AS the three staggered out, one after another, from the acid-fumed fungi onto the wiry grass of the central space, their ears were rent by a sound of hideous and continued screaming which drowned out all other noise entirely. Startled and shuddering, both Sergius and Jones directed the rays of their lanterns toward the sound, and a most extraordinary picture leaped into view.
The scene of the tragedy was one of the larger death-cabbages. Its seventyfive-foot leaves were spread almost flat, and all the inner tentacles were writhing and squirming upward, so that at first glance it looked as if this vegetable flesh-eater were all on fire with slim, scarlet flames. Then, as they moved their search-lights upward, they saw what it was that screamed.
Clinging with huge claws to the upper stalk, just below the tuft, was a dark, winged thing, and all about its body and head the tentacles were wound and fastened. So wide were its frantically beating wings that even where they stood, a hundred yards away, the wind of them struck their faces in heavy gusts. The stalk swayed and bent under the strain, but the tentacles had firm hold, and continually new scarlet cords shot upward to aid in the binding of the captive, until its body was no more than a bundle of flaming red.
The screaming grew weaker; the wings fluttered spasmodically for a few moments longer, then drooped down helpless. The tentacles took hold upon them, also. Into the field of light a pointed, serrated thing rose slowly, followed by others upon all sides. The death cabbage was closing its doors to feast in sacred privacy.
A moment later the vision of trapped prey was shut from their eyes.
With a long, shuddering sigh, Sergius turned his own light slowly about the grim ranks encircling the glade. Everywhere it fell upon spread leaves and living, ready tentacles Only one or two other of the cabbages were closed. Doubtless their dinner had come to them earlier in the evening.
“What are they? What is this place you have brought me to?”
It was Miss Weston. Both men turned to her with a guilty start, realizing that in their fascinated absorption they had for the time forgotten her.
“I am so sorry,” apologized Sergius, as if he and Jones had invented the vegetable horrors, as her tone implied.
“It is like — it is like a circle from Dante’s Inferno!” exclaimed Jones, laying his hand pityingly on the girl’s arm, and wishing with all his heart that he had never acceded to Sergius’ wishes; that they had left the girl at the caves, or stayed there themselves. What might not the effect of having witnessed such a scene be upon the mind of a delicate, high-strung woman?
But she drew slightly away, and spoke again to the Russian, From first to last she gave Mr. Jones no more attention than one grants to a supernumerary — a necessary adjunct to the play, but scarcely of more human interest than the furniture.
“You are sorry!” she repeated scornfully. “Your sorrow is rather late, it appears. Where is the aeroplane?”
The nihilist bowed gallantly to her contemptuous tone.
“As usual, Miss Weston, you speak directly to the point. The aeroplane is — why, where in the name of Heaven is it?”
For his light, flashing up the glade, encountered only empty space. The aeroplane, which they had left not far from where they now stood, had disappeared.
Jones felt his heart begin a slow, systematic descent toward his toes. If the machine were actually gone, what would they do? Then he gave a joyful cry as his own light, dancing spritelike over the grass, flashed upon something broadwinged and motionless over near the wilted death-cabbage which had so nearly made a meal of him and Sergius.
“There it is! It’s all right! It’s there!”
“Thank God!” breathed Miss Weston, frightened momentarily out of her attitude of disdainful indifference.
“But how did it get there?” frowned Sergius. “Miss Weston, you must not go so near as that to the cabbagges. Will you wait here with Mr. Jones, while I go after the plane?”
“I will not,” she replied instantly. “We will either all go, or none of us will go, whichever you please. Oh, I’m not troubled for your safety, Prince Sergius. Don’t imagine that. But if you should be killed or injured, who is to pilot the plane?
“I am overwhelmed by your solicitude for me,” murmured Sergius, bowing again. “If you must go, keep behind us. Here, take this light and one of the rifles. Yes, please, I want my hands free. Come on, then.”
He set off at a swinging stride, followed by Jones and Miss Weston, who looked pale by the reflected light of her lantern, but very determined indeed.
The plane, they found, was fairly in the midst of the many-colored fungi. But worse, and more important, it was quite near to a thirty-foot vegetable which they had just had good testimony, would make no more than a good meal on all three of them. In fact, as they approached, it seemed to sense them, and stretched out a dozen hungry tentacles in their direction. Two or three of these, feeling blindly, encountered a rear strut of the aeroplane and curled about it. Then the tentacles contracted suddenly, and the aeroplane rolled backward an inch or so.
“That won’t do,” cried the nihilist, and seizing a forward strut he braced himself and pulled, but with no apparent effect. More tentacles reached toward him as he stood there, but he was partly shielded from them by the plane itself.
To his credit be it said that Mr. Jones, without an instant’s hesitation, dropped his rifle, handed his torch to Miss Weston, and springing to Sergius’ side flung his weight also into the tug-of-war. But it was evident that the strength of the vegetable was greater than their combined efforts. The utmost they could, do was to hold the machine where it was.
After several muscle and nerve-straining minutes, the nihilist said to Jones in a low voice, not to be overheard by the girl, “My friend, there is only one thing to be done and that is creep back there, over the tail, and cut some of those tentacles.”
“Impossible! Why, the others would get you in a second.”
“I don’t care if they do. I will cut them also. They are strong, but a knife goes through them easily. Do you not remember yesterday afternoon? Miss Weston, will you keep both lights trained on the rear of the plane for a few moments, please? I am going to try something.”
“I won’t let you do it — ” began Jones, but with a spring Sergius had mounted upon the plane and was working his way toward the rear.
The withdrawal of his strength was accompanied by a surge of the aeroplane backward, and Jones had to use all his muscle and attention to keep it in place. Sergius was now out of his sight, but by a sudden swaying and jolting and a scream from Margaret Weston, he knew that his too-daring companion must have been found by one or more of the questing tentacles.
The machine swayed again violently, then he heard Sergius’ voice.
“Hold those lights steady, Miss Weston. Ah! two at once. Roland, we needn’t have been so worried — one might as well be afraid of a stick of celery. You devil! Would you?”
There was a strangl............