CHAPTER V.

A DARING ESCAPE.

A cry of despair welled up from Harding’s agonized bosom. He realized only too well the truth of Frank’s words.

Death most awful confronted them.

There seemed no power at hand to save them. That the brigand chief would execute his threat there was no doubt.

Harding was not a coward, but he was the more disposed to yield to fate than Frank Reade, Jr.

The young inventor was constantly on the lookout for some way out of the dilemma. He quickly hit an idea.

“Harding!” he said, suddenly, in a hoarse whisper.

“Well?” retorted the other.

“Will you follow my directions?”

“What are they?”

“I have worked upon my bonds until I have loosened them. How are yours?”

“There is no show of their loosening.”

“Ah, well, now let me tell you my plan. You have the use of your legs?”

“Yes; but my hands are tied.”

“Well, never mind that. My hands will be free. Now if you will make a break to run toward that tree yonder it will draw the attention of the brigands away from me, and I will make a dash for liberty. If I succeed in reaching that height yonder I shall be within view of the Kite and will signal Barney and Pomp. Then we will make a strike to save you. It is our only hope of salvation.”

Harding saw the situation at a glance, and whispered back:

“All right! Give the word when you are ready!”

“I will do so.”

Of course there was a chance that the scheme would fail, but it was certainly a dernier ressort.

Frank had now completely freed his hands. The brigand chief and his men were some yards away, evidently engaged in a discussion.

The moment had come.

There was not a little risk in the move. The brigands were apt to fire and shoot them both down.

But it was the only chance, as Frank had said, and well worth the trying.

Harding drew himself up, and as Frank gave the word he made a dash for the distant tree.

The ruse worked far better than either he or Frank had expected.

The brigands were so busily engaged in their discussion that they had not noticed the move until Harding had nearly reached the tree, and Frank was twice the distance in an opposite direction.

It had not seemed to occur to the brigands that the prisoners would dare to make a break for liberty.

Harding was more than elated with his success, and made up his mind to keep straight on.

“Caramba! Curses!” yelled the astounded brigand chief. “Chase them! Capture them at any cost! Shoot them!”

The brigands with yells started in pursuit. But Harding, despite the fact that his hands were tied, could run almost as fast as Frank, who had the use of his hands.

The bullets whistled about Harding.

But he kept on at full speed.

He had reached the tree and bounded on beyond it.

The brigands were coming in the rear, but Harding dashed down a steep incline and plunged into a thick jungle.

On the other hand, Frank Reade, Jr., had succeeded in reaching the high ground which was his objective point.

The Kite could from here be seen not two miles away rocking at her anchor.

The sound of the firing came up on the wind to Barney and Pomp.

“Begorra, av I’m not mistaken there’s a bit av a ruction going on over there!” cried the Celt.

“Golly! dat am right, I reckon!” agreed Pomp. “Amn’t dat de smoke of de guns yender?”

“Bejabers, let’s take a luk at it.”

Barney came from the cabin with a glass. He brought it to bear upon the smoke.

Then upon an eminence beyond he saw the form of a man making excited gestures.

There was no mistake.

Even at that distance Barney recognized his employer, Frank Reade, Jr.

“Be me sowl! av it ain’t Misther Frank!” he cried. “Shure an’ he’s telegraphin’ to us.”

“Massy sakes alibe! dat am a fac’,” cried Pomp. “We’s done gwine to his help, sah, fo’ suah!”

“Yez kin bet on that!” cried Barney, rushing to the anchor rope.

In a few moments the anchor was lifted. The Kite went sailing above the brigands, and Pomp dropped an electric bomb in their midst.

This fell with much force, and burst with a terrific explosion.

The effect was fearful. A great hole was blown in the ground, and several of the brigands were killed.

Terrified at the sight of the air-ship and at the deadly work of the bomb, the brigands desisted in their pursuit of Frank Reade, Jr.

The young inventor at a safe distance signaled the air-ship to descend.

Barney lost no time in making the descent, and as the air-ship touched the ground Frank sprang aboard.

Once more the air-ship rose with the young inventor safely aboard.

“Golly fo’ glory, Marse Frank!” cried Pomp, excitedly, “I done fink yo’ had jes’ a narrow escape from being killed!”

“Well, I did,” replied Frank. “But there is no time to lose. We must save Harding!”

But the brigands, it was quickly seen, had disappeared.

They had retreated into the defile, and evidently into the cavern.

Harding had gone from sight.

He was nowhere to be seen.

The last seen of him he had been making for the jungle.

The air-ship cruised around and over the vicinity for over an hour.

But Harding did not turn up, nor could a trace of him be found.

“Well,” muttered Frank, in amazement, “that is mighty queer. What can it mean?”

After some time spent thus, a horrible fear seized the young inventor.

It was possible that Harding had been struck by one of the brigand’s bullets, and was lying dead in some out-of-the-way place.

This decided Frank upon a different plan of action.

“Lower the ship, Barney!” he cried. “Be lively about it!”

“All roight, sor,” replied Barney.

Down went the air-ship.

It rested upon the earth in the verge of the jungle. Frank seized his rifle and descended to the ground.

He lost no time in at once entering the jungle.

He found what he believed was Harding’s trail. It led through the tall grasses, and in some soft mud he found the imprint of a boot-heel.

Some distance into the jungle Frank followed the trail.

Then he lost it.

He had been prepared for any horrible sight, even to seeing Harding’s blood-stained body lying in the reeds.

But instead he made his way through a thick belt of grasses and came to higher land.

At this point the jungle was not one hundred yards from the brow of the defile which led to the cave.

Frank followed Harding’s trail to this point. Then he saw where it terminated with a startled thrill.

Trailing vines and grasses covered the mouth of a deep pit.

Into this Harding had unwittingly stepped and sank to unknown depths, possibly to death.

For a moment Frank stood appalled.

“My God!” he exclaimed. “I fear that is the end of poor Harding!”

He bent down over the edge of the pit and tried to fathom its depths. But all was pitchy darkness.

Then he shouted loudly:

“Harding! I say, answer me if you are alive!”

But no answer came back. All was the stillness of death.

The hollow sound which was returned seemed to indicate that the pit was of great depth. How deep it was impossible to guess.

What was to be done?

Frank was in a quandary. There was no easy solution of the problem. Then he bethought himself of an idea.

He called to Pomp, who brought a rope and a lantern.

This later Frank lit and then lowered it into the pit. Down it went, and suddenly disappeared from sight.

The pit was winding, and the lantern could not be lowered so as to reveal its bottom to the one above.

Frank Reade, Jr., and Barney stood upon the edge of the pit after this discovery in a completely baffled state of mind.

“Well, I’ll be hanged!” muttered Frank, impatiently; “this is a pretty state of affairs. What are we to do?”

“Golly, Marse Frank!” cried Pomp, readily, “if youse will jes’ agree to it, I fin’ a way to jes’ brung Marse Harding up out ob dat!”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Frank. “What is it, Pomp?”

“Jes’ yo’ tie dat rope around mah waist, Marse Frank, an’ I go down inter dat ar place. If I don’ fin’ Marse Harding den it will be becase dis chile don’ try.”

“Good!” cried Frank, with alacrity. “There can be no harm in that, can there? And we may be able to rescue poor Harding.”

“Begorra, naygur, will yez let me go in yer place?” asked Barney.

“I don’ fink dat wud be jes’ de fing,” retorted Pomp. “I’se jes’ doin’ dis ar jab mahse’f, sah!”

Pomp quickly had the rope about him.

He slid boldly down into the winding passage, Barney and Frank holding on to the rope.

Down he went and out of sight.

Frank and Barney kept on paying out the rope for some while. Then suddenly Frank gave a sharp exclamation.

There was a thrill, and the rope suddenly felt slack. Frank gave it a lift. There was nothing on the end of it.

What did it mean?

There seemed only one solution. The two men looked at each other aghast.

“Be me sowl! that is very funny, sor!” cried Barney. “Phwativer wud yez call it, anyway?”

“Why, it looks as if Pomp had lost his hold and fallen from the rope.”

This was certainly the outlook. But was it the truth?

There seemed no way of getting an answer to the question. Frank was speechless with surprise and uncertainty.

He wound the rope up and down for awhile, thinking that Pomp might have reached the bottom of the pit and had neglected to give the signal.

But no answer came.

It was evident that the darky had fallen from the rope in some peculiar fashion. Just how it was not easy to tell.

Frank began to pull on the rope.

In course of time the end came to the surface. Frank picked it up and quickly examined it.

The strands had parted just as if they had given way under a mighty strain. This seemed to settle all doubt.

There was no longer reason to doubt but that Pomp had fallen to the bottom of the pit and possibly death.

It was an awful thought.

Frank instantly began to wind the rope around his own waist.

“Phwere are yez goin’, Misther Frank?” asked Barney, in amazement.

“I am going down to find Pomp,” replied the young inventor.