"Hell's kitchen!" I exclaimed nervously, "but the den has an occupant already."
"Ay, and of a kind common enough in these hills, but nothing fit to affright a servant of the true God," echoed Cairnes, striding past me. "I am not wont to fear heathen idols, Master Benteen, nor will I bear back now before those green eyes."
As he spoke he laid rough hand on the thing, and I heard a sharp rattle of metal against wood.
"Come hither friend," he called, with a laugh, "'tis no worse than another painted devil we are called to face. Surely it is you who have the faint heart now."
"The glow of the torch blinded me to all except the green stones," I explained, coming forward and throwing the radiance of the flame full upon the hideous object. "Saint George! 't is of no beauty to my sight even now, and, as you say, of small fear to Christian heart. The saints defend us! What was that? As I live, I heard English speech!"
He was earnestly engaged in an endeavor to detach a bit of dull metal from the throat of the image, and scarcely deigned to glance around.
"Nay, there was no sound other than the chattering of your own tongue. This shining thing is gold, I believe."
"Let it be; 't is of small value here. I tell you I heard a strange voice; so hold still and listen."
For a minute or more we waited in almost breathless suspense, no unusual sound greeting our ears. Then the Puritan sniffed disdainfully.
"You grow childish, Master Benteen," he growled roughly, turning back to his labor. "The dark has overstrained your nerves--"
"I bespeak help of de Englishmen for de sake of God!"
There was no mistaking the truth this time--a strange voice was speaking broken English almost at our very feet. Cairnes clattered to the floor with a rough exclamation of surprise, while I stared vainly at the idol, from which the sound apparently came.
"In Heaven's name, who are you?" I asked earnestly, "and where are you who make appeal to us?"
"I am André Lafossier, native of France, for two months past a prisoner to these savages. If you are Christian men I beseech assistance."
"Nor do you ask vainly. Are you behind the wooden image?"
"Ay, in a small room hollowed out from the rock."
"Except for that are you free to aid us in your escape?"
"No, Monsieur; I am lamed in limb, and fastened to the stone by a metal band."
A hoarse growl of rage burst from the throat of the Puritan. "Prophets of God!" he roared. "Surely we are the selected instruments of the Lord sent hither for the salvation of this worthy man; we are the soldiers of Gideon, the chosen of the Most High."