quered the red man's last caverns are not from Europe, but from space; from another world where things are very different. That they killed all the old friends of the people on Earth's surface; all the long lived beings like Eemeeshee within their life-machines; and that now surface man has no real friends any more under the rocks of earth. Only corsairs from space, who seek only to keep men ignorant and weak. But I do not believe it, for the voices seem so often to be like European voices: men who have learned English well, but are yet Europeans; Continentals. But all the voices agree that the leaders of these rays, everywhere, are too often mad. The people who have the control rays are mad, do not think at all of anything but their own pleasure, can not even think effectively of precautions for their own safety."
"There are many such as Eemeeshee left, do you think?"
"No, my friend. I think that even Eemeeshee is alive only by accident. I think that most of his kind, his feeble, peculiar race of men-within-a-machine-shell has been nearly killed off by the newcomers in the caverns."
"These newcomers could well be from the surface, who have introduced modern gangster methods into the strange cavern world."[1]
"No, the reports of them are too peculiar. They contend they do not think as men. Or do not think at all. Just pleasure and cruelty."
"Lazy, like Eemeeshee, but in a different way, eh?"
"That is right. Now, if you don't mind—since we are starting in the morning for the place I spoke of, and I am an old man—I must go to bed. All your questions will be much better answered by the actuality than by my words. Once down there you will learn these things."
"I suppose you are right. I would rather see this immortal Eemeeshee than to hear about him—if he is as harmless as you say."
"He is not exactly harmless. But he has no will to slay anyone in particular; no reason to harm you. Eemeeshee can fight quite well or he would not be alive."
"Well however it may be—goodnight."
CHAPTER IV
The Finding of Eemeeshee
ALL the next day six cars drove across the desert. There was little or no visible trail but they were following an ancient forgotten road, and the cars found it not too difficult. Old Secumne, toward the close of the day, indicated a stopping place. The cars drew up in a line, facing the wall of a canyon. There was no particular reason for stopping that Lane could see.
Darkness was on them when the evening meal was finished. Secumne rose from the fire, walked to the canyon wall. From his blanket roll he had taken a little flute. Now he blew three notes upon the flute. A high one, a low one, and one soft in between in pitch.
A vast muffled rumble answered from within the wall of rough rock. Slowly a great section tipped, swiveling slowly outward, pivoting on its center. Exposed on both sides of the balanced section of rock was a tunnel, wide enough, big enough for four motor cars abreast. Two cars could have driven in on each side of the pivoted rock. The tunnel led down as far as their lights reached. Lane stood, overcome by the magnitude of this proof of the old Indian's words. Hearing of such things was one thing, seeing them quite another.
"Who built such a thing?"
"It is the work of the ancient ones who built all through the under-rock of earth. No one knows words to describe or name them today. But presently I will show you wall pictures of their tremendous beauty and strength. They were giant men. There are few such doors left any more. This one has been protected from erosion by circumstances. Too, in times not too long past, our own forefathers, the red men who served such as Eemeeshee, chipped away the stone, kept the door open, protected and cared for it. Unless such care goes on the door will be lost forever. Such has happened to many doors into the underworld. One by one they disappear forever. But of late years, the voices tell me there are many new openings being made."
"It doesn't seem possible that time would leave such a thing intact to operate."
"Men have spent much time and labor upon it. See how earthen bulwarks have
- ↑ It is a peculiarity of the caves that there is a weird mixture of ancient and modern. Imitation of ancient dress is amazingly authentic—Ed
