LOST IN A PREHISTORIC MINE
After the disappearance of the young rider, whose coming had so
materially changed the plan of Rothsky and his associate scoundrels,
they gazed at each other for a full minute in sullen silence. In the
minds of two of them the anger of their disappointment was mingled
with a cowardly terror at the awful deed they had committed, and they
began fiercely to denounce their leader for having implicated them in
it.
Rothsky answered with equal bitterness that he was no more to blame
than they, and the quarrel grew so furious that for a time it seemed
as though only the shedding of blood could settle it. At length they
were quieted by a realizing sense of the common danger that might only
be averted by mutual support. So they finally swore with strange oaths
never to betray each other, or breathe a word to a living soul of what
had just taken place.
Of course they did not for a moment anticipate that their crime would
ever come to light, though each was secretly determined that if it did
he would promptly secure his own safety by denouncing his comrades.
With the patching up of this truce and the forming of their worthless
compact the three wretches prepared to depart from the scene of their
villany. First, however, they advanced cautiously as close as they
dared to the edge of the pit into which they had flung their victim,
and, peering into its blackness, listened fearfully. No sound broke
the awful silence, and of a sudden the three men, moved by a common
impulse, turned and fled through the darkness, stumbling and falling,
clutched at by invisible fingers as they ran, and uttering
inarticulate cries of terror.
At that same moment their victim was lying on a ledge of rock deep
down in the ground beneath them, still alive, but numbed almost into
unconsciousness by the hopeless horror of his situation. In the first
agony of falling he had instinctively exerted a strength of which he
would have been incapable under other circumstances, and burst asunder
the bonds confining his arms.
He believed that in a moment he would be dashed into eternity, and yet
a medley of incongruous and commonplace thoughts darted through his
mind with inconceivable rapidity. Innumerable scenes of his past life
glanced before him, but more distinct than any, sharp and clear as
though revealed by a flash of lightning, shone the wonderful eyes that
had appeared to him from the red-stained cliffs overlooking the great
lake. And, strangest of all, the face seemed to smile at him with a
promise of hope.
In another instant all the pictures were blotted out, and his whole
world was gulfed by a rush of water in which he sank to fathomless
depths.
After an endless space of time he began slowly to rise, until at
length, to his infinite amazement, he found himself still alive and
gasping for a breath of the blessed air into which he had once more
emerged.
Although his ankles were still bound, his arms were free, and, with
the instinct of self-preservation strong within him, he began,
awkwardly and feebly, to swim. Dazed, fettered, and weighted by
clothing as he was, his utmost efforts would not have carried him more
than a few feet, and then he must have sunk forever in that black
flood. But the strength given him was sufficient, and ere it was
exhausted his hands struck a shelf of rock upon which he finally
managed to drag himself.
On the flinty platform that he thus gained he lay weakly motionless,
chilled to the bone, dimly conscious that he had for a time been
granted a respite from death, but without a hope that it would be much
longer extended.
After a while the sense that he still lived became stronger, and with
it grew the desire for life. Animated by it he sat up and made an
effort to loosen the cord that still bound his ankles. It was tightly
knotted, and the knot was so hardened with the water that for a long
time his trembling fingers could make no impression on it. Still he
persevered, and his exertions infused him with a slight warmth.
Finally the knot yielded and his limbs were free, though so numbed
that it was several minutes before he could stand up.
Knowing nothing of his surroundings he dared not move more than a step
or two in any direction for fear of again plunging into that deadly
water. Nor could he with outstretched arms touch a wall on any side.
"Oh, for a light!" he groaned, "that I might at least see what my tomb
looks like!"
Then he remembered that he actually did possess both matches and a
candle, it having been impressed upon him by old Mark Trefethen that a
miner should never be without those necessities. So he had always
carried them in a pocket of his canvas mining-suit. But were they not
rendered useless by the double wetting he had received that day?
With trembling eagerness he drew forth the silver match-safe that Tom
Trefethen had insisted on presenting to him in token of his gratitude.
It had been called water-tight. Would it prove so in this time of his
greatest need? A match was withdrawn, and he struck it against a
roughened side of the safe. There was a splutter of sparks, but no
flame. That, however, was more than he had dared hope for, and,
sitting down, that he might not run the chance of dropping his
precious box, he rubbed it briskly in his hands until it was
thoroughly dry before making another attempt.
This time there was no result, the head of the match having evidently
flown off. With breathless anxiety he tried a third, and was thrilled
with joy by having it burst into flame. Tom Trefethen's gift had
redeemed its promise.
By the fitful flare of that match, whose cheery gleam filled him with
a new hope, Peveril saw that he was sitting on the rocky floor of a
cave or chamber that extended back beyond his narrow circle of light.
On the other side, and but a few inches below him, was outspread a
gleaming surface of water, smooth as a mirror and black as ink. These
things he saw, and then his match burned out.
The darkness that followed was so absolute as to be suffocating; but
before striking another of the priceless "fire-sticks" he drew forth
the candle that had lain quietly in his pocket for several weeks
awaiting just such an emergency as the present. After many reluctant
sputterings, it, too, yielded to his efforts, and finally burned with
a steady flame. With it he was enabled to make a much more careful and
extended survey of his surroundings. To his great delight he
discovered, lodged here and there on the rocks about him, a
considerable quantity of dry wood in small pieces.
Whittling some shavings from one of these, he soon had a brisk blaze
that not only drove the black shadows to a respectful distance, but
imparted a delicious warmth to his chilled body.
"I'll live to get out of this place yet and confront the wretches who
tried to murder me--see if I don't!" he cried, filled with a new
courage inspired by the magic of light and warmth. "They probably
think me safely dead long ere this; but they'll find out that I am
very much alive, and I'll know them when I see them again, too. What
could have been their object, and what can they have against me? I
wonder if the old fellow who claimed the logs could have set them on
to me? I hate to believe it; but the whole business looks awfully
suspicious.
"There's a deep game going on somewhere, but I may live to fathom it
yet. What made them start up in such a hurry and fling me down this
hole? I remember: they were scared by the barking of a dog and the
approach of some one on horseback. Whoever that chap was, I'll owe him
a debt of gratitude if ever I get out of here; and if I don't--Well,
perhaps he did me a good turn anyhow, for they would probably have
killed me in the end. Hello! I had forgotten these hardtack."
Mechanically thrusting his hands into the pockets of his coat during
this soliloquy, Peveril found the hard biscuit that he had slipped
into them on leaving camp. Now, though these were soggy with water,
they were still in a condition to be handled, and, carefully
withdrawing them, he ate one hungrily, but laid the other near the
fire to dry. Then he removed his clothing, wrung what water he could
from each article, rubbed his body into a glow, re-dressed, and again
sat beside his fire for a further consideration of his strange
situation.
As he could arrive at no conclusion regarding an attempt to escape
until the coming of daylight, which he hoped would reach him with
sufficient clearness to disclose the nature of his prison, his
thoughts finally drifted to other matters. He recalled his lost
letter, and wondered if Rose would grow very impatient at his long
delay in answering it.
"If she does, she must," he remarked, philosophically, "for I am not
in a position to hurry the mails just now. How distressed the dear
girl would be, though, if she could see me at this minute! That is, if
she didn't find it a situation for laughter, and, by Jove! I believe
she would, for she laughs at most everything. I only hope we will have
the chance to laugh over it together some time."
In some way thoughts of Rose led to a recollection of that other girl,
whom he had only seen for an instant; and when, a little later, in
spite of his desperate situation, he actually fell asleep on his bed
of cold flint, it was the face of the unknown that again haunted his
dreams.