Commodore Junk — page 329: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

322 COMMODORE JUNK. would-be assassin had met his fate, and the other had been consigned as to his tomb. It was painful work. Every now and then some thorny creeper of rapid growth hung across and tore his skin ; at some sudden turn he came in contact with tree-trunk or mouldering stone; but the greater the difficulties in the darkness, the greater the rest seemed to Humphrey Armstrong’s brain, and he kept on till a sudden turn brought him close to the fork, where one path went winding to the left toward the men’s and the captain’s quarters, the other to the temple. As he approached he became conscious of a rustling sound, as of a wild creature passing through the forest, and he snatched his knife from his waist, ready to strike for life if attacked ; but, firmly convinced that there were no denizens of the wild there but such as were more likely to avoid him, he kept on again, to reach the dividing path just as he became aware that it was no creature passing through the wilderness of trees, but someone, like himself, hurrying along the track from the men’s quarters so rapidly, that they came in contact, and a hand seized him by the throat, and the point of some weapon seemed to be pressed against his breast, as a voice exclaimed in a hoarse whisper— “Make the slightest sound and it is your last.” And as these words seemed to be hissed into his face, a shout arose from some distance along the path, and the tramp- ing of feet and rustling of branches intimated that people were rapidly coming in pursuit. “You!” exclaimed Humphrey, hoarsely, as he stood with hand uplifted to strike, but suspended in the act as if every muscle had suddenly become stone, “ Humphrey Armstrong !” The hand that had grasped his throat dropped nerveless, and the weapon fell from his breast as the shouting of men increased. Gomichbooksneo