O'Rooney stood with rifle grasped, while young Munson ran toward him
from the centre of the cave, exclaiming in his excited tones:
“There's another man back yonder! I saw him and spoke to him!”
“Did ye ax him anything, and did he make a sensible reply?” demanded the
Irishman, whose concern was by no means equal to that of the lad.
“He made no answer at all, nor did he seem to take any notice of me.”
“Maybe it's a ghost walking round the cave, on the same errand as
meself. But whist now; where is he, that I may go and ax him the state
of his health?”
The lad turned to lead the way, while Mickey followed close at his
heels, his gun ready to be used at an instant's warning, while Fred kept
glancing over his shoulder, to make sure that his friend was not falling
too far in the rear.
It seemed that, while the man was engaged in his exploration, the lad
had ventured upon a little prowling expedition of his own. During this
he made the startling discovery that some one else was in the cave, and
he dashed off at once: to notify his friend and guide.
Fred walked some distance further, still holding the torch above his
head and peering into the gloom ahead and on either hand, as though in
doubt as to whether he was on the right track or not. All at once he
stopped with a start of surprise, and, pointing some distance ahead and
upon the ground, said:
“There he is!”
Following the direction indicated, Mickey saw the figure of a man
stretched out upon the ground, face downward, as though asleep.
“You ain't afeard of a dead spalpeen?” demanded Mickey, with a laugh.
“You might have knowed from his shtyle that he's as dead as poor
Thompson was when Lone Wolf made a call on him.”
“How do you know he's dead?” asked Fred, whose terror was not lessened
by the word of his friend.
“'Cause he couldn't have stretched out that way, and kept it up all
the time we've been fooling round here. If ye entertain any doubt, I'll
prove it. Let me have your torch.”
Taking it from the lad's trembling hand, he walked to the figure,
stooped down, and, taking it by the shoulder, turned it over upon
its back. The result was rather startling even to such a brave man
as Mickey. It was not a dead man which the two looked down upon, but
practically a skeleton--the remains of an individual, who, perhaps, had
been dead for years. Some strange property of the air had dessicated
the flesh, leaving the face bare and staring, while the garments seemed
scarcely the worse for their long exposure.
Another noticeable feature was the fact that the clothing of the remains
showed that not only was he a white man, but also that he was not a
hunter or frontier character, such as were about the only ones found in
that section of the country. The coat, vest, and trousers were of fine
dark cloth, and the boots were of thin, superior leather. The cap was
gone. It was just such a dress as is encountered every day in our public
streets.
Mickey O'Rooney contemplated the figure for a time in silence. He was
surprised and puzzled. Where could this person have come from? There
was nothing about his dress to show that he belonged to the military
service, else it might have been supposed that he was some officer who
had wandered away from his post, and had been caught in the same fashion
as had the man and boy.
“Are there any more around here?” asked Mickey, in a subdued tone,
peering off into the gloom.
Fred passed slowly round in a circle, gradually widening out, until he
had passed over quite an area, but without discovering anything further.
“There isn't any one else near us. If there is, he is in some other part
of the cave.”
“How came ye to find this fellow?”
“I was walking along, never thinking of anything of the kind, when I
came near stepping upon the body. I was never more scared in my life.”
“That's the way wid some of yees--ye're more affrighted at a dead man
than a live one. Let's see whether he has left anything that ye can
identify him by.”
Upon examining further, a silver-mounted revolver was found beneath
the body. It was untarnished, and seemingly as good as the day it was
completed. When Mickey came to look at it more closely, he found that
only one barrel had been discharged, all the others being loaded.
This fact aroused a suspicion, and, looking again at the head, a round
hole, such as would have been made only by a bullet, was found in the
very centre of the forehead. There could be but little doubt, then, that
this man, whoever he was, had wandered about the cavern until famished,
and, despairing of any escape, had deliberately sent himself out of the
world by means of the weapon at his command. But who was he?
Laying the handsome pistol aside, Mickey continued the search, anxious
to find something that would throw light upon the history of the man.
It was probable that he had a rifle--but it was not to be found, and,
perhaps, had vanished, as had that of Fred Munson. It was more likely
that something would be found in his pockets that would throw some light
upon the question; and the Irishman, having undertaken the job, went
through it to the end.
It was not the pleasantest occupation in the world to ransack the
clothing of a skeleton, and he who was doing it could not help
reflecting as he did so that it looked very much like a desecration and
a robbing of the dead. To his great disappointment, however, he failed
to discover anything which would give the slightest clue. It looked as
if the man had purposely destroyed all such articles before destroying
himself, and, after a thorough search, Mickey was compelled to give up
the hunt.
Five chambers of the revolver, as has been said, were still loaded, and,
after replacing the caps, the new owner was confident they were good for
that number of shots.
“Here,” said he, handing the weapon to the boy; “your rifle is gone, and
you may as well take charge of this. It may come as handy as a shillelah
in a scrimmage, so ye does hold on to the same.”
Fred took it rather gingerly, for he did not fancy the idea of going
off with property taken from a dead man, but he suffered his friend to
pursuade him, and the arrangement was made.
In the belief that there might be others somewhere around, Mickey spent
an hour or two longer in an exploration of the cave, with the single
purpose of looking for bodies. They approached the ravine in which Fred
had dropped his gun. The Irishman leaped across, torch in hand, and
prosecuted his search along that side; but they were compelled to
give over after a time and conclude that only a single individual had
preceded them in the cave.
“Where he came from must iver remain a mystery,” said Mickey. “He hasn't
been the kind of chaps you find in this part of the world; but whoever
he was, it must have been his luck to drop through the skylight, just
as we did. He must have found the wood here and kindled a fire. Then
he wint tramping round, looking for some place to find his way out, and
kept it up till he made up his mind it was no use Then he acted like
a gintleman who prefarred to be shot to starving, and, finding nobody
around to 'tend to the business, done it himself.”
“Can't we bury him, Mickey?”
“He's buried already.”
The Irishman meant nothing especial in his reply, but there was a deep
significance about it which sent a shudder through his hearer from head
to foot. Yes, the stranger was buried, and in the same grave with him
were Mickey O'Rooney and Fred Munson.
The speaker saw the effect his words had produced, and attempted to
remove their sting.
“It looks very much to me as if the man had n't done anything but
thramp, thramp, without thrying any way of getting out, and then had
keeled over and give up.”
“What could he do, Mickey?”
“Could n't he have jumped into the stream, and made a dive? He stood a
chance of coming up outside, and if he had n't, he would have been as
well off as he is now.”
“Is that what _you_ mean to do?”
“I will, before I'd give up as he did; but it's meself that thinks
there's some other way of finding our way. Bring me gun along, and come
with me!”
Mickey carried the torch, because he wished to use it himself. He led
the way back to where the stream disappeared from view, and there he
made another careful examination, his purpose being different from what
it had been in the first place. He stooped over and peered at the dark
walls, noting the width of the stream and the contour of the bank, as
well as the level of the land on the right. Evidently he had some scheme
which he was considering.
He said nothing, but spent fully a half hour in his self-imposed task,
during which Fred stood in the background, trying to make out what he
was driving at. He saw that Mickey was so intently occupied that he
was scarcely conscious of the presence of any one else, and he did
not attempt to disturb him. Suddenly the Celt roused himself from his
abstraction, and, turning to the expectant lad, abruptly asked:
“Do you know, me laddy, that it is dinner-time?”
“I feel as though it was, but we have no means of judging the time,
being as neither of us carries a watch.”
“Come on,” added the Irishman, leading in the direction of the
camp-fire. “I'm sorry I didn't bring my watch wid me, but the trouble
was, I was afeard that it might tire out my horse, for it was of goodly
size. The last time it got out of order, it took a blacksmith in the
owld country nearly a week to mend it. It was rather large, but it would
have been handy. Whenever we wanted to cook anything, we could have used
the case for a stew-pan, or we could have b'iled eggs in the same, and
when we started our hotel at New Boston, it would have done for a gong.
It was rather tiresome to wind up nights, as the key didn't give you
much leverage, and if your hold happened to slip, you was likely to fall
down and hurt yersilf. But here we are, as Jimmy O'Donovan said when he
j'ined his father and mother in jail.”