The Radium Seekers E-Book

Fenton Ash

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Early science fiction, a cult classic, an enjoyable adventure. The story opens when our hero and his friends go to South America to look for radium, which has anti-gravity properties, and battle with a race of cruel Inca-type people who use the radium to fly, and disguise themselves as giant birds and terrorize the locals. „The Radium Seekers” is a fairly good novel written by Frank Aubrey. Francis Henry „Frank” Atkins (1847–1927) was a British writer of „pulp fiction”, in particular science fiction aimed at younger readers, writing at least three Lost-World novels along with much else. He wrote under the pseudonyms Frank Aubrey and Fenton Ash.

Leseprobe

Contents

PREFACE

I. A PERSON OF NO GREAT WEIGHT

II. THE STORY OF THE "BLACK NUGGET"

III. WILD MEN OF THE WOODS

IV. THE DEN IN THE TREE

V. ASTONISHING THE NATIVES

VI. THE HAUNTED RUINS

VII. A FOUR-FOOTED RESCUER

VIII. WATCHED BY UNCANNY BEINGS

IX. AERIAL SERPENTS

X. A TERRIBLE NIGHT

XI. ARROWS FROM THE SKY

XII. THE PUMA BRINGS A MESSAGE

XIII. CAPTURE OF A "MAN-BIRD"

XIV. HARRY'S PERIL

XV. CORRESPONDENCE BY PUMA POST

XVI. LYONDRAH AND MYROLA.

XVII. THE MYSTERIOUS CLOUD

XVIII. THE FIGHT FOR THE CANOES

XIX. AQUATIC MANOEUVRES

XX. THE MAGIC FLYING CARPET

XXI. THE HIDDEN CITY

XXII. "THE LORD OF THE SERPENTS"

XXIII. ON EAGLES' WINGS

XXIV. IN THE VALLEY OF SERPENTS

XXV. A GREAT DISCOVERY

XXVI. LORD OF THE ISLES

XXVII. "THE SERPENT'S JAWS"

XXVIII. "THE SERPENT'S THROAT"

XXIX. CAST INTO PRISON

XXX. CONDEMNED TO DEATH

XXXI. MELIENUS DEFIES FEROUTAH

XXXII. UNDER THE RIVER OF FIRE

XXXIII. A NAVAL FIGHT

XXXIV. THE END OF THE MEN-BIRDS

XXXV. FEROUTAH'S TERRIBLE "DEATH CAGES"

XXXVI. A DASH FOR LIBERTY

XXXVII. CONCLUSION

PREFACE

WHEN I was a boy, stories of the weird and wonderful, of the mysterious and marvellous, always had a great attraction for my young imagination, so much so that whenever my supply of printed narratives of the kind ran short, I used to supplement the deficiency by thinking some out for myself. Then I began to relate them to my schoolfellows, who received them with so much approval that, in the end, I became a sort of champion “maker-up” of tales to the school.

Thus I may fairly say that I have gone through a kind of apprenticeship for the vocation of writer of fiction for boys. This fact it is which has inspired the hope that my present more matured imaginative inventions may be found not less acceptable, amongst a wider circle, than were my earlier fanciful flights to my schoolfellows. If this should be the case, then the results will be mutually agreeable and satisfactory, and will lend encouragement to further effort in the same direction.

I would, however, wish to warn those who have a liking for fiction of the “penny dreadful,” or “blood-and-thunder” order, that they will not find anything in my work to gratify their taste; nor will they find the dialogue besprinkled with specimens of the latest slang of the “gutter snipe” and the precocious “street Arab.” I am firmly of opinion that it should be possible for a writer of fair imagination to be able to hold the attention, and satisfy the legitimate craving for entertainment, of the youthful mind, without including in his work anything of an unwholesome or doubtful character.

On the other hand, be it here said, I am not of those who consider it imperative to mix up “little sermons,” or moral platitudes, with stories written for a boy’s leisure hours.

The world upon which we live is an inexhaustible storehouse of wonders, of which we may be sure that only comparatively a few have yet been revealed to us. There are more, far more, which are still hidden, and which are being slowly brought to light by the progress of modern scientific discovery, the ever-widening field of modern research, and the extension of modern travel and exploration. The imaginative mind which cares to gather up a few of the newest facts, and, travelling beyond them, carry their application a little farther, by what may be termed a speculative or scientific, rather than a poetic, licence, will find plenty of ideas and suggestions for the weaving of endless fanciful romances, which may be made to rival the old Arabian Nights’ Entertainment for marvels and fascinating interest.

In the present story I have but chosen one such idea from the many which thus offer themselves. It rests upon the supposed discovery of a metal with one or two new properties–certain novel attributes. Such a discovery being once assumed as a scientific possibility, a boundless field immediately opens to the imaginative mind or the speculative fancy, as to the situations, adventures, and new experiences it may be plausibly supposed to lead to. What the outcome, as here given, may be worth in the way of an entertaining story, and how far I may have succeeded in carrying out the idea to the satisfaction of the readers for whom I have written, it is, of course, for them to judge.

If, however, as I venture to hope, they find the effort to their liking, then I shall have the additional satisfaction of feeling that their pleasure has been wholly of an innocent character, and that they may even derive some profit from the perusal. I do not, as I have already hinted, believe in “writing in” moral lectures “between the lines” of a boy’s story; but I do believe it may be possible to entertain him in such a manner as to open his eyes to the vastness, the grandeur, of the works of the Great Creator, which surround him in multitudinous forms on all sides. I would like to suggest to him, to impress him with the conviction that, even as “there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it,” so there are as great wonders to be discovered, as marvellous secrets to be wrested from Nature, as any yet known to our limited intelligence, and that, quite possibly, he may be one of those destined to discover them.

In this way I would wish to arouse in him a sense of the illimitable possibilities of the world, of the universes, around him, and to stimulate in his mind that desire for knowledge, and interest in the boundless mysteries of the unknown, which are the first steps in the making of the world’s greatest scientists–chemists, engineers, electricians, naturalists, zoologists, botanists, explorers, archaeologists.

To succeed in the aims thus indicated, it may be claimed, is to place the writing of stories for boys upon a plane such as no writer needs be ashamed of.

I should like to say more in connexion with this view, but I forbear, lest I should arouse a lurking suspicion in the minds of my young readers that I am more anxious to instruct than to entertain. I can assure them that that is by no means the case, as indeed I think those who accompany me, in the following pages, into the Realms of Phantasy, will quickly discover for themselves.

–The Author.

I. A PERSON OF NO GREAT WEIGHT

“WELL, Staunton, here we are at the appointed place, and punctual to time! Now, at last, I suppose I shall know the meaning of my friend Wilfrid Moray’s mysterious message, and why he should have chosen this out-of-the-way spot for our meeting instead of the railway station or his own home.”

So spoke Harry Burnham, a good-looking, open-faced English youth, who had not so very long since put his schooldays behind him, and entered upon the threshold of that Tom Tiddler’s Ground–the life of the “grown-ups.”

His companion was one Sam Staunton by name, a tall, hardy, muscular man of middle age, a fine specimen of a faithful servitor of the good old-fashioned type.

“Lobsters and leeches!” exclaimed the man, gazing round him with evident surprise. “What a rum consultin’ shop to hold yer palaver in! Is this yer’ a dry dock we’re to unload in, I wonder?”

Sam was carrying a heavy portmanteau, and the suggestion of unloading was a welcome one, for it was a hot summer’s day.

“This,” said Harry, with a smile, “is an old shepherd’s hut, and the dry dock, as you term it, was once a walled-in sheepfold–all now more or less in ruins, as you can see.” He took a letter from his pocket, and glanced at it. “This is the ruined hut named in Wilfrid Moray’s letter, right enough; but he does not seem to be here, nor can I make out any sign of him, though one can see for a mile or two all round.”

“Marlinespikes an’ pill-boxes! but it be hot, Master Harry!” Sam muttered. He put down the portmanteau, and drew out an old coloured handkerchief, which he applied to his brows; then he continued, during intervals of the mopping process: “Will ye come to anchor ‘ere an’ wait for our convoy, or put on sail and make for Mr. Moray’s house? ‘Tain’t much farther on, be it? Does the perscripsh’n ye hold in yer hand give d’rections for us in case the writer bean’t ‘ere to give us our sailin’ orders?”

Sam Staunton was an old sailor, and had sailed much in “furrin parts.” But he had also, at one time, been in the service of a country apothecary, and his speech savoured of both occupations–a quaint jargon it then became, reminiscent partly of the sea and partly of the chemist’s shop, with, perhaps, a phrase or two from the doctor’s consulting-room thrown in.

Harry glanced about him again before replying. The two were standing upon a ridge of the South Downs. Before them, half a mile or so away, was the shore of the English Channel, where ships and steamers could he seen going to and fro. All around in other directions nothing was to be discerned but a wide expanse of undulating greensward, broken in a few places by clumps of trees.

“I don’t know whether to go on or not, Sam,” Harry presently said. “Certainly my friend Wilfrid is not here, and––”

“Bless you, bless you, my children!” said a voice behind them. They both turned sharply round, to find themselves confronted by a strange and somewhat startling apparition.

Above the top of the wall furthest from them they saw a young fellow, Harry’s senior by perhaps three or four years, who was looking down upon them with smiling face and eyes twinkling with merriment. The odd thing was that he seemed to be standing upon nothing in particular. His feet were two or three feet clear of the wall, and he was slowly rising into the air, without any sign of the means by which the marvel was accomplished.

In his hands he held a coil of stout cord, one end of which seemed to be fastened below the level of the wall. Otherwise there was absolutely nothing to form any connecting link between his body and the earth.

Slowly he continued to float upwards, the rope running through his hand as he ascended, and now he was five, six–soon ten feet above the wall.

“Great Scott!” Harry burst out, and then stood looking on, in ever-increasing wonder and surprise.

“Mermaids and oysters!” murmured Staunton, and he, too, remained with open mouth and staring eyes, a very picture of speechless, helpless amazement. As honest Sam was always wont to declare that he regarded the particular things he had thus named as two of the greatest wonders of creation, his utterance of the words at this precise moment sufficiently indicated the extreme state of “obfustication” to which he felt himself reduced.

Still the apparition rose steadily into the air until the coil of rope had all run out, when he remained quiescent at the end of the cord which, it could now be seen, was attached to his waist. There was a slight breeze, and it swayed him gently to and fro like a captive balloon anchored by a rope-There was little in the attire or equipment of this new kind of aeronaut to explain his thus remaining poised between heaven and earth. He was dressed in an ordinary tweed suit and carried with him nothing out of the common save the cord round his waist.

“Bless you, my children,” said the voice again, and the aerial gentleman spread his hands out benignantly. “You did me an injustice in thinking that I was late for our appointment.”

Then Harry found his tongue.

“Wilfrid! Wilfrid!” he gasped. “What in the world is the meaning of this? How is it done? What keeps you up there like that? Have you some new kind of balloon arrangement under your clothes?”

“Science, my dear Harry, is making great strides now-a-days, as doubtless you are aware, and you ought to know better than to show such surprise at what is merely a new scientific discovery. Do you not remember the mysterious ‘Black Nugget’ about which I wrote to you in my letters?”

“Yes, yes; I remember that,” Harry returned impatiently. “But what has that to do with it? How does it explain this performance of yours? You throw the fairies who float into the air in the transformation scenes at the pantomime quite into the shade. Jupiter! What a success you would be as a new kind of fairy!”

Wilfrid looked a little hurt.

“Science has nothing to do with fairies,” he replied, disdainfully. Meantime, Harry was recovering from his sense of bewilderment. He was now determined to master his astonishment and show that he could regard even such a development of science as this with sang froid. “Doesn’t it seem funny?” he asked. “Don’t you feel us if you wanted something to stand on?”

“H’m, well, yes; it does feel a little awkward at first–or did–for I have got a bit used to it now. What are you looking for?”

“I was just taking a look round to make sure there is no policeman in sight.”

“Why?”

“He might want to take you up for having no visible means of support.”

“Take me down would be a more correct term, I should say. Hallo!”

Wilfrid uttered this last exclamation in a tone of alarm, as he was conscious of a slight jerk. Then his expression turned to one of horror, as he realized that the rickety old wooden rail to which he had fastened the rope had given way, and he was now sailing up into the air and towards the sea.

“Quick, Harry, quick!” he cried, in urgent accents. “The rope has got loose! Run and catch hold of it before it gets out of your reach!”

Harry, grasping the situation, made a dash inside the walls of the fold, but only in time to see the end of the rope slowly ascending above the opposite wall.

“Get up on the roof of the hut, Harry; it will pass over there!” Wilfrid shouted. “Quick, for your life!”

Harry needed no urging. He climbed onto the wall, and from there scrambled up the sloping roof, at imminent risk of falling through, for the rafters were broken in some places, and half rotted through in others. He reached the top, and stood up, stretching out his arms in the hope of catching the rope as it came past. Slowly it came nearer and nearer; but as it moved across, it also went higher, until it became very doubtful whether the rescuer would be able to touch it. Just then the crumbling wall gave way beneath him, and he felt himself falling; but at the same moment the rope came within reach, and he made a desperate clutch at it. There was a big knot at the end which enabled him to get a good hold, and the next moment he was dangling in the air.

Instead, however, of a nasty fall, as he had expected, he found himself swinging round and round ten or twelve feet above the ground, with no possible means, as far as he could see, of getting either himself, or his chum safely back to earth again. His extra weight on the rope seemed to be of no account so far as dragging them down was concerned. It barely sufficed to keep the daring aeronaut above him from soaring up into the skies; indeed, it was not sufficient even for that purpose, for they were both still slowly rising.

Meanwhile they were drifting seawards, while Staunton, beside himself with alarm and excitement, wildly followed below, shouting out all sorts of confused directions and suggestions.

“Don’t let go, Harry! For your life don’t let go!” Wilfrid cried. “Try to climb up on to the knot. You will got a better hold there!”

This, Harry, who was a good gymnast, managed to do. Then he looked about him, as the rope twisted him round and round.

There was one hope for them, and only one. Right in front, as yet at some distance, stood a group of high trees. If the breeze kept them straight upon their present course they would probably drift against these trees; but the wind might shift, and the least deviation would cause them to miss them altogether; or, again, they might by then have risen too high, and so pass over the tops.

The next five minutes was a critical, anxious time. Harry afterwards declared that they were the longest he had ever known in his life. Then the wind freshened and they travelled faster, and almost suddenly, as it seemed, Harry found himself crashing into the tree-tops.

“Hold on like a bulldog, Harry!” yelled Wilfrid, from the upper air. “Don’t let go the rope till you have made it fast to a good, strong bough!”

“Stick to it like sticking plaster, an’ lash yerself to the mast of the tree!” shouted Sam from below.

Harry managed to fasten the cord, and then took a slight rest; for he was almost exhausted from hanging on to his very insecure perch. Moreover, the rope had cut his hands, and the branches of the tree had scratched him and torn his clothes. Meanwhile Staunton commenced climbing to his assistance.

It does not usually take an old sailor long to scramble up a tree, and in a minute or two more Harry found Sam beside him, ready to help in the task of dragging Wilfrid down into their company.

After a good deal of trouble, and one or two fresh alarms, the three stood once more upon the ground–if indeed, Wilfrid could be said to stand.

As a matter of fact, his companions found considerable difficulty in keeping him there, for each time they pulled him down he evinced an embarrassing propensity to bob up again.

“You must carry me somehow back to the sheepfold!” he said between gasps.

He was out of breath with his efforts to keep near the ground, and at times it almost seemed as though he were going to fly off again, and drag both his rescuers with him.

Staunton’s weight, however, told in the end, and the ruined hut was reached. Wilfrid here picked up off the ground a number of heavy pieces of lead, which he proceeded to bestow about his person in quite an extraordinary number of cunningly-arranged pockets.

Finally, he put on a pair of clumsy-looking overboots, which, as the others quickly discovered, had thick soles of solid lead. Then, and not till then, he was able to walk about alone, and safely dispense with assistance,

“You see the idea?” he observed. “I have to carry all these as counter-weights, and very glad I am to feel myself ‘a person of some weight in the world,’ once more. Great snakes! But that was a narrow squeak! If you had missed the rope I should have ‘syled awye,’ as a song of the day has it, right out over the sea, and then–then to goodness knows where!”

“Up to the moon, I should say,” Harry put in. “However, all’s well that ends well. And now explain to me this riddle. I am dying to know what it all means.”

“I had intended,” was the answer, “to make you wait till we had reached home, and you had had some lunch. However, since you are so impatient, let us sit down and make ourselves as comfortable as possible on this bit of broken wall, while I tell you the story. Meantime, Staunton can go on with your portmanteau, and tell them we are coming presently.”

II. THE STORY OF THE “BLACK NUGGET”

“AS I have already told you,” Wilfrid commenced, “this marvel, as it seems to you, is closely connected with the ‘Black Nugget’ which we brought back with us from my good pater’s last expedition into the interior of South America.”

By his “pater,” Wilfrid meant Professor Moray–a savant well known in scientific circles–whose adopted son he was.

For Wilfrid was an orphan born in Demerara, and reared partly there and partly in England, by the professor as his adopted son. In England he had gone to the same school as Harry, to whom he had taken a great liking, and whom, being the elder, he had often helped and protected.

This friendship had continued after they had left school, and during Wilfrid’s absence with the professor upon the expedition referred to the two had kept up a correspondence, which had, however, owing to the travellers’ uncertain movements, been somewhat intermittent.

“I’ve been anxiously waiting for this meeting,” said Harry, whose home was upon the other side of London, “to hear more of your adventures, for some of your letters went astray, and never reached me. And that, I suppose, is why I don’t know so much about this ‘nugget’ as you appear to assume. In fact, I may say I know nothing beyond remembering that you have alluded to it several times. What is it? What is it like? What is it made of?”

Wilfrid laughed. “A good many questions to answer all in a breath!” he said. “Know, then, that the Black Nugget, as we called it, was–I say was, because it no longer exists in that form–a conglomerate mass of crude ores and various minerals. It was egg-shaped, and measured roughly about three feet one way by two feet the other. In colour it varied in different parts from a dull grey or deep green to black."/p

“Was there any gold in it?”

“None; but something far more precious, as you will hear. As regards weight, you would have thought, judging by its appearance, that it was very heavy. You would have been ready to bet that it was more than any ordinary man could lift. Instead of that, it was as light as though it had been a piece of sponge.”

Harry looked up sharply. “What is the explanation of that?” he asked,

“I am coming to it. But first let me tell you where and how we obtained it. In the country which lies at the back of British Guiana and Venezuela there are vast tracts of the wildest possible description which, so far as is known, have never been explored by a white man. If you look at a good map of South America you can see where this region lies, for it is very extensive, comprising, indeed, something like a million square miles.”

“Jiminy! What visions of possible new discoveries such a fact raises in one’s mind!”

“You are right, Harry. Well, we were just on the margin of this region when we met with the nugget. And its original home–the quarry, or mine, or whatever it is, from which it was taken–lies hidden somewhere in that unexplored tract.”

“I see. But how, then, did you get hold of it?”

“It was given to me–to me, you understand, not to the professor–by an Indian chief named Inanda, who has known me since I was a baby He declared that the stone, as he called it, had magical properties; and so, in truth, in a sense, we have since discovered.”

“You knew nothing–could guess nothing–then, I suppose, of its real nature and properties?”

“No. Beyond the fact that its extreme lightness seemed unaccountable, and greatly piqued our curiosity, we were quite in the dark, and hardly even felt much interest. Had it been as heavy as it looked, we might quite possibly have never troubled to bring it home, for the question of transport is a difficult one out there, and a bulky, awkward mass like that would have been a serious encumbrance if it had been weighty as well. As it was, I managed to hang on to it till we got down to the coast, and there we had a packing case made for it, boxed it up, and labelled and addressed it. Then we almost forgot its existence till we arrived in England.

“At Southampton the package excited the mistrust of a Custom House officer. He had it opened, pulled out the nugget, and sniffed at it suspiciously. It was so very light that he thought it must be hollow, and if hollow, might it not be an artfully-made box in which to smuggle lace or loose tobacco? So he examined it here, tapped it there, twisted and turned it about, and finally, finding no visible means of opening it, turned to the professor and demanded that it should be opened for his inspection. As the pater only laughed at such an absurd request, the officer got wild and swore he would break it open. And this he actually proceeded to attempt by striking it with a hammer. And then–what do you think happened?”

“Can’t say,” Harry answered, in a tone full of interest. “He broke a piece off, perhaps.”

“Just what occurred. But what do you suppose became of the piece?”

“Hit him on the nose, maybe.”

“Yes, it flew up, and very nearly, as you suggest, struck him in the face. However, he started back in time, and the lump just missed, and, continuing its course, went right through a skylight of the shed in which this little scene took place, sending showers of broken glass down over the astonished officer, and finally disappeared into the clouds.”

“Into the clouds?” Harry repeated the words incredulously.

“Into the clouds. Away it went–up, up, up,–till it was lost to sight. And it never came down–was never seen again.”

“But how can that be? What does it mean?”

“It meant, if any one could have read the riddle just then–it meant the secret of this new, wonderful form of radium–for such it is–a metal which, when quite free and unattached to anything heavier, flies away from the earth instead of being attracted to it.”

“Radium, did you say–a form of radium? The new metal about which so many extraordinary things are being told?”

“Precisely–radium. Radium combined, in this case, not with pitchblende, or uranium, but with some hitherto unknown, and, as yet, undeterminable substance, which seems to give it properties even more puzzling, more remarkable than anything previously discovered.”

“Ah! That reminds me of what a friend of my father was saying the other night at our house. He, like the professor, is one of your scientific bigwigs, and knows all about it, and I remember him declaring that we seem to be on the eve of great events in the world of science. Almost every week, now, he said, seems to bring the announcement of some new discovery in connection with radium; and there is a growing feeling, he added, amongst the great men of the day, that by its means yet other metals or elements will be shortly brought to light which will throw even radium itself, as it were, into the background!”

“Well, they’re not far out, evidently, for here is one of the coming wonders. The professor is jubilant about it, as you may suppose. But he wishes to keep it a secret until he knows more about it himself. In order to do that, however, it is necessary to ascertain where it really comes from, what further quantities of it are probably in existence, and so on. And he deems it a matter of the first importance that we should return without delay to the region in which it seems to exist, and there start upon a systematic and exhaustive search for it. We are going, in short, upon a new prospecting expedition, but instead of being gold-seekers, or diamond-seekers, we shall be radium-seekers.”

“A very good business, too,” said Harry, “if there is really any of it out there. At present prices, I believe even a hundredweight would make you the richest people in the world. They say it is worth over a thousand million pounds a ton, or something of the sort, don’t they? But what makes this particular form of it fly up into the air in the way you speak of?”

“Ah, that is just where the mystery of the thing comes in! I can tell you what it does, but the professor, with all his learning, is unable at present to explain how or why it does it. But it is certainly odd that the Indians who gave me the nugget had a very curious legend–a strange, fantastic bit of folklore–connected with it, according to which it fell, long ages ago, from the skies.”

“From the skies?”

“Yes. Their legend is to the effect that upon the other side of the great forest which we saw, but did not enter, lies an immense lake or inland sea, with large islands, upon which are ancient cities, inhabited by strange peoples, some of whom are of a very warlike and ferocious character. Once upon a time, some of these people, it seems, offended the Great Spirit, who, to punish them, desolated their countries by raining down upon them fire from the skies. The very stars fell, so they say, and covered up large tracts with black ugly rocks, which remain to this day arid and bare, for nothing will grow upon them. The professor thinks there may be a certain sort of foundation for this legend. Perhaps, he says, a number of large meteorolites may have fallen in that region, and they might possibly have been composed of some substances which do not exist anywhere upon the earth itself, and with which, therefore, no one not living in that particular locality would be acquainted. Of course, this is only a theory, a suggestion––”

“Yes, yes, of course. Still, I suppose it is scientifically possible, if the professor says it is.”

“Just so. Well, from that point of view, those meteorolites might quite possibly have contained radium, and the professor thinks it also scientifically possible that they may have contained some other metal or element which might have a greater affinity or attractive sympathy for some of the heavenly bodies than for the earth. Hence it would fly back whence it came were it not that it is kept here by its being in combination with other metals or minerals which come under the ordinary laws of gravitation. Or again, the professor thinks, this singular behaviour may be due to what one may, for want of a better expression, term anti-magnetic action. That is to say, just as a magnet exerts an attractive force over steel and will, in certain circumstances, attract to itself a piece of steel even against what we call the laws of gravity, so this metal may exercise a repulsive force; or the earth, as a whole, may, in obedience to some as yet unknown law, seek to repel it from contact with its surface.

“At any rate, there is some mysterious property or force which causes this form of radium–apparently a hard, close-grained heavy-looking mineral–to act as though lighter than the air, and to rise through it just as hydrogen gas does.”

“Then it acts like a balloon?” Harry exclaimed.

Wilfrid nodded. “Yes; I have some strips of it sewn into a jacket under my clothes at this moment, with the result that I can float in the air when I choose, as you have seen.”

Harry gave a long whistle.

“So that is the explanation of the puzzle, is it? Well, it’s all very wonderful.”

“Not more so, perhaps, than the telephone or the phonograph would have appeared to our grandfathers. It may be that some day we shall get as used to floating about in the air in this way as we are to-day to those discoveries. Now, a word or two more. The professor, as I have said, is jubilant over our discovery, but desires to keep it secret until we have a lot more of the material and he can launch it on the scientific and commercial world with a burst, as it were. He proposes to call it in part after himself–to call it ‘Moray-radium.’ This I have shortened, for convenience, into ‘Moradium.’”

“I see. A good name, I should think.”

“We have found, by the way, that radium in this form has no disagreeable effect upon the skin or flesh, as ordinary radium has. It does not cause sores or ulcers, but seems to be, on the contrary, soothing and healing in its influence when worn as I am wearing it now. It is strengthening and invigorating, too, as I can testify. Now, unfortunately, the professor is in a poor state of health just now, and cannot form one of this expedition, so I am going out with Dr. Vivian and Bennet, the old hunter and backwoodsman who went with us before. But the dear old doctor–well, you know how absent-minded he is! He is a bit of a slow-coach for a trip of this kind, so I expect the real leadership will practically devolve upon myself. Now, would you like to come with us?”

“I?” exclaimed Harry, with glistening eyes. “Oh, rather–that is, if father will but let me.”

“I have enough ‘Moravia’ to make you a jacket similar to the one I am wearing, and that you shall have, if you like; and with the two I think we shall manage to astonish the natives out there pretty considerably. What do you think?”

Needless to say, Harry was delighted, and he was duly enrolled as one of the band of “radium-seekers “–a quest destined to lead them into adventures of so thrilling and amazing a character as to surpass their very wildest dreams.

For the rest, their final preparations were soon made, and a month later the little party were on board an outward-bound liner, well started upon the first stage of their eventful journey.

III. WILD MEN OF THE WOODS

“WHAT? Our Indians going to strike, like the British workman when he gets discontented? That sounds funny, Dr. Vivian, doesn’t it?”

“It places us in an awkward predicament, Harry. Here we are at the farthest place we reached before, when the professor was with us, and now we are face to face with the same difficulty. They refused to push on through the forest we are just entering. We had to turn back then. I am beginning to think we shall have to do the same now.”

Dr. Vivian looked grave and disappointed. He knew the thought of failure would be a disagreeable one to his two young friends, whom he had accompanied thus far upon their adventurous journey, and he sympathized with them. But apart from his concern on their account, he had himself looked forward, with the enthusiasm of an experienced scientist, to the discoveries which they had anticipated in this hitherto unexplored country.

A keen naturalist was the good doctor, and a learned man in zoological and botanical lore. But he was apt to allow his thoughts to be so engrossed by scientific studies and speculations as to make him at times absent-minded and forgetful of more prosaic, everyday matters; hence, the active leadership of the expedition had devolved upon Wilfrid Moray–as, indeed, he had predicted would be the case in his preliminary talk with his chum, Harry Burnham.

But if not a brilliant, dashing leader, the worthy doctor was a staunch, good-humoured, kindly-disposed friend and companion, and the two youngsters loved and respected him.

The party had journeyed up from the coast of British Guiana, chiefly by river and canoe, until they had reached the borders of the wild, unknown hinterland into which no white man, so far as was known, had yet penetrated.

They were encamped just within a belt of forest of a more sombre, gloomy character even than anything they had yet passed through; and here the Indians, some thirty or so in number, who had hitherto accompanied them became discontented and troublesome. They were full of superstitious stories and beliefs about the mysterious country in front of them, and declared–as they had declared to Professor Moray a year ago upon the same spot–that they would not go any further.

“Well,” said Harry, after a pause, “Wilfrid expected to have trouble, and has some scheme of his own for getting over it; but as he is away I won’t say anything more just now. He will tell you about it himself when he returns. I dare say he will rejoin us to-day. In any case, he said we must halt here for a few days till we can get a good store of cassava to take with us.”

“Cassava” is the one invariable food of the Indians in these parts, and without it the travellers could not proceed either forward or backward. So Wilfrid had gone upon a foraging expedition to try to get a supply from an Indian village known to lie about a day’s journey from their line of march. He had taken with him his man Bennet, the most experienced white man of the party, and half a dozen Indians.

“Much will depend, he thinks,” Harry went on, “upon whether he can come across the friendly chief of the Macusis, Inanda, who gave him the wonderful Black Nugget, you know. If he can see him, all may be well; but if he and his people should be away upon one of their hunting or fishing expeditions, we may have to wait on here indefinitely. But whether we have to wait or not, and whether the Indians go with us or we push on alone, I know one thing–we shall go on. Wilfrid will never turn back.”

“A halt for a few days will not be disagreeable to me,” the doctor observed. “It will give me an opportunity of overhauling my specimens and making sure that the white ants have not been busy amongst them.”

Harry was silent a minute or two, and then he said:

“By the way, doctor, I had a little adventure this morning when out with Melsa, not far from here, about which I have not yet told you,” Melsa was an Indian hunter to whom Harry had taken a liking, and with whom he had made many little incidental trips in search of game during their journey up from the coast.

“We crossed a high ridge,” Harry continued, “and I suggested that Melsa should ascend one of the largest trees upon it in order to get a view of the surrounding country. He started up a tree, accordingly, and disappeared through some thick foliage, but had not been gone more than a minute when he returned in the greatest haste, with a very scared expression upon his face, and calling out ‘Cramba! Cramba!’ ran off as fast as his legs would carry him.”

“Did he see a snake?” asked the doctor.

“No; something far worse than that, he declared, was the cause of his precipitate bolt. He solemnly averred that he saw a ‘Cramba’s nest.’”

“And what on earth may that be? I never heard the word before.”

“He says there are wild men called Crambas, who hollow out a nest or den in the trunk of a tree, closing up the entrance with a sort of door cunningly made from the bark of the tree, and so artfully fitted that when shut only a very sharp eye can detect the crack around it. From this post of vantage they shoot at anything passing below, whether man or animal–for they are cannibals it seems, and will as soon make a meal off a human being as off a pig. They strike their prey down by means of a poisoned dart, which does not kill at once, but only paralyses the muscles. Then they drag off the body of the unfortunate victim–still alive and conscious, so it is said, but quite unable to move–to their nest, where, if they don’t happen to be hungry at the moment, they stow it away in its dead-alive state till they want it. It’s a gruesome sort of tale, and really, the way Melsa told it, and his evident sincerity, made me feel quite queer as I listened.”