Part 58 (1/2)

”Well, I am right over my waist,” said Gwyn. ”Shall we go on? We can swim if it gets deeper.”

”I say, let's try it a little farther.” And holding the light well up, they waded on, with the water growing deeper, till it reached their chests and soon after their chins.

”Now then--go back or swim?” asked Gwyn.

”Oh, go on; Grip must know. I suppose the floor has gone down a good deal here.”

”Can you keep the lanthorn out of the water? If you can't we must not go on; because it would be too horrible to swim here in the dark, and I don't know whether I could keep on with only one hand swimming and holding Grip with the other.”

”He'd tow you along,” said Joe.

”Halt! Hold the light higher,” shouted Gwyn, and his words reverberated strangely.

_Grate, grate, scratch_, came a strange sound.

”Do you hear what I say?” cried Gwyn, excitedly.

”I can't, I can't--there isn't room.”

”Then give it to me,” said Gwyn, fiercely, from where he stood a few yards now in advance of his companion. ”How am I to see what I'm doing?--and I know you'll have it in the water directly.”

”Don't I tell you I can't?” cried Joe, wildly. ”Can't you see there isn't room? I'm holding it close up to the roof now.” And at a glance Gwyn saw that the roof was so low where they were that the gallery was nearly filled by the water.

”Oh, hang the dog!” cried Gwyn, desperately. ”Quiet, sir! Come back!”

for with the water steadily deepening it seemed madness to let the animal lure them on into what appeared to be certain death.

”Yes, yes, come back,” panted Joe; ”it's horrible. Here, Grip, Grip, Grip! Here, here, here!”

But the dog only whined and swam on, and then began to beat the water wildly as if he were drowning, for in his excitement and dread, Gwyn had now begun to haul upon the leash, dragging the dog partly under water in his efforts to get hold of its collar.

It was no easy task; for as the dog rose again, it was evidently frightened by its immersion beneath the surface, and began barking, whining, and struggling to escape from its master's grasp.

”What is it? What are you doing?” cried Joe, as he held the light close to the roof.

”Doing? Can't you see the dog's half mad. Quiet, Grip! What is it!

Hold still, will you?”

But this seemed to be the last thing the poor beast was disposed to do; for the tie, drag under the surface, and the seizure by the collar were all suggestive to its benighted intellect of death by drowning; and just as Gwyn, chin-deep in the water now and hardly able from his natural buoyancy to keep his footing, was backing towards the light, holding by the collar with both hands, the dog gathered itself together with its hind-legs resting against its master's breast, and made a tremendous bound as if for life.

Gwyn had had some experience of the muscular power in a collie dog, but never till that moment did he fully realise what strength a desperate animal does possess; for that bound sent the dog forward and him backward; and completely off his balance, his head went down, his legs rose from his buoyancy in the water, and as he made a desperate effort to regain his feet, there came a sharp drag at the neckerchief he had twisted round his hand, and he was dragged under in turn and towed along for some moments before he could get his head above the surface of the black water again. Then, obeying his natural instinct, he struck out and began to swim, feeling himself drawn steadily along by the dog farther and farther from the light which gleamed from the water, and into the black darkness and the unknown depths.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

THE HELP AT LAST.

Joe uttered a groan, and began to wade after his companion, sc.r.a.ping the lanthorn against the roof from time to time in his agitation. He would have called to Gwyn to come back, but he could not find the words. He felt, though, that he must follow to help him, and began to wonder whether he could keep the light above water with one hand as he swam; and he prepared to try, for he felt that he must strike out as soon as the water touched his chin.

Then he paused, for from out of the darkness, and loud above the splas.h.i.+ng, came Gwyn's angry words to the dog.