The Black Mask — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

| fe oe pe ee, Jamison’s objections. That night I camped half way up the side of the range. Next morning—that would be ~ four days ago—I chanced upon a little canyon that wound in and out among the rocks. There were signs of gold, and I determined to explore it thor- oughly before going further. ’ “As I continued, the air grew colder. From somewhere ahead came a dull, in- describable roar. I put it down to a waterfall somewhere in the distance. “Suddenly, after a two hours’ tramp, I reached the end of the narrow path- way and found myself on the edge of a steep decline, ice covered, slippery—a veritable man trap—which seemed to surround a huge, deep basin. The en- tire place was buried under a pall of smoke which hid everything from view. On all sides rose the mountains, rugged, their peaks covered with snow, offering an impassable barrier. The path by which I had entered seemed to be the only means’ of getting in or out. “Up, out of the basin, there came to my ears a steady, rumbling booming. The air was filled with it. The earth seemed to tremble under my feet at fre- quent intervals. Sometimes the noise would die out for a second, only to start again with renewed violence. There was nothing to be frightened at, yet I confess that the goose pimples came to the surface and I felt the icy chills run up and down my spine. My hair stood up like the quills of a porcupine. The very atmosphere seemed filled with despair—with a vague something the human mind could not grasp. “Suddenly the wind brought to my ears a shout. Then came the shrill, piercing, agonized scream of a woman —a shriek that was filled with terror and helplessness. Again and again it assailed my ears. Shouting in answer, I ran along the edge of the precipice, looking for a pathway that would lead The Valley Where Dead Men Live me to the rescue of her who called, “As I ran along the narrow shelf of ice, I threw off my heavy pack and car- ried only my rifle. Then, I slipped and lost my footing. My gun flew from my grasp. I struggled to save myself, but , without avail. Over the slippery edge I slid—down—down—down! It seemed to me that I rolled for miles. There was absolutely nothing which I could grasp to stop my wild plunge. Nothing but itce—ice—ice—cold and smooth as glass. Faster and faster I went, until my speed was that of an express train. I almost lost consciousness. I could not think. Suddenly I struck the bottom with a force that knocked me sense- less. = III “I was awakened from my stupor by a peculiar rat-tat-tat that sounded like the rattle of a drum. I opened my eyes. The air was filled with acrid smoke. It hung over me like a great gray blanket. Was I dead? I raised myself on my elbows and looked about me. For an instant I imagined that I was back in Flanders. Then I remem- bered my fall. But where was I? “The ground was covered with bod- ies, heaped up in grotesque attitudes, lying in odd-shaped piles. It was a, ver- itable charnel house—a page torn from Dante’s Inferno. And such bodies! Peculiar, transparent, crystalline. I could see through them as one looks through a heavy plate-glass. Heavens! It was horrible—hideous. And blood! Blood everywhere. The air rang with shrieks and groans and laughter—wild, haunting laughter that froze the mar- row in my bones, “Close beside me a machine-gun was rattling, served by a sergeant and two privates wearing the olive drab. All three were of the same peculiar, grayish © cast of pellucidness as were the bodies lying around. On all sides guns were