Pellucidar | Page 4

TRAVELING WITH TERROR III SHOOTING THE
CHUTES--AND AFTER IV FRIENDSHIP AND TREACHERY V SURPRISES VI A
PENDENT WORLD VII FROM PLIGHT TO PLIGHT VIII CAPTIVE IX HOOJA'S
CUTTHROATS APPEAR X THE RAID ON THE CAVE-PRISON XI ESCAPE XII
KIDNAPED! XIII RACING FOR LIFE XIV GORE AND DREAMS XV CONQUEST
AND PEACE

PROLOGUE
SEVERAL YEARS had elapsed since I had found the op-portunity to do any big-game
hunting; for at last I had my plans almost perfected for a return to my old
stamping-grounds in northern Africa, where in other days I had had excellent sport in
pursuit of the king of beasts.
The date of my departure had been set; I was to leave in two weeks. No schoolboy
counting the lagging hours that must pass before the beginning of "long vacation"
released him to the delirious joys of the sum-mer camp could have been filled with
greater im-patience or keener anticipation.
And then came a letter that started me for Africa twelve days ahead of my schedule.
Often am I in receipt of letters from strangers who have found something in a story of
mine to commend or to condemn. My interest in this department of my correspondence is
ever fresh. I opened this particular letter with all the zest of pleasurable anticipation with
which I had opened so many others. The post-mark (Algiers) had aroused my interest and
curiosity, es-pecially at this time, since it was Algiers that was presently to witness the
termination of my coming sea voyage in search of sport and adventure.
Before the reading of that letter was completed lions and lion-hunting had fled my
thoughts, and I was in a state of excitement bordering upon frenzy.
It--well, read it yourself, and see if you, too, do not find food for frantic conjecture, for
tantalizing doubts, and for a great hope.
Here it is:
DEAR SIR: I think that I have run across one of the most remarkable coincidences in
modern literature. But let me start at the beginning:
I am, by profession, a wanderer upon the face of the earth. I have no trade--nor any other
occupation.
My father bequeathed me a competency; some remoter ancestors lust to roam. I have
combined the two and invested them carefully and without extravagance.

I became interested in your story, At the Earth's Core, not so much because of the
probability of the tale as of a great and abiding wonder that people should be paid real
money for writing such impossible trash. You will pardon my candor, but it is necessary
that you understand my mental attitude toward this particular story--that you may credit
that which fol-lows.
Shortly thereafter I started for the Sahara in search of a rather rare species of antelope that
is to be found only occasionally within a limited area at a certain season of the year. My
chase led me far from the haunts of man.
It was a fruitless search, however, in so far as antelope is concerned; but one night as I
lay courting sleep at the edge of a little cluster of date-palms that surround an ancient
well in the midst of the arid, shifting sands, I suddenly became conscious of a strange
sound coming apparently from the earth beneath my head.
It was an intermittent ticking!
No reptile or insect with which I am familiar re-produces any such notes. I lay for an
hour--listening intently.
At last my curiosity got the better of me. I arose, lighted my lamp and commenced to
investigate.
My bedding lay upon a rug stretched directly upon the warm sand. The noise appeared to
be coming from beneath the rug. I raised it, but found nothing--yet, at intervals, the sound
continued.
I dug into the sand with the point of my hunting-knife. A few inches below the surface of
the sand I encountered a solid substance that had the feel of wood beneath the sharp steel.
Excavating about it, I unearthed a small wooden box. From this receptacle issued the
strange sound that I had heard.
How had it come here?
What did it contain?
In attempting to lift it from its burying place I dis-covered that it seemed to be held fast
by means of a very small insulated cable running farther into the sand beneath it.
My first impulse was to drag the thing loose by main strength; but fortunately I thought
better of this and fell to examining the box. I soon saw that it was covered by a hinged lid,
which was held closed by a simple screwhook and eye.
It took but a moment to loosen this and raise the cover, when, to my utter astonishment, I
discovered an ordinary telegraph instrument clicking away within.
"What in the world," thought I, "is this thing doing here?"

That