"Now men," said he, crisply, as he flung down the pit his simitar
which could have no further use, "this may be the final chapter. Our
Legion was organized for adventure. We've had it. No one can complain.
If it's good-bye, now--so be it.
"There may be a chance, however, of winning through. Hold fast to
your goat-skins; and if the hidden river isn't too hot, and if there's
head-room, some of us may get through to daylight. Let us try to
reassemble where we find the first practicable stopping-place. If the
Jannati Shahr men are waiting for us, there, don't be taken alive.
Remember!
"Now, give me your hand, each one, and--down the shaft with you!"
Simonds went first, boldly, without a quiver of fear. Silently and
with set jaw, he shook hands with the Master, clutched a distended
wine-bag in both arms, and quickly leaped.
His body vanished, instantly, from sight. Steam and darkness swallowed
it. Far below, a dull splash told of his disappearance.
Lebon followed, after having given his torture-twisted hand to his
beloved lieutenant, as well as to the Master.
"Notre Pere qui etes aux cieux!" he stammered, as the pit received
him.
Then went Wallace, Ferrara, and Emilio.
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