Rawson looked at the "ghost town" which had never failed to interest him, but he gave no thought now to the hardy prospectors who had built it or to the vein of gold that had failed them. His searching eyes came back to the fiery pit, the Tonah Basin, a vast cauldron of sand and ash--great sweeps of yellow and gray and darker brown into which the sun was pouring its rays with burning-glass fierceness.
But to Rawson, there was more than the eye could see. He was picturing a great powerhouse, steel derricks, capped pipes that led off to whirring turbines, generators, strings of cables stretching out on steel supports into the distance, a wireless transmitter--and all of this the result of his own vision, of the stream he would bring from deep in the earth!
Then, abruptly, the pictures faded. Far below him on the yellow, sun-blasted floor, a fleck of shadow had moved. It appeared suddenly from the sand, moved erratically, staggeringly, for a hundred feet, then vanished as if some
There is very little information about Charles Willard Diffin (1884-1966) out there, except that he was a prolific author of science fiction pulps.
Two Thousand Miles Below would have been worthy of a 1950's adventure film about two men who attempt to tap into the geothermal power of the Earth only to find that the Earth is hollow and occupied. And not everybody down there is friendly.
Though its science is dated, if you enjoy pulp fiction as I do with its bigger-than-life plots, its heroic, muscular men, and where every woman is beautiful and desirable, this is an enjoyable diversion.
Craig Alan Loewen