Literally buried alive, as Walt Wilder had said, were he and his
companion.
They now understood what had caused the strange noise that mystified
them--the rumbling followed by a crash. No accidental _debacle_ or
falling of a portion of the cliff, as they had been half supposing; but
a deed of atrocious design--a huge rock rolled by the united strength of
the savages, until it rested over the orifice of the shaft, completely
coping and closing it.
It may have been done without any certain knowledge of their being
inside--only to make things sure. It mattered not to the two men thus
cruelly enclosed, for they knew that in any case there was no hope of
their being rescued from what they believed to be a living tomb.
That it was such neither could doubt. The guide, gifted with herculean
strength, had tried to move the stone on discovering how it lay. With
his feet firmly planted in the projections below, and his shoulder to
the rock above, he had given a heave that would have lifted a loaded
waggon from its wheels.
The stone did not budge with all this exertion. There was not so much
as motion. He might as successfully have made trial to move a mountain
from its base. He did not try again. He remembered the rock itself.
He had noticed it while they were searching for a place to conceal
themselves, and had been struck with its immense size. No one man could
have stirred it from its place. It must have taken at least twenty
Indians. No matter how many, they had succeeded in their design, and
their victims were now helplessly enclosed in the dark catacomb--slowly,
despairingly to perish.
"All up wi' us, I reck'n," said the guide, as he once more let himself
down upon the ledge to communicate the particulars to his companion.
Hamersley ascended to see for himself. They could only go one at a
time. He examined the edge of the orifice where the rock rested upon
it. He could only do so by the touch. Not a ray of light came in on
any side, and groping round and round he could detect neither crevice
nor void. There were weeds and grass, still warm and smouldering, the
_debris_ of what had been set on fire for their fumigation. The rock
rested on a bedding of these; hence the exact fit, closing every crack
and crevice.
On completing his exploration Hamersley returned to his companion below.
"Hopeless!" murmured Wilder, despondingly.
"No, Walt; I don't think so yet."
The Kentuckian, though young, was a man of remarkable intelligence as
well as courage. It needed these qualities to be a prairie merchant--
one who commanded a caravan. Wilder knew him to be possessed of them--
in the last of them equalling himself, in the first far exceeding him.
"You think thar's a chance for us to get out o' hyar?" he said,
interrogatively.
"I think there is, and a likely one."
"Good! What leads ye to think so, Frank?"
"Reach me my bowie. It's behind you there in the cave."
Wilder did as requested.
"It will depend a good deal upon what sort of rock this is around us.
It isn't flint, anyhow. I take it to be either lime or sandstone. If
so, we needn't stay here much longer than it would be safe to go out
again among those bloodthirsty savages."
"How do you mean, Frank? Darn me if I yet understan ye."
"It's very simple, Walt. If this cliff rock be only sandstone, or some
other substance equally soft, we may cut our way out--under the big
stone."
"Ah! I didn't think o' thet. Thar's good sense in what ye say."
"It has a softish feel," said the Kentuckian, as he drew his hand across
one of the projecting points. "I wish I only had two inches of a
candle. However, I think I can make my exploration in the dark."
There was a short moment of silence, after which was heard a clinking
sound, as of a knife blade being repeatedly struck against a stone. It
was Hamersley, with his bowie, chipping off a piece from the rock that
projected from the side of the shaft.
The sound was pleasant to the Kentuckian's ear, for it was not the hard
metallic ring given out by quartz or granite. On the contrary, the
steel struck against it with a dull, dead echo, and he could feel that
the point of the knife easily impinged upon it.
"Sandstone," he said; "or something that'll serve our purpose equally as
well. Yes, Walt, there's a good chance for us to get out of this ugly
prison; so keep up your heart, comrade. It may cost us a couple of
days' quarrying. Perhaps all the better for that; the Indians are
pretty sure to keep about the waggons for a day or so. They'll find
enough there to amuse them. Our work will depend a good deal on what
sort of a stone they've rolled over the hole. You remember what size
the boulder was?"
"'Twas a largish pebble; looked to me at least ten feet every way. It
sort o' serprised me how the skunks ked a budged it. I reck'n 'twar on
a coggle, an' rolled eezy. It must ha' tuk the hul clanjamfry o' them."
"If we only knew the right edge to begin at. For that we must go by
guess-work. Well, we mustn't lose time, but set about our stone-cutting
at once. Every hour will be taking the strength out of us. I only came
down for the bowie to make a beginning. I'll make trial at it first,
and then we can take turn and turn about."
Provided with his knife, the Kentuckian again climbed up; and soon after
the guide heard a crinkling sound, succeeded by the rattling of pieces
of rock, as they got detached and came showering down.
To save his crown, now uncovered by the loss of both kerchief and cap,
he crept back into the alcove that had originally protected them from
the stones cast in by the Indians. Along with the splinters something
else came past Walt's face, making a soft, rustling sound; it had a
smell also that told what it was--the "cussed stink-weed."
From the falling fragments, their size and number, he could tell that
his comrade was making good way.
Walt longed to relieve him at his work, and called up a request to this
end; but Hamersley returned a refusal, speaking in a cautious tone, lest
his voice might be borne out to the ear of some savage still lingering
near.
For over an hour Wilder waited below, now and then casting impatient
glances upward. They were only mechanical; for, of course, he could see
nothing. But they were anxious withal; for the success of his comrade's
scheme was yet problematical.
With sufficient food and drink to sustain them, they might in time
accomplish what they had set about; but wanting these, their strength
would soon give way, and then--ah! then--
The guide was still standing on the ledge, pursuing this or a similar
train of reflection, when all at once a sight came, not under but above
his eyes, which caused him to utter an exclamation of joy.
It was the sight of his comrade's face--only that!
But this had in it a world of significance. He could hot have seen that
face without light. Light had been let into their rock-bound abode, so
late buried in the profoundest darkness.
It was but a feeble glimmer, that appeared to have found admission
through a tiny crevice under the huge copestone; and Hamersley's face,
close to it, was seen only in faint shadow--fainter from the film of
smoke yet struggling up the shaft.
Still was it light--beautiful, cheering light--like some shore-beacon
seen by the storm-tossed mariner amid the dangers of a night-shrouded
sea.
Hamersley had not yet spoken a word to explain what had occurred to
cause it. He had suddenly left off chipping the rock, and was at rest,
apparently in contemplation of the soft silvery ray that was playing so
benignly upon his features.
Was it the pleasure of once more beholding what he lately thought he
might never see again--the light of day? Was it this alone that was
keeping him still and speechless?
No, something else; as he told his comrade when he rejoined him soon
after on the ledge.
"Walt," he said, "I've let daylight in, as you see; but I find it'll
take a long time to cut a passage out. It's only the weeds I've been
able to get clear of. The big rock runs over at least five feet, and
the stone turns out harder than I thought of."
These were not cheering words to Walt Wilder.
"But," continued Hamersley, his speech changing to a more hopeful tone,
"I've noticed something that may serve better still; perhaps save us all
the quarrying. I don't know whether I'm right; but we shall soon see."
"What hev ye noticed?" was the question put by Wilder.
"You see there's still some smoke around us."
"Yes, Frank, my eyes tell me that plain enuf. I've nigh nibbed 'em out
o' thar sockets."
"Well, as soon as I had scooped out the crack that let in the daylight.
I noticed that the smoke rushed out as if blasted through a pair of
bellows. That shows there's a draught coming up. It can only come from
some aperture below, acting as a furnace or the funnel of a chimney. We
must try to get down to the bottom, and see if there's such a thing. If
there be, who knows but it may be big enough to let us out of our
prison, without having to carve our way through the walls, which I feel
certain would take us several days. We must try to get down to the
bottom."
To accede to this request the guide needed no urging, and both--one
after the other--at once commenced descending.
They found no great difficulty in getting down, any more than they had
already experienced, for the shaft continued all the way down nearly the
same width, and very similar to what it was above the ledge. Near the
bottom, however, it became abruptly wider by the retrocession of the
walls. They were now in a dilemma, for they had reached a point where
they could go no further without dropping off. It might be ten feet, it
might be a hundred--in any case enough to make the peril appalling.
Wilder had gone first, and soon bethought himself of a test. He unslung
his powder-horn and permitted it to drop from his hand, listening
attentively. It made scarce any noise; still he could hear it striking
against something soft. It was the brush thrown in by the Indians.
This did not seem far below; and the half-burnt stalks would be
something to break their fall.
"I'll chance it," said Walt, and almost simultaneous with his words was
heard the bump of his heavy body alighting on the litter below.
"You may jump without fear, Frank. 'Taint over six feet in the clar."
Hamersley obeyed, and soon both stood at the bottom of the chimney--on
the hearthstone where the stalks of the creosote still smouldered.