as necessary to take
back with them was hoisted up by him. Mukoki sheltered the rest in the
old cabin. John Ball was drawn up last. For an hour after that, until
the gray shadows of night began settling about them, the three waded
up the shallow stream, pulling the canoe and its unconscious burden
after them. That night the madman was not left unwatched for a minute.
Mukoki sat beside him until eleven o'clock. Then Wabi took his turn. A
little after midnight Rod was aroused by being violently pulled from
his bed of balsam boughs.

"For the love of Heaven, get up!" whispered the young Indian. "He's
talking, Rod! He's talking about Dolores, and about some kind of a
great beast that's bigger than anything that ever lived up here!
Listen!"

The madman was moaning softly.

"I've killed it, Dolores--I've killed it--killed it! Where is Dolores?
Where--is--" There came a deep sigh, and John Ball was quiet.

"Killed what?" panted Rod, his heart thumping until it choked him.

"The beast--whatever it was," whispered Wabi. "Rod, something terrible
happened in that cavern! We don't know the whole story. The Frenchmen
who killed themselves for possession of the birch-bark map played
only a small part in it. The greater part was played by John Ball and
Dolores!"

For a long time the two listened, but the old man made no sound or
movement.

"Better go back to bed," said Wabi. "I thought if he was going to keep
it up you would like to hear. I'll call you at two."

But Rod could not sleep. For a long time he lay awake thinking of John
Ball and his, strange ravings. Who was Dolores? What terrible tragedy
had that black world under the mountains some time beheld? Despite his
better reason an indefinable sensation of uneasiness possessed him as
the madman's sobbing out of the woman's name recurred to him. He spoke
nothing of this to Wabi when he relieved him, and he said nothing of
it during the days that followed. They were days of unending toil, of
fierce effort to beat out death in the race to Wabinosh House.

For it seemed that the end of time was very near for John Ball. On the
fourth day his thin cheeks showed signs of fever, and on the fifth he
was tossing in delirium. The race now continued by night as well as
by day, only an hour or two of rest being snatched at a time. During
these days John Ball babbled ceaselessly of Dolores, and great beasts,
and the endless cavern; and now the beasts began taking the form of
strang