Subterranean Cavern By Lt. Walter Prothero "Stalactites and stalagmites hung from the ceiling or thrust their knobby mounds up from the floor." Whispy clouds speckled the warm turquoise of the heavens, sand-lizards skittered from cactus to cactus over the already heated sand, violet shadows from the mid-morning sun dripped from every protuberance. So dazzling was the reflection of the yellow sand that the blue of the sky seemed of a darker tone, a direct reversion of the rules of art. Weird sandstone formations thrust their jumbled masses into the sky like primeval monsters turned to stone aeons before. Grotesque buttresses rose from the sand in every direction, making a scene of incredible loveliness, if of appalling loneliness and silent majesty. A mere human wandering in this waste felt as if he were being viewed through the reducing end of a telescope by the gods who surely must dwell on the tops of the standstone pinnacles. So thought Bart, as he sprawled in the shade of a ledge lazily watching the blue smoke of his cigarette spiral over the lip of the ledge above him. His eyes ran over the landscape spread before and above him. Suddenly upon one of the wind-carved and time-decorated cliffs his gaze stopped. There was a small, black hole about half way up in the side of the cliff. "Hmm," mused Bart, "looks like a cave," and the desire to explore caves and mine shafts suddenly welled up in him. He thoughtfully sat there a moment. "Should I?" he said half to himself. "Doggone, seems that the time I got stranded in that Skull Valley mine-shaft won't ever teach me a lesson." His pack revealed a big fat candle, rather lumpy and ugly but obviously a producer of a good light. Into another pocket he put a handful of matches. A few minutes later he began the ascent of the cliff. Every crack or depression, no matter how small, served as foot holds or hand holds for Bart, and moments later after traversing thirty or forty feet of vertical wall, he arrived at the mouth of the cave. The entrance and its subsequent passage were scarcely larger than a rabbit hole, but after squeezing down it as well as he could with his candle in one hand, he noticed that the passage suddenly grew larger and he could stand. If he thought that the landscape outside was strange, he thought this as stranger still. Stalactites and stalagmites hung from the ceiling or thrust their knobby mounds up from the floor of the cavern. In places they coalesced forming columns as if to hold up the roof of the cave. Dark alcoves in which deep shadows of this subterranean kingdom shifted to and fro as if they were spying around the variformed columns at him. Dripstone, for all the world like dusty Navajo rugs, hung from the ceiling. Through this strange underground world the passage wound torturously and as he held his candle aloft at various places, the view reminded him of one of the scenes from Dante's Inferno, minus only the smell of brimstone and sulphur and flickering flames. The feeble light from, his candle threw macabre shadows upon the wall; once several stalagmites cast their images behind his own, looking for all the world as though they were following him. Bart smiled at the way these shadows reminded him of the seven dwarfs marching through their caverins singing, "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go." "This is the first time I have ever led a parade," he thought. Soon the passage apparently ended, except for a hole in the floor, and a horizontal crack in the wall. He chose the hole in the floor and let himself down into it. Down and down it went, twisting around and around as if made with a giant cork-screw. One moment he would be directly above a spot he would be below a minute later. It is a strange feeling, this letting yourself down into the earth through a hole scarcely large enough to wriggle through. Surrounded by millions of tons of rock, it is almost like being buried alive. Stray wisps of plots and incidents from Poe's prosaic lines drifted through his mind, but when he dropped down into another larger passage these morbid thoughts soon fled. This passage was nearly a repetition of the first with the exception of a great crack running down the center. But the same weird structures and Dante-like jumbling were there. The crack was narrow enough to straddle, so down the passage page four he went, one foot on one side of the crevice and the other foot on the opposite side. Until now he had not thought of how deep the abyss might be. But when he dislodged a small rock which vanished in the darkness without a sound, his subconscious mind suddenly realized that the rock had not hit bottom. Now, every little while he would stop and drop a stone into the depths and carefully listen. Sometimes he imagined that he could hear it hit bottom, but oftener he would hear no sound of it, and once when he dropped quite a large boulder he heard a faint, deep, sullen splash. By now the great wound in the floor of the passage had become much too wide to straddle comfortably so he crept along the ledge that took the place of the passage. For a short time a distant rumbling had puzzled him, and when he put his ear against the wall he could hear the running of a stream. "It must be an underground river," he decided. "A veritable River Styx," and he shuddered as if he thought the idea of being this close to the legendary river of Hades were distaseful. For a moment he felt a funny feeling of relief when he realized that he was comparing a real tangible river to the fabled river of death, but then things don't seem to be quite rational when one is alone many feet underground in strange imagination-stirring surroundings. Suddenly he realized that his candle had burned to the string that marked its midpoint, and he decided that he had better retrace his steps. "Wow," he said to himself, "I'd hate to be left in the dark in this place." A stone under his heel made him slip and wildly grasp for his balance and that funny feeling of sickening fear prevailed for a moment. As he lay there face down on the ledge, his heart pounding in his throat and his breath coming hard, he realized that he was now lying in darkness. The enormity of the situation was incomprehensible for a moment, then he realized that without the candle he might get lost in one of the many side-passages, or fall, slowly twisting and turning, into the abyss through the blackness. Wildly he groped on the ledge for the candle, it was nowhere. "It has fallen into the crevice!" His mounting hysteria caused him to cry. The deep, deep blackness pressed down upon him like an actual weight, seeming to throttle and stifle him. Suddenly he realized that he was yelling over and over again, "Help, help!" He quit abruptly as he realized the uselessness and tried to get a hold on himself. Shaking nervously he inched along the ledge feeling the ground in front of him. For what seemed ages he crawled thusly, over boulders and obstacles always feeling out the path before him. Once he stopped to light one of his pitiful store of matches. The passage was totally unfamiliar, the great crack had disappeared, he was lost! Blind terror besieged him, he had not the faintest idea of where he might be. Of a sudden he started crying for help, over and over again until the walls of the cavern rang as though with the laughter of the underground demons. Suddenly he lay still, his blood pounded in his ears like jungle drums. Boom, boom, boom ... To his hysterical mind, the darkness seemed as if it were alive, straining for his throat with its shapeless black hands, trying to smother him in its soft black robe. "What would the sun look like?" "What would the air outside smell like?" The air . . . wasn't it fresher now, hadn't it been much stuffier back there somewhere in the blackness? Eagerly like a dog he sniffed the air, and rapidly began to crawl through the darkness. Again and again he would stop and light matches from his rapidly diminishing store, but he still didn't recognize this part of the passage. Again hope began to die, maybe he wouldn't get out of this hole after all. Maybe he might die in this hideous abyss, and some other adventurer might find his bones interred in this great mausoleum. If he had to die why couldn't it be out in the clean air and sunshine? Why this dark hole? The blackness was blacker than anything he had ever experienced. He had not heretofore realized what the word "black" could imply. It seemed thick, like a soft intangible curtain. It seemed as if he had to push his way through, as if he had to swim through it, and in his state of mind he crawled along the passage making swimming motions as if trying to push aside the darkness. He stopped . . . the air did smell fresher, gone was that aged musty smell. Maybe he was approaching the entrance. "God," he thought, "if only I can find my way out." More crawling and groping. Almost imperceptibly a faint gray light diffused the darkness, a light more felt than seen. He suddenly realized this and with all the speed he could make he crawled towards the now increasing light regardless of obstructions or of bruises. A moment later Bart, bruised and dishevelled, lay panting in the entrance of the cave, nearly blinded by the hot desert sun and eagerly gasping the sage-perfumed air. TO BE OR NOT II-B By Lesbeth Lucas The aborigine, in search of grub, Oft met his end by fell ow caveman's club; The husky yeoman wielded sturdy stave To send a foe to his untimely grave. Bold Robin Hood pulled taut his trusty bow, With singing arrow laid the King's men low. With what war implement of wood can I be floored? Draft summons from my local board. PATRIOTISM By Lesbeth Lucas "Buy bonds"-of course I heed my country's call, To save a life I'd gladly give my all. When Hill Field winds shriek round my shrinking form A glow of pride-and last year's coat should keep me warm. Much rather would I deck myself in costly habit, I yearn for sable, mink-or even rabbit. But when the gale tears through my wind-blown bob, Need Uncle Sam remind me that I'm frozen on my job? page five