster.  "Not only was it unsuccessful for you, but it was almost
fatal to me.  In revenge for what they considered was an insult to
their god, the priests strapped me to their sacrificial altar for
twenty-four hours.  But twice Ra declined the sacrifice by hiding his
face at exactly the appointed hour, and so the superstitious fools let
me go.  But it was a narrow escape."

"I wonder," mused the Spider softly, but with an intent though covert
glance at Mayhew, "if Ra himself really intervened to save you."

"Who knows?" the young man replied with a shrug.  "Perhaps Pele sent a
wisp of smoke to hide her rival's face."

The answer seemed to satisfy the Spider.



Mayhew, seeking information, continued, "But, although the priesthood
refused to ally themselves with you, how about Tirio?  His secret
anti-government organization has more men and more influential men than
the priesthood.  Has he yet assented to an alliance?"

"He has," the hunchback scientist replied.  "The escape of Eleria was
really fortunate, for it removed the only obstacle to my reaching an
agreement with Tirio.  And--although he doesn't know this--I intend to
have Eleria for myself as soon as I rule the world.  Tirio's price for
the alliance is that he is to be the chief magistrate of the Golden
City.  He thinks thereby to secure both power and the girl.  But I can
plan at least one lap ahead of him."

"I am sure your excellency can," breathed the American.

"And now," the Spider continued, "I shall send for Tirio.  Somehow he
seems to feel that you harbor a hatred for him, because of his
complicity in your original imprisonment."

"Not at all," said Mayhew.  "Far be it from me to let that stand
between me and a loyal ally of your excellency."

So Tirio was sent for.  On his entry he looked at Mayhew most
carefully.  This was the first time that he had seen the supposed
Tolofo in a toga, rather than a black jersey and tights; or since his
bushy blond beard had been reduced to small square-cut Egyptian form.
A gradual dawning of recognition spread over Tirio's features.

"Your excellency," he cried, "this is not Tolofo.  It is either Porto
or Adamo Mayho.  I know not which, for they are as alike as twins."

"Tirio," the American replied undisturbed, "is this your attempted
revenge on Tolofo for having captured you and brought you here?  A very
weak attempt, I should say.  And besides, you ought to be grateful,
rather than resentful, that I was the means of this meeting.  Few men,
other than members of your order, have had the honor of seeing the face
of his excellency, and continuing to live."

"Yes, Tirio," added the Spider, but he was intently studying Mayhew as
he spoke.  "And men have been thrown to Pele quite recently for
doubting the identity of this loyal supporter of mine."

Tirio saw that he was in a corner; and, with the bravery of a cornered
rat, he blurted out, "Who killed Tolofo, and took his place as
overseer?  Who leaped through the screen of worluk, to save the life of
your enemy Julo, whom your assassins were about to kill?  Who gave away
your secrets, and led the expedition to attack you?  Who got word to
Eleria how to escape?  Who harbored her when she had fled you?  Who
persuaded the high priest of Ra to spurn your most fair offer of
alliance?  And who has now boldly come back to plot against us?  Oh,
you have been blind, your excellency!"

It was a perfect indictment.  Mayhew blanched, in spite of his self
control.

And the Spider, seeing this, cried, "You are right, Tirio.  I have been
blind.  Ho, guards!  Seize the false Tolofo!  Pele shall be fed today."




CHAPTER XIX

A HUNCHBACKED SAMSON

As the spearmen sprang to seize him, Mayhew drew his sword and leaped
at the Spider.  It was a most unwise move, for it destroyed his last
chance of convincing the Spider that he was Tolofo.  And it enabled the
rat-faced Tirio to solidify himself with the monarch of the underworld,
by stepping nimbly forward and with his own sword parrying Mayhew's
blow.

The Spider was quivering with rage and his taloned fingers were
gripping the arms of the throne.

"Let there be no delay," he shrieked.  "Take him to the eternal fires
at once.  And bring my chair-car, so that I may accompany him, and
witness, with my own eyes, his destruction."

"May I make a suggestion, your excellency?" inquired Tirio in a
gloating voice.  "The Negro attendant of this Mayho, or Porto, or
Tolofo, or whoever he is, was formerly of the house of Julo, your enemy.

"Doubtless therefore the Negro is also implicated in the conspiracy
against you.  May I suggest that he too goes to feed the eternal fires?"

The Spider rubbed his hands with evil glee as he exclaimed:

"In truth, Pele shall feast well today.  Yes, Tirio, by all means send
for the Negro, Moorfi."

Mayhew was hustled along, through caves and subterranean passages, to
the vaulted cavern which held the surging pit of molten lava.  Moorfi,
bound hand and foot, joined them on the way.  The huge Negro refused to
walk, even to the accompaniment of prodding spear-points, so the
spider-men were forced to carry him.

As he joined the group he sung out jovially to Mayhew, "Master, you
haven't the right idea at all.  They're making _you_ walk, and here _I_
am, riding.  It reminds me of the story of the two black men who were
stealing chickens.  Did you ever hear it?"

But Mayhew was in no mood for ribald stories.

"Keep your eyes open, Moorfi," said he tensely.  "We may yet get a
chance to fight."

The Spider followed them in a chair, slung on two poles; and by his
side walked the odious Tirio.

At the cave of Pele, the Spider directed the attention of his new ally
to the surging lava.

"These are the eternal fires," he said.  "And since the grand high
priest spurns my offer of a marriage between Ra and Pele, I am
contemplating another marriage."

Mayhew thought that the creature was referring to a marriage between
his stunted self and the beautiful Eleria; but not so, for the Spider
continued, "This other marriage, which I have planned for the
fire-goddess, is with the god of Ocean.  That is why I have dug a canal
from the sea to here.  My canal is nearly completed.  At any moment now
I can, at will, flood the sea-water into this very pit."

Mayhew pricked up his ears and listened intently.

"But would that not be dangerous?" asked Tirio in a voice which shook
with concern.

"Quite so," the Spider suavely replied, "for it would destroy the
entire world."

"But--your excellency," Tirio stammered.

"Oh, I shan't do it," the Spider continued.  Tirio brightened
perceptibly.  "Except as a last resort."

Tirio's face fell again, as he asked, "And what do you mean 'as a last
resort'?"

"If I cannot rule the world, I intend that there shall remain no world
for any one else to rule.  This should prove an added cement to our
alliance, for now you realize that unless your and my combined forces
succeed in conquering Mu, then you and I will die along with all the
rest.  But enough of all this talk, for I am sick of talk, and demand
action.  Let the execution proceed!"

Mayhew edged closer to his faithful Negro, and whispered in his ear,
"Did you catch all that about letting the sea into the volcano?  Well,
remember it in all its details.  One of us has just got to get out of
here, and take word of this to Julo."

"I wouldn't mind doing that at all," Moorfi replied with a rather
sickly grin on his round black face, "but it doesn't look very likely
at just this moment.  It reminds me of the story--"

But one of the yellow spearmen slapped him across the mouth, and he
desisted.

Then, at a command from the Spider, the bonds of both the captives were
untied, a ring of spear-points encompassed them, and they were
simultaneously pushed very slowly toward the edge of the seething
inferno.  They could hear the chuckles of the mad monarch as he rubbed
his skinny hands together, and gloated over their fate.

Mayhew glanced back and Tirio sang out to him, "A fitting end to that
fight at the wharves."

"So that still rankles, does it?" Mayhew shot back at him.

At that moment the spearmen who were prodding him suddenly turned and
ran, several of them dropping their spears in their flight.  All the
attendants were fleeing from the cavern.  There remained but two of
those who were prodding Moorfi, and even these were showing hesitancy.
Tirio was standing aghast staring down at the Spider, who lay on his
back on the cavern floor, flopping like a fish.

Quick as a flash Mayhew picked up one of the dropped spears and with it
swept aside the two that were menacing his black friend.

"Seize a spear, Moorfi," he shouted, "and come on."

With that, he charged upon the prostrate spider.  Now was the chance to
rid the world of that menace.



But Tirio leaped between them and warded off the spear-thrust with his
sword, at the same time calling upon the two remaining spearmen to
rally to the defense of their master.

Seeing that there were three persons who did not fear the epileptic
seizure, they obeyed, and Mayhew was beaten back.  Moorfi joined him,
but they were no match for two experienced spears and one sword.  And,
in response to Tirio's shouts, others of the yellow spearmen began to
drift timidly back.

Seeing that he and his black friend would soon be out-numbered and
overpowered, Mayhew drew back his spear-arm and cast his spear at the
convulsively twitching body of the hunchback.  In spite of his
inexperience with such weapons, it sped true, and struck a point
against the breast of the little black form.  But that was all.  It
bounced back without penetrating, and clattered to the ground.

Snatching up another spear, and realizing the futility of further
attack upon the invulnerable Spider, Mayhew called to Moorfi, and they
fled together into the surrounding shadows.

Several spearmen started to pursue them, but Tirio called them back to
guard their fallen master, warning them that the two fugitives might
circle and return to the attack from some unexpected quarter.  Thus
spoke the cautious coward that was Tirio.

But such a plan was farthest from Mayhew's intentions.  Having failed
to slay the Spider, his chief concern now was to get out of these caves
and bring word to the Muians of the Spider's plan to flood the fires.

Mayhew was well acquainted with the way out of the caves, ending in the
spiral shaft which led to the surface.  In fact, that was the only
route, other than the globe of worluk smoke, by which he had ever left
the caves.  For the first several hundred yards it ran straight, and
then made a sharp bend to the right, thereafter following a rather
sinuous course.

So Mayhew and Moorfi raced together down this first section.  The turn
ahead was dimly illumined, and when they rounded it on the run they
could see a flickering light reflected on the wall ahead.  Evidently
some one with a torch was preceding them down the tunnel.

From time to time, as he and Moorfi proceeded cautiously on, Mayhew
would glance back over his shoulder.  At first there were no signs of
pursuit; but, by the time the fugitives had traversed about half the
distance from the caves of the fires of Pele to the shaft which led
upward to the outer air, there were flickering reflections of lights to
be seen behind, as well as ahead.

There was but one thing to do.  As between being caught by the pursuing
party, and catching up with the party ahead, the latter was preferable
by far.

"Better the devil we don't know than the devil we know," said Mayhew.
"Come on, Moorfi."

So they rapidly quickened their pace, until on rounding a turn in the
tunnel they saw ahead of them two spider-men carrying torches.  Lithely
and silently Mayhew and Moorfi rushed these two men.  The unexpected
attack succeeded.  Both spider-men were seized before either of them
had time to drop his torch and draw his sword.

"Silence!" cautioned the American.  "Not a word out of either of you,
or we'll run you through.  Now hurry to the exit."

The four of them reached the open air on the starlit mountainside just
as the lights of the pursuing force of spider-men appeared at the foot
of the shaft.

Mayhew seized the torches of his two captives and flung them into the
depths.  Then he and Moorfi took off the swordbelts of the two men and
buckled them onto themselves.

"Back into the shaft," he commanded, "and, as you value your lives,
don't tell any one that we went west."

"West?" asked his black friend incredulously, for the Golden City lay
east.

"Yes, west, of course," Mayhew replied, giving him a nudge.  "Come on."
And he started westward across the rocks.

Silhouetted against the starlit sky, he could see the heads of the two
yellow men peering at him over the top edge of the shaft, and he knew
that they could likewise see him and Moorfi silhouetted against that
self-same sky.  So he ran lightly over the barren rocks due west, until
a dip in the terrain hid the shaft-mouth from his view, and by the same
token hid him and Moorfi from the watchers at the shaft.

Then he circled rapidly, watching the stars like a true mariner for
guidance as to his direction, until he was east of the shaft.  And, as
that direction was down hill from the shaft-mouth, he knew that he and
his black companion were invisible.  Glancing back over his shoulders
he saw the pursuing horde emerge from the opening and set off on a run
due west.  He and Moorfi hurried on in the general direction of the
City of Gold.

They reached the lowlands without mishap, and without further signs of
pursuit; and proceeded, under the velvet sky and twinkling stars,
toward the lights of a little village which they could see in the
distance.  The moon began to rise ahead of them beyond the village.

Suddenly they found their way barred by a line of figures which seemed
to spring from the very earth.  And each of these figures brandished a
spear.

"Halt!" cried one of them.  "Who are you?"

Mayhew and his companion halted.

"I am a peaceful gentleman traveling at night with his black servant,"
he answered.  "Let us pass."

He glanced keenly up and down the line, to size up the situation--and
suddenly realized that he had seen this spot before!  That peculiarly
gnarled willow tree flanked by a group of bushes which vaguely
resembled a hen--he had seen it often before, through the crystal globe
and the sphere of worluk smoke of his master the Spider.  His enemy had
located him!

"Follow me, Moorfi, and do as I do," he commanded in a low tone; then
more loudly; "These men seem to be perfectly friendly, and I am sure
will let us pass."  And he began to advance upon them.

"Halt!" again commanded the spear-man most directly in front of him.

For reply Mayhew hurled his own spear, and the man went down.

"Come on, Moorfi!" he shouted, drawing his sword and leaping forward.

Moorfi followed, driving his own spear into one of the yellow men who
was converging dangerously upon Mayhew.

They got through the line with only a few minor cuts, after having
accounted for two more of the enemy.

Mayhew, in the lead, heard a groaning cry, "Master!" behind him; and,
looking over his shoulder, saw that the faithful Moorfi was lying
prone, with the haft of a spear protruding from between his shoulder
blades.  Instantly the American halted his mad flight and rushed back
to place himself between the prostrate body of his friend and the horde
of yellow men who were swarming toward it.  Then they were upon him,
and he went down beneath the force of their impact.  Something struck
him on the head, and he knew no more.

When he came to his senses again it was still night.

Mayhew's head ached and throbbed as he lay and waited for the last of
the enemy to disappear; then he tried to roll over toward the prostrate
body of his faithful black servant.  But he could not move; he was
pinned to the ground.  Looking up, he saw the shaft of a spear
protruding into the air from his own left breast.




CHAPTER XX

TO SAVE THE WORLD

It is startling enough to come to one's senses after a battle, and find
one's self lying on one's back impaled to the ground by an enemy spear.
But it is even more startling to then realize that one feels no pain
from the wound.

Mayhew gingerly reached up both hands, seized the shaft of the spear
and gave it a gentle and tentative wiggle.  Still no pain.  He wiggled
it some more, and it rubbed against the left side of his chest and the
inside of his arm.  Whoever had attempted to deliver the coup-de-grce
to him had in the moonlight mistaken the billowing folds of his toga
for his own form, and had driven the spear in at the wrong place, thus
hurting him not at all, although securely pinning him to the ground.

By dint of considerable effort he was finally able to wrench the spear
free and throw it to one side.  Then he crawled slowly and
inconspicuously over the body of the Negro.  For, so far as he knew,
the Spider on his skull-topped, blood-red throne might still be
intently watching this scene through his crystal-gazing globe.

The poor black man was completely still and dead.  The tears welled up
into Mayhew's eyes.  Here had been a loyal servant, a true friend.  But
there was no time to dispose of the body; furthermore a burial would be
far too conspicuous, with the Spider looking on.  So, after reciting
what few snatches he could remember from the invocation to the sun god,
and the Christian litany for burial at sea, and throwing a handful of
dirt upon the massive black body which would never fight again for its
native Mu, Mayhew crept swiftly away.  Still no sign of pursuit.

A cloud passed across the face of the moon, and instantly the young
American sprang to his feet and ran--ran until the moon came out again.
But by that time he believed that he had gotten far enough away from
the gnarled willow and the hen-bush to be out of sight of the Spider,
so he continued to run instead of dropping down and crawling onward
again.

Thus at last he reached the village.  Fortunately there were a few
coins in the pouch which hung from the sword-belt he had taken from one
of his two yellow captives.  It was just about enough to pay his way to
the city if he ate sparingly, so he washed at the inn, had the cut on
his head dressed, slept for a few hours, and took the first
elephant-stage the next morning for the Golden City.

At last he was home--and somehow this city of gold now was more his
home than New Bedford, a city which seemed to have vanished off the
earth.

Then he reached the ornate carved gold doors of the house of Julo.  A
lump of homesick joy arose in his throat as he mounted the steps and
reached for the knocker.  But the knocker was gone from its accustomed
place, and the doors were barred and sealed.

No Julo!  No home!  What could have happened?  His eyes misty, Mayhew
stumbled down the steps.

A man was passing by, down the street.  Mayhew hailed him.

"What has become of the house of Julo?"

"Sealed by the authorities," the man replied.  "Try the next door on
the left."

Then, with an expression on his face as though suddenly he realized
that he had given too much information to the wrong person, the man
hurried away.

Mayhew tried the next house, as directed.  The doors swung open, and he
darted eagerly forward, only to find the way barred by two black men
with drawn scimitars.

"Don't you know me?" Mayhew asked the men who faced him, for both of
them were servants whom he recognized.

"The house of Julo in these days is not open to strangers," replied one
of the blacks.

Well, at least it was the house of Julo!

"Is Julo well, and his gracious wife Marta?" Mayhew asked.

"Both are well," the Negro replied, "but strangers are not permitted to
enter.  Who are you, and what is your errand?  Look, he wears an iron
belt instead of one of gold!  He is a spider-man!"

At this announcement both servants raised their scimitars.  Mayhew drew
his sword and fell back a pace.

Calling them both by name he exclaimed, "I am Adams Mayhew!  I captured
this belt in a fight with spider-men.  But no more of this foolishness!
Send for Julo, and let him identify me!"

"Will you hand over your sword and submit to search?" asked one of the
Negroes, still incredulous.

For reply Mayhew flung his broadsword at their feet and held his arms
aloft, so that they were soon satisfied that, even though he might not
be the missing Adamo Mayho, he was at least completely unarmed and
harmless.  They led him within and sent for their master.

Julo came with his usual stately tread; but as soon as his eyes set
upon Mayhew he rushed forward, flung his arms around his neck, and
sobbed, "My son!  My son!  You have returned to me."

Mayhew was much touched, and not a little embarrassed.  To relieve his
confusion he announced, "I have important information for the
government."

"Important though it may be," replied the kindly Julo, "I refuse to
listen to a word of it until you have bathed and shaved and changed and
rested.  But you had better keep that square-cut beard.  It will come
in handy, if you ever have to return again to the caves of Pele."

Mayhew shuddered.  The caves of Pele!  Was he not yet through with the
gruesome Spider?

Then he was led away to the showers and swimming pool.  Finally, bathed
and shaved, and dressed in a clean toga, he returned to the reception
hall, to find that quite a group of people had gathered there in his
absence.  But, of them all, he saw only one.  Eleria!  Eleria of the
blue eyes, honey-colored hair, and cameo features.

At the sight of her he sprang forward and held out his arms; but she
shyly and sadly shook her yellow head and held out her hand to him.
And then he noticed that Porto was standing beside her.  Somehow he had
forgotten Porto.

But, after all, Porto was his friend; and Porto hadn't won Eleria from
him--yet.  So he greeted them both, and then turned and greeted Marta.
He acknowledged the salutations of the rest of the group, men of high
government position who had been active in organizing the recent
expedition against the Spider.

Rapidly the developments of the past two days were sketched for the
benefit of the newcomer.

It seemed that the Spider had again placarded the city with notices,
this time announcing that he was now ready to destroy the world, but
that he was willing to hold off for a little while longer in order to
give the world a chance to arrange with him the terms of its surrender
to him.  If Mu, instead of parleying, should choose to fight, he would
still withhold the final stroke so long as his own forces were
victorious.

But if--which Pele forbid--the forces of Mu should triumph, then most
assuredly the Spider would destroy the world.

Of course, no one believed that the Spider, for all his uncanny powers,
could destroy the world, or even any appreciable part of the continent
of Mu; but when Mayhew, cutting in on their narrative, explained the
Spider's diabolical plan for the flooding of the eternal fires with
sea-water, the crowd sobered.

Several scientists present admitted that the scheme held dire
possibilities.

Then the narrative continued.  Inasmuch as the authorities now knew,
from information given them by Mayhew, the exact location of many of
the spots which the menacing alchemist was wont to visualize in his
crystal gazing-globe, they had watched and guarded those spots; and, as
a result, had actually waylaid and killed many of the emissaries who
had been sent through the worluk screen to post notices.

Now these places were barricaded off and guarded, and no one was
permitted to go to them.  This accounted for the condition in which
Mayhew had found his old home upon his return.

He now checked over their list, and added several more places,
including the river bank by the village of Forbosa and the gnarled
willow tree on the mountainside.

Other cities throughout the empire were reported to be taking the same
precautions, and a huge army was being recruited to march against the
caves.



The next few weeks sped very quickly.  There still were assassinations;
but one by one the Spider's worluk-spots were located and were closed
to him, until finally the only way in which he could distribute
proclamations was to throw them through the smoke-haze into the
proscribed spots; any one of his minions who had ventured through would
have been instantly killed.

Mayhew was kept very busy, chiefly in checking up information about the
Spider.  But he managed to see quite a lot of Eleria; who, however,
distributed her favors quite impartially between him and his friend and
double, Porto.

Porto wasn't quite his double these days, for Porto was cleanshaven,
whereas Adams Mayhew still wore his Egyptian beard, which he
abominated, as preparation for a possible return to the caves.

At last the expedition, fully organized, set out.  Similar forces were
converging upon the mountains of Pele from every other city of the
continent.

And when the advance up the actual slopes of the mountain began, great
care was taken to avoid known menaces.  The men advanced in widely
spaced skirmish lines, so that wherever lava and gas were poured forth
suddenly upon them, only a few were killed.  Remembering the sad fate
of the other expedition, valleys were avoided.  Cliffs from which rocks
might be hurled were flanked.

Occasionally an advance party would be attacked from the rear by yellow
men appearing miraculously from nowhere.  But, whenever this happened,
the far-flung communication lines of the Muians located the worluk-spot
and thereafter it was guarded night and day, and thus rendered impotent.

It was slow work, fighting inch by inch almost, up the barren
mountainsides, but the steady advance continued, until one day a
soldier guarding one of the worluk spots brought to headquarters a
paper which he had found clutched in the hand of an enemy spearman who
had suddenly materialized before him, and had been killed by him.  It
bore the repulsive Spider-crest, and was very brief.  It said, "You
win.  And now I will destroy the earth."

Somehow, in their intentness on their steady advance, every one had
forgotten the threat that victory meant destruction.

A hurried council was held, in the midst of which a steady drone in the
sky began and became louder and louder as it approached.  It was one of
the huge mechanical dragonflies of the priesthood of Ra.

All conversation ceased, for these airships, although well known, were
seldom seen, and the uncanny thought of man being able to fly always
filled the bystanders with awe and dread of the supernatural.

The machine in question landed near the group, and Grand High Priest
Alvo alighted from it and joined them.  He had come to bless their
cause.

And suddenly the arrival of the venerable prelate gave Adams Mayhew an
idea.

"How many men will that flying machine hold?" he asked.

"Six, besides the driver," was the reply.

"Could it land in the mountains?"

"It can land anywhere."

Quickly he sketched his plan.  It was to pick out the five best
swordsmen in the expeditionary forces, and then fly them and Mayhew to
the mouth of the shaft which led down into the heart of the mountains.
Mayhew could direct them through the tunnels, while the flying machine
flew back and forth bringing more and yet more reenforcements.  Perhaps
in this way they could reach the dam which held back the tides of ocean
from the-eternal fires of Pele, before the Spider caused this dam to be
blasted away.

Alvo assented and the first squad was gathered, and hastily clambered
into the silver body of the huge dragon-fly.  Brave men though they
were, their faces paled as, with a deafening roar, the thing left the
ground.

To Mayhew the actual fact that he was flying probably seemed more truly
remarkable than to the native Muians, but he did not have their
superstitious dread of it.  To them it represented the work of
supernatural and uncanny forces controlled by the priesthood, and was
on a par with the worluk of the Spider.

Accordingly Mayhew was the first to recover from that sinking feeling
in the pit of the stomach which the departure from the ground had given
them.  He glanced over the side at the sun-kissed field, and noted that
they seemed to be a blue-green, rather than the customary yellow-green
when viewed from the ground.  The houses seemed garishly painted blocks
of wood.  The rivers and ponds were black, instead of silver-blue.  The
whole scene below reminded him of a toy village which he had once owned
as a child, with tinted excelsior for grass.

And when the flying machine bent to the wind--or so Mayhew from his
nautical experience conceived it--the toy landscapes below seemed to
tip and slide up to one side, while the ship of the air kept an even
keel.

In a minute or two they were over the foothills and nosing sharply up
toward the heights.  Mayhew seized a speaking tube--he knew what they
were, for he had seen them running from bridge to engine room on
steamboats--and directed the navigator of the flying machine toward the
opening of the shaft which was their destination.

But as he drew near it he was surprised to see a crowd of several
hundred spider-men congregated there.  This introduced a complication.
Perhaps the Spider, through his uncanny spy system, had already learned
of their venture, and had laid his plans to anticipate them.

If so, however, his plans were vain; for as the flying machine swooped
down, these minions of the enemy scattered in every direction, and
scuttled off over the rocks in very evident abject terror.

The space around the shaft was now practically deserted.  Not
completely deserted, however; for there, on a wooden replica of the
red-marble skull-topped throne of the caves below, sat the Spider,
squat and hunched and repulsive, croaking out orders which were not
even being heard, much less obeyed.



The airship landed and Adams Mayhew stepped out.  The five soldiers
were still too mentally and spiritually shaken to accompany him; but
the Spider was alone, unarmed and unguarded.

Mayhew strode over to the throne.

"Your excellency," he shouted, "at last we have you at our mercy.
Quick, countermand your order to destroy the world.  If not, I shall
have to kill you."

A crafty grin spread over the hook-nosed face.

"And how can I send the order, Adamo Mayho," the creature croaked,
"since you have scattered all my faithless followers?"

"Give me your signet ring as a token," the American replied, "and I
will take your message."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I shall have to kill you, take the ring by force, and compose my
own message."

"Mayho," said the Spider fiercely, "you forget that I am invulnerable."

"And you forget that you yourself once told me that the secret of your
invulnerability lies only in a certain shirt which you wear beneath
your black jersey jacket.  But come!  No more temporizing!  Give me the
ring and the message!"

Mayhew began to draw his sword.  But he never finished.

The creature's left hand suddenly gripped the arm of the throne, his
body stiffened, and his right arm with fingers extended shot out toward
Adams Mayhew.  A surge of disembodied force seemed to strike the young
man squarely on the chest, staggering him backward a pace and
paralyzing his will.

"I am still master here," hissed the Spider triumphantly.  "And now you
will do as I command."

"Yes, master," said Mayhew's voice, in a singsong sleep-walking tone.
He did not consciously say the words; in fact he strove to hold them
back; but they came out in spite of him.

"Good!" ejaculated the Spider, a crooked smile playing across his thin
lips.  "And now," he exulted, "at last I have the ship of the air, for
which I tried to bargain with the Grand High Priest.  With it I can fly
to safety."

By this time the five soldiers and the pilot had gotten out of the
flying machine and were approaching the throne.

But Mayhew suddenly found a stronger will than his own speaking through
his mouth, "You five soldiers hurry down into that shaft, where you
will await me at the bottom.  This is a situation which I prefer to
handle myself.  And you, navigator, come over here."

With some grumbling and uncertainty the soldiers departed for the shaft
and the pilot approached the throne.

Out shot the Spider's other hand, and he held two men by his will,
instead of one.

Mayhew's brain raced madly, thinking clearly in a detached sort of way,
but totally unable to control either his speech or his actions.  If
only another of the Spider's epileptic fits would come on.  But no such
luck.  That had saved him once.  Too much of a coincidence to expect
that it would save him again.

The Spider was speaking to the pilot, "Draw your sword and kill Adamo
Mayho.  Then pick me up and carry me to your ship.  It is my will."

The bemused pilot started to draw.




CHAPTER XXI

THE SPIDER DIES

As the Muian aviator raised his sword under the influence of the
mesmeric powers of that deformed paralytic, Mayhew was powerless to
move or to protect himself.  The Spider's evil eyes gleamed with
revenge.  But he had been too eager for his vengeance; he should have
waited just a few minutes more.

For the five soldiers had not quite yet reached the shaft-mouth, and
one of them happened to glance back.  And then things began to happen.
This soldier was a skillful swordsman, and a knife thrower as well, and
in an instant his keen blade was hurtling through the air, straight at
the luckless pilot.

But the Spider too saw the weapon coming, and exerted his will to cause
the pilot to step to one side.  The sword missed its mark by a
hairbreadth and went clattering off down the rocks.  However, the
side-stepping of the pilot saved Mayhew from his blow; and before the
Spider could will the man back again to the attack the five soldiers
were upon him.

Swiftly moved the hypnotically fluttering fingers as the evil creature
swept them all into his power.  The unfortunate pilot had been killed
in the onslaught, but in his place the Spider now had five new
automatons to do his bidding.

However, in all the excitement and flurry and difficulty of directing
his will upon five different men at once, the Spider must have
forgotten to keep Adams Mayhew under control.  At all events, the young
American suddenly felt his own efforts for freedom bear fruit.

With a gasp he wrenched his feet free from the spell which bound them.
Then drew his sword and drove it into the throat of the menace of Mu.

As the creature died, its eyes turned pitifully toward its slayer, the
man whom it had once trusted and befriended; and Mayhew felt a
momentary pang of disloyalty.  Then he remembered the crimes of which
the Spider had been guilty, and the even grosser crimes which the
Spider had contemplated; and his pity and self-condemnation were
changed to wild exultation.

There still was time to save the world!

Snatching off the signet ring of the dying Spider, Mayhew shouted to
the five soldiers, now out of their trance again, to bring torches from
the plane.  Then the six of them rushed toward the opening of the
caves.  Their entrance was unopposed.

As they rushed through the dark corridors, with their flaring torches
held aloft, the thought kept echoing in Mayhew's ears, "There still is
time!"

At last they reached the spot where the excavations of the Spider had
left only one thin wall of rock between the waters of the ocean and the
fires of Pele.  A squad of workers, led by an overseer, were just
hurrying away from the scene.  Mayhew rushed up to them.

Holding out the hand which bore the signet ring of the Spider, he
shouted, "By the orders of his excellency, the explosion must stop."

"Back!  Back!" replied the foreman.  "It is too late."

With a frightful roar in that confined space, the retaining wall
crumbled.  The overseer and his squad dashed by, and Mayhew and his
five men turned and followed.  Pele and Ocean had been joined!

Behind them could be heard a deafening hissing.  The whole cave filled
with steam.  And then an ever growing chaos of explosions began to
occur behind them, increasing in frequency and intensity.  The ground
shook beneath their feet as they ran.  The walls heaved and buckled.
Pieces of ceiling fell.

The crescendo of explosions by now had merged into one continuous roar,
like that of a tropical thunderstorm.  Crevasses opened, which they had
to jump.

And then with a showering avalanche of rock the entire passageway
collapsed in front of them, completely barring the way.  They were
trapped in the crumbling caves of Pele!

Like madmen, Mayhew's five companions flung themselves frantically
against the barrier.

But he shouted to them above the din, "Come back!  There must be other
ways out of this mountain.  Keep your heads, men.  We're not whipped
until we're dead.  Come on!  Let's find a way."

So back they rushed again.  Back toward the turmoil which was causing
all this disaster.

They met a group of fleeing, terror-crazed spider-men.  Mayhew stopped
these newcomers, exhibited his signet of authority, calmed them, and
informed them that the tunnel was barred.

"Tolofo," said one of the yellow men, "I know a detour back to the
throne room.  From there, there are other little-used passages leading
to the surface."

"Lead on!" commanded "Tolofo."

Upon arriving at the throne room they found it and the surrounding
caves packed with struggling, jostling, yellow humanity.  And, in their
midst, the centurion Tirio, vainly striving to calm them and learn some
way of escape out of that crumbling roaring chaos.

As Adams Mayhew strode into the throne room at the head of his little
group, Tirio shouted, "Seize him!  Seize the impostor, in the name of
his excellency!"

But Mayhew held up the signet ring and replied, "What right have you to
speak for his excellency?  Behold the seal of your master!  I am in
command here.  Ho, men, seize and bind the centurion!"

But one of the five Muian soldiers who had accompanied Mayhew had no
more sense than to add, "Anyway, the Spider is dead."

A hush fell over the jostling crowd.

"In which case," shouted Tirio, "you stole the ring."

The sullen spider-men glanced from one to the other of the two men who
claimed their leadership.  It was a toss-up as to which the fickle mob
would throw its support.

But before they could decide, Mayhew held up his hand and said, "A
truce, O Tirio.  All ways out must be barred, or you and this throng
would not still be here.  The mountain is cracking and trembling.  I
alone can save us."

"How?" sneered Tirio.

"By worluk.  Let me mount the throne, and I will get you out of here.
Not only out of here, but far from this mountain and its menace."

"Agreed!" shouted the centurion, clapping his hands in command.
"Quick!  Bring worluk powder!"

It was pure bluff on Mayhew's part; for, although under the tutoring of
the evil alchemist he had mastered the art of crystal gazing, he never
yet had made worluk.



Nevertheless, with an assumed air of confidence, he ascended the
skull-topped blood-red throne and concentrated his gaze on the little
globe of glass.

"What do you see?" anxiously asked Tirio, taking up a position beside
the throne.

"The public square of the Golden City," Mayhew replied, "roped off and
heavily guarded."

"I can send my troops through and overwhelm them."

"You won't be given the chance," Mayhew coolly replied.  "_I'm_ the
Spider now, and there's not going to be any more fighting."

He swept the vision away with a wave of his hand, and concentrated
again.

"Ah, that is better," said he.  "The courtyard of Julo's house, and
only a small guard.  I'll send some white men through first, to explain
the situation to them."

By this time the bowl of worluk powder had been brought and lighted.
Mayhew waved his hand imperiously; and to his own intense surprise, the
ascending smoke promptly took on a globular form.

The room heaved and shook, the torches quivered and smoked, and the din
of volcanic explosions and splintering rock had by now become almost
deafening.  Yet, by a supreme effort of his will, Mayhew held steady
the ball of worluk smoke.  It cleared, and Julo's courtyard could be
seen by all.  The throng rushed toward it.

"Back!" shouted Mayhew above the din.  "Any one who attempts to
penetrate the smoke screen without my permission will vanish."

The superstitious yellow men promptly edged away.

"Now," he commanded, "you five Muian soldiers go through, and explain
the truce."

With blanched faces they obeyed.  They could be seen talking with the
guards, then staring back with unseeing bewilderment.  Mayhew ordered a
yellow spear-man through, and saw the man enter the courtyard
unmolested.

"Your turn, Tirio," he announced.

The centurion clenched his fists and steeled himself to step through
into safety.  Then, in single rank, the survivors of the forces of the
Spider poured into the ball of smoke.

The ceiling of the throne room began to disintegrate.  The heat became
oppressive, the air so sulphurous that Mayhew could hardly breathe.

A hissing, sizzling sound could be heard on his left.  Mayhew did not
turn to gaze from the globe of smoke before him, but out of the corner
of his eye he could see the front edge of a sluggish river of lava
enter through one of the doorways and slowly approach the throne.

Only a handful of yellow men remained.  And then Mayhew suddenly
remembered something which the Spider had once told him: "And even if I
were not a cripple, I could not hold the ball of worluk smoke intact
while I myself passed through it."

Mayhew had saved the others by means of his Spider-taught mystic
powers.  He himself was trapped in the caves of Pele!

The last yellow man passed through.  Mayhew leaned back on the throne,
relaxing slightly, and sighed.  Then the wall behind him collapsed,
hurling him forward onto the floor and into the fast-vanishing worluk
sphere.




CHAPTER XXII

CHAOS!

When Mayhew came to his senses again he lay securely bound on the stone
flagging of Julo's courtyard.  The ground trembled slightly from
distant earthquake shocks.  Above him stood Tirio, leering down at him.

"Thank you for getting me out of the caves of Pele," said the rat-faced
centurion.  "And it may interest you to know that you've enabled me to
do what I've always tried to persuade the Spider to attempt--attack the
Muians from the rear by means of worluk.  I am now the master of the
Golden City."

Mayhew groaned.

"Fool!" he said.  "Mu is being racked to pieces by volcanic upheavals,
yet you still prate of war and mastery.  I thought that we had declared
a truce."

"The truce is off," Tirio succinctly announced, as he turned on his
heel and left the courtyard.

Under heavy guard Mayhew was placed in one of the bedrooms of the house
which faced toward the west, toward the mountains of Pele, smoking
ominously in the distance.  The mountain and the land around it seemed
to tremble and heave.

Then, as Mayhew gazed, there burst forth in the midst of this scene a
tiny flame, which spread and grew and mounted, until it became a mighty
roaring pillar of fire, several miles in diameter, and rising to the
clouds.

These clouds changed to black smoke, which overshadowed the entire land
and became shot with many lightnings, blending strangely with the red
glare of the pillar of fire.  Then from the northward a tidal wave
rushed across the intervening space.  The house began to rock and shake.

The setting sun appeared beneath the pall of smoke and lingered upon
the horizon like a ball of fire, red and angry looking.  And well might
he be angry at the devastation which Pele, the bride whom he had
scorned, was wreaking upon his beloved land.

For a while the sun-god lingered to watch the holocaust which he was
powerless to avert; then, as though with a shrug of resignation, he
sank beneath the waves.  Deep dark night, lit by the hell-fires of Pele
and the silver flashes of lightning, settled over land and sea.

During the night most of what was left of Mu was torn asunder and rent
to pieces.  The central pillar of fire died down, its force spent; but
in all directions could be seen and heard the flash and roar of many
relatively small explosions, each destroying forever a section of the
land.

Down, down sank the continent of Mu into the eternal fires of Pele; and
as it sank, the seas rushed in and overwhelmed it, causing more
explosions as the water seeped into the volcanic pits.

When morning came--when Ra rose once more from the sea, redder even
than on the evening before--he disclosed a steaming, smoking expanse of
waves beneath a sky of crimson-tinted, billowing smoke.  The Golden
City alone stood intact.  Here and there in the distance, island peaks
projected from the sea; and occasionally huge bubbles, miles in extent,
would belch upward.  The water was thick with mud, and the air was so
filled with sulphur fumes as to be almost unbreathable.

Then the sun passed upward into the overhanging pall of smoke and the
whole surface of the deep was plunged into night once more.



During the night and day and night of horror, Mayhew remained under
guard.  Food was brought him from time to time.  Occasionally he slept.
But his captors refused to tell him any news of what was going on in
the city.

On the second morning his double, Porto, was thrust, battered and
bleeding, into his cell.  It seems that Porto with some others of the
army had fled to their ships when the eruption had started.  The tidal
wave had swept them close to the Golden City.  There they had landed,
to be immediately set upon by the forces of Tirio, whom they
unexpectedly found to be in control.  Porto and a few others had been
captured.  The rest scattered.

Later in the morning Mayhew and Porto were led out of the house,
through the streets, and into the public square.  The streets were
nearly deserted, but the square was thronged with yellow men, thugs of
Tirio, and a few miscellaneous Muians.  Tirio sat in state on a golden
throne, and by his side stood Eleria, her hands bound.

"The heavenly twins have come to see you, my dear," bantered Tirio,
indicating Mayhew and Porto with a wave of his hand.  "And now I have a
proposition to put to you.  You have declined the honor of becoming my
queen.  You have very bravely refused to yield to threats, and for that
display of courage I love you all the more.  So now I am going to buy
your love, and at the same time get a little fun out of watching your
choice.  If you will agree to marry me peacefully and willingly, I will
spare the life of one of your two friends.  Which one shall it be?"

"You will spare him, in return for my promise?" asked the girl.

"Well, not exactly.  But if you marry me, I give you my word of honor
that he shall then go free.  Which of the twins is it to be?"

"Honor?" contemptuously replied Eleria.  "You do not know what it is."

The rat face went white, and Porto and Mayhew both smiled grimly.

"Wipe that grin off!" shrieked Tirio, and two attendants slapped them
across their mouths.

Eleria then said conciliatingly, "I am sorry, Tirio, that I spoke so
hastily, but I have suffered much and am not altogether responsible for
what I say.  Let me make you a counter proposition.  Release both of
them, and I will marry you gladly and willingly."

"No!" cried the two prisoners in unison, and Mayhew added, as his eye
lighted on a small object on the ground in front of him.  "We can take
care of ourselves."

Tirio by this time had regained his composure.

"You think so?" he sneered.  "And how do you propose to take care of
yourself, Adamo Mayho?"

The crowd guffawed.

"If you weren't a coward, you'd come down off that throne and fight
me," Mayhew replied.  "I'll fight you with swords, at which you are
reputed an expert.  Or I'll fight you with my bare hands the way I did
that day on the wharves over a year ago."

There were several snickers in the crowd, and Tirio stiffened.  Then he
grinned diabolically.  He knew how to turn this into a joke and thus
appeal to his followers.

"I tell you what," he said.  "Were it not for my duty to these men who
have chosen me to rule over them, I would gladly risk my life to settle
old scores with you on even terms.  But I'll give you a chance.  Fight
me as you are, but with my having a sword, and let the winner take the
girl.  What say you?"

"I'll do it!" said the American with surprising eagerness.  "But what
guarantee will you give that you will go through with the bargain if I
win?"

Tirio was a bit taken back by this ready acceptance of his preposterous
offer.  But his confusion was covered up by Porto's asking: "Where do I
come in on this?"

"Oh, if you wish, you can fight the winner," Tirio declaimed with an
airy wave of the hand.  "Well, let's get going."

"No!  No!" begged Eleria.  "Don't kill them.  I'll marry you."

"You'll do that, anyway," asserted Tirio grimly.  "On with the fight!"

He stepped down from his throne and began to draw his sword.

"Just a minute," hastily interposed Mayhew.  "My sandal is untied."

Dropping to one knee, he tugged at the leather thong.  It came loose.
Then picking up something else, he arose to his feet.

Round and round his head Mayhew swung his right arm.  Tirio stared, his
sword half-drawn.

Mayhew's arm suddenly ceased its gyrations and lashed out toward his
enemy.  The leather thong fluttered from Mayhew's hand.

Tirio's sword clattered to the cobblestones and he slumped into a
soundless heap, while blood streamed from a cut on his forehead.
Mayhew's childhood practice with a sling, years ago in New Bedford, had
not been in vain.

For a moment every one, including the victor, stood motionless.  Then
an angry growl broke from the crowd.  But the sound was drowned in
another growl, as the earth began to tremble and shake.  A few bricks
fell into the square.  The surrounding buildings began to totter.
Panic stricken, the crowd fled.

Mayhew snatched up Tirio's sword and cut Eleria's bonds, and the three
friends hastened away.

The ground heaved so that they could scarcely keep their feet.  All
about them buildings were crashing to earth.  It was a miracle that
they got out of the city alive.

At last they dragged themselves onto a little hill on the outskirts and
gazed back at what was left of the once proud Golden City, now an
indescribable chaos of fallen masonry, sprinkled with fires.  But the
fires were short-lived, for the city was settling fast, and even as the
fugitives gazed, the sea swept in and engulfed it all.

The Golden City was no more.

Several hundred survivors occupied the hill, now an island, and among
these survivors they found Julo and Marta.  Then night fell.



In the lurid red light of the volcanic morning, Julo instinctively took
command of the little community.  A small boat had drifted ashore in
the night.  It turned out to be equipped and provisioned.

Julo said, "Two of us must take this boat, search for the nearest
undestroyed land, and send back help.  And, even if help should fail to
reach us, two of us will at least have been saved.  Let us draw lots.
The winner can choose his companion."

So the drawing was held, and Adams Mayhew won.

"I choose Eleria," he promptly said.

But she sadly shook her head as she replied, "No, Adamo dear.  You are
my very best friend in all the world; but, if you will forgive me, I
will stay here with Porto, whom I love."  And she put her hand through
Porto's arm.

Mayhew gulped, then turning to Julo, asked, "Is the lot transferable?"

"I don't know why not."

"Then I transfer it to my good friend Porto, and to his bride."

So Porto and Eleria were duly married at high noon by the magistrate
Julo, according to the ritual of Ra, and they set forth that same day
in the little boat.  A gentle wind bore them steadily westward and
Adams Mayhew watched with aching heart until their boat was a mere
speck on the horizon.

Long after all the others had left the shore and gone inland, Mayhew
sat on the beach and stared moodily at the western horizon, which
concealed his two friends.  The tide rose, and he moved away from it.
Then he noticed that the tide seemed to be rising with unusual speed.

Faster and faster came the waters.  Mayhew left the shore and scrambled
up the hill.  And then it dawned on him that the trouble was not that
the waters were rising.  On the contrary, the land was settling!

Horrified, he ran to warn his friends, though what good a warning would
do them he did not stop to consider.

But the warning was never delivered.  The land heaved, and cracked, and
threw him to his knees.  The sea reached in and engulfed him and swept
him away, whirling him over and over, blinding and choking him.  Madly
he fought his way to the surface; and at last he made it, and lay there
spitting and coughing and drawing deep breaths of air into his tortured
lungs.

Then he looked around him.  The island and all his friends were gone!
He was alone in the midst of the Pacific Ocean!

But in the western distance there rose from the horizon a thin column
of smoke.  This smoke steadily approached him, until he could see the
steamer from which it emanated.  The steamer bore down upon him.  He
waved and shouted.  The steamer stopped and lowered a boat.

When he was safely aboard the first questions were in a strange tongue
which no one could understand.  Then some one asked him in English for
his name.

He told them: "Adams Mayhew of the whaling barque Alaska."

"Shipwrecked?"

"No.  Fell overboard."

"When?"

"September, 1891."

At which there were many significant glances, and one man exclaimed,
"But, my dear fellow, this is 1932!"

"Where have you been all this while?" asked some one else sarcastically.

"On the continent of Mu," he replied with open-faced simplicity.

"Oh, you've been reading one of Col. Churchward's books.  Mu was
destroyed by earthquakes and sank beneath the waves _twenty-five
thousand_ years ago!"

Adams Mayhew had never heard of Churchward; but he deemed it best to
keep the story of his adventure to himself, until he found a
sympathetic listener in me.



The End






[End of The Golden City, by Ralph Milne Farley]
