The Argosy, Vol. XXIV, No. 3 — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

A CONSPIRACY OF THE CATACOMBS. 543 cophagus containing some bones that crumbled to dust at his touch. Then he turned around and proceeded to retrace his steps. When he had walked an hour and a half without arriving at the starting point he knew that somehow he had gone astray. Then he turned back to find the place from which he had branched off. ‘The little chapel with its frescoes and sar- cophagus was the only point on the route he could identify. He had passed through it on his return trip. If he could get back there then and begin afresh, he would probably get on the right track. This, however, was just what he did not succeed in doing. When his watch told him that he had wandered for eight hours without coming across either the entrance or the chapel, he sat down to consider. Should he con- tinue to hunt for his lost starting place or should he strike out boldly for the government entrance, which he knew to be about three miles northwest of the washout? He decided in favor of the latter as being the larger mark, since if he could find any part of the rope enclosed passage he would be safe. ; He trudged doggedly toward the northwest till he knew by the time that had elapsed he must have walked at least ten miles. Then he sank down in complete exhaustion and put out his candle for ecénomy’s sake. His supply was nearly out. He will remember to his dying day the horrors of the time that followed. He slept a few hours from utter weariness,.and awoke chilled to the bone by the damp stone on which he was lying. The heavy subter- ranean air almost suffocated him. The darkness was full of mysterious horrors. Strange sounds, which might proceed from the scurrying feet of a rat or the flap of a bat’s wings, disturbed the awful stillness. When he put his hand down it came in contact with crawling, slimy things. He lit his candle and breathed freer. Anything is bearable with light. ‘Tf I only had enough candles to last till Idie!’’ he thought. ‘* But they will be gore in a few hours, and it will take me several days to starve at best, perhaps a week ’? and he shuddered. He stumbled on aimlessly till the light was gone. The last flicker of the last candle showed him that it was near noon of the second day. He had some matches left, but kept them for an emergency. He had picked out as dry a place as possible and sat down to await the end. Every once in a while he would get up in desperation and walk blindly till he was tired, groping his way along the damp wall. At last (about the middle of the second night) his hand struck something different—a bit of carving. The eager hand fell on—a sarcophagus! ‘The top is off. Crumbling bones were inside. Strug- gling between hope and fear, Safford struck a match. Thank God! It was his chapel! The entrance was nota quarter of a mile away, as near due south as might be. . The excess of his joy combined with his physical weakness (he had been two days and two nights without food) was too much for him. He sank down and wept like a child. When he had somewhat recovered himself, he set to work manufacturing a torch out of the more combustible parts of his clothing. The first one lasted some minutes, during which he felt confident he had found the place at which he had first gone astray. Another similar COnniclOoks.€®