No one was stirring. Everywhere was silence save the
patter of our own feet, which we let fall as noiselessly as
possible.
"Will it never end?" whispered Harry at length, after we had
traversed upward of a mile without any sign of a cross-passage or
a termination.
"Forward, and silence!" I breathed for a reply.
The end--at least, of the silence--came sooner than we had
expected. Hardly were the last words out of my mouth when a
whirring noise sounded behind us. We glanced over our shoulders
as we ran, and at the same instant an Inca spear flew by not two
inches from my head and struck the ground in front.
Not a hundred feet to the rear we saw a group of Incas rushing
along the passage toward us. Harry wheeled about, raising his
spear, but I grasped him by the arm, crying, "Run; it's our only
chance!" The next moment we were leaping forward side by side
down the passage.
It would have fared ill with any who appeared to block our way in
that mad dash; but it remained clear. The corridor led straight
ahead, with never a turn. We were running as we had never run
before; the black walls flashed past us an indistinguishable
blur, and the open doorways were blended into one.
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