BURT L. STANDISH Ultimate Collection: 24 Action Thrillers in One Volume (Illustrated) - Burt L. Standish

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before, was before them, but now it seemed blacker and more ominous than on the previous day.

      It was not far from midday when, away to the westward, they heard rumbling sounds, like distant thunder.

      "Vot id vas, ain'd id?" asked Hans, in alarm. "I don'd seen no dunder shower coming up somevere, do I?"

      "It did not seem like thunder," said Frank, soberly. "It was more like a rumbling beneath the ground, and I fancied the earth quivered a bit."

      "Perhaps it is an earthquake," put in the professor, apprehensively. "I believe they have such convulsions of nature in this part of the world."

      Bushnell said nothing, but there was a troubled look on his face, and he urged them all forward at a still swifter pace.

      The smoke tower was now looming near at hand, and they could see it shift and sway, grow thin, and roll up in a dense, black mass. It cast a gloom over their spirits, and made them all feel as if some frightful disaster was impending.

      Again and again, at irregular intervals, they heard the sullen rumbling, and once all were positive the earth shook.

      It was noticed that directly after each rumbling the smoke rolled up in a thick, black mass that shut out the light of the sun and overcast the heavens.

      The professor was for turning back, but Bushnell was determined to go forward, and Frank was equally resolute. Hans had very little to say, but his nerves were badly shaken.

      "In less than an hour we shall be able to see the Silver Palace," assured Bushnell. "We would be fools to turn back now."

      So they went on, and, at last, they climbed to the top of a rise, from which point the Westerner assured them that the palace could be seen.

      An awe-inspiring spectacle met their gaze. They looked across a great gulf, from which the smoke was rolling upward in clouds, and out of which came the sullen mutterings they had heard.

      "Merciful goodness!" cried Professor Scotch. "It must be the crater of a volcano!"

      "Yah!" gasped Hans; "und der volcano vos doin' pusiness at der oldt standt alretty yet."

      "The volcano may have been dormant for centuries," said the professor, "but it is coming to life now!"

      "Where is the Silver Palace?" demanded Frank.

      Bushnell clutched the boy's arm with a grip of iron, pointing straight through the smoke clouds that rose before them.

      "Look!" he shouted, hoarsely; "it is thar! See—the smoke grows thinner, an' thar she am! See her glitter! In thet thar palace is stored enough treasure ter make us richer then ther richest men in ther world, an' ten thousand volcanoes ain't goin' ter keep me from it, you bet yer boots!"

      True enough, through the parted smoke clouds gleamed the towers and turrets of the wonderful palace that had remained hidden in the heart of the mountains hundreds of years, jealously guarded by the fierce natives, who believed it sacred, and who had kept the secret well from the outside world.

      CHAPTER XII.

       DOOM OF THE SILVER PALACE

       Table of Contents

      Bushnell leaped from his horse and began tearing the packs from the backs of the led animals. He worked with mad haste, and there was an awesome, insane glare in his eyes.

      "The man is crazy!" roared Professor Scotch. "The volcano is certain to break forth before long—it must be on the verge of breaking forth now. If we remain here we are doomed!"

      "Oxcuse me!" fluttered Hans. "I vos retty to gone righd avay queek."

      The professor turned to Frank with his appeal:

      "Come, boy, let's get away before destruction comes upon us. We must not remain here."

      Frank sprang down from his snorting horse, flung the rein to Hans, and leaped to Bushnell's side.

      "You are mad to think of remaining here!" he said, swiftly. "Come away, and we will return when the volcano is at peace."

      "No!" thundered the treasure-seeker, "I will not go! The Silver Palace is there, and I mean to have my share of the treasure. Go if you are afraid, but here I stay till the balloon is inflated, and I can cross the chasm. The wind is right for it, and nothing shall stop me!"

      He picketed the horses, and began ripping open the packs.

      Frank turned to Professor Scotch, saying, quietly:

      "Bushnell will not go, and I shall stay with him. At the same time, I advise you to go. Take Hans with you, and get away from here. Leave a plain trail, and Bushnell will be able to follow it, if we succeed in reaching the palace and returning alive."

      The professor entreated Frank to change his mind, but the lad was determined, and nothing could alter that determination.

      At last Scotch gave up in despair, groaning:

      "If you stay, I stay. I am your guardian, but you seem to have things all your own way. If this volcano cooks us all, you will be to blame for it."

      Frank said no word, but went about the task of assisting Bushnell in the work of inflating the balloon.

      The Westerner had a "gas generator," which he was getting in order. As soon as this was ready, the balloon was unrolled, spread out, drawn up by means of poles and lines, and then secured to the ground by one stout rope, which was hitched about the base of a great bowlder.

      Then Bushnell built a fire and set the "gas generator" at work.

      In the meantime the volcano had continued to mutter. At intervals the clouds of smoke parted, and they saw the wonderful Silver Palace standing on a plateau beyond the chasm.

      The palace seemed to cast a spell over them all, and they felt the fever of the gold-hunter beginning to burn in their throbbing veins.

      It was more than an hour after their arrival that the balloon began to fill with gas and Frank uttered a cheer as he saw the silk bulging like a bladder that is inflated with wind.

      "Ha, ha!" laughed Bushnell, wildly. "In a few minutes we'll go sailin' over ther gulf, right through ther smoke, ter ther Silver Palace. Ha, ha, ha!"

      The man's face was flushed till it was nearly purple, and his eyes were bloodshot. The fever had fastened itself firmly upon him.

      More and more did the balloon expand. Bushnell had brought out a folding car, which he securely attached.

      "In ten minutes more we'll be ready for the trip!" he shouted.

      At that instant a series of wild cries reached their ears, and, turning swiftly, they saw a band of dark-faced men pouring through a fissure in the rocks to the north of them.

      "Shimminy Gristmas!" cried Hans Dunnerwust, in terror. "Dot seddles us!"

      "Who is it? Who are they?" fluttered the professor.

      "They look like bandits," acknowledged Frank.

      "It is Pacheco's band!" cried Bushnell, hastily securing his rifle. "Ther pizen varmints hev come ten minutes too soon! Ther balloon would take us all over in another ten minutes, but now it won't carry more than two. We must hold ther skunks off till she fills."

      "Right!" shouted Frank Merriwell. "And we must be ready to go the instant she does fill. We can't hold 'em back long, for we have no shelter here. Professor, Hans, into that car! Get in, I say, and be ready! We'll try to stand the whelps off till the balloon is inflated, but we must be ready to start at any instant."

      Professor Scotch and Hans were hastily bundled into the car.

      The bandits hesitated long enough to gather and prepare for the charge, with their chief in the lead. It was plain they saw the treasure-seekers had no shelter, and they meant to close in without delay.

      "Reddy

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