THE TRAGEDY OF THE CAVE
It was almost dark by the time I reached the village of Luray. I
galloped up to the hotel where we had left our horses that morning and
without dismounting called out to the loafers on the veranda to ask if
anyone had seen Colonel Gaylord. Two or three of them, glad of a
diversion, got up and sauntered out to the stepping-stone where I
waited, to discuss the situation.
What was the matter? they inquired. Hadn't the Colonel gone home with
the rest of the party?
No, he had not, I returned impatiently, and I wanted to know if any of
them had seen him.
They consulted together and finally decided that no one had seen him,
and at this the stable boy vouchsafed the information that Red Pepper
was still in the barn.
"I thought maybe the Colonel was intending to make me a present of that
horse," the landlord observed with a grin, as he joined the group.
A chuckle ran around the circle at this sally. It was evident that the
Colonel did not have a reputation in the county for making presents. I
impatiently gathered up my reins and one of the men remarked:
"I reckon young Gaylord got home in good time. He was in an almighty
hurry when he started. He didn't stop for no farewells."
With numerous interruptions and humorous interpolations, they finally
managed to tell me in their exasperatingly slow drawl that Rad had come
back to the hotel that afternoon before the rest of the party, had drunk
two glasses of brandy, called for his horse, and galloped off without
speaking a word to anyone except to swear at the stable boy. The speaker
finished with the assertion that in his opinion Rad Gaylord and Jeff
Gaylord were cut out of the same block.
I shifted my seat uneasily. This information did not tend to throw any
light on the question of the Colonel's whereabouts, and I was in no
mood just then to listen to any more gossip about Rad.
"I'm not looking for young Gaylord," I said shortly. "I know where he
is. It's the Colonel I'm after. Neither he nor Cat-Eye Mose have come
back, and I'm afraid they're lost in the cave."
The men laughed at this. People didn't get lost in the cave, they said.
All anyone had to do was to follow the path; and besides, if the Colonel
was with Mose he couldn't get lost if he tried. Mose knew the cave so
well that he could find his way around it in the dark. Colonel Gaylord
had probably met some friends in the village and driven home with them.
But I would not be satisfied with an explanation of that sort. The
Colonel, I knew, was not in the habit of abandoning horses in any such
casual manner; and even supposing he had gone home with some friends, he
would scarcely have taken Mose along.
I dismounted, turned my horse over to the stable boy, and announced that
the cave must be searched. This request was received with some
amusement. The idea of getting out a search party for Cat-Eye Mose
struck them as peculiarly ludicrous. But I insisted, and finally one of
the men who was in the habit of acting as guide, took his feet down from
the veranda railing with a grunt of disapproval and shambled into the
house after some candles and a lantern. Two or three of the others
joined the expedition after a good deal of chaffing at my expense.
We set out for the mouth of the cave by a short cut that led across the
fields. It was quite dark by this time, and as there was no moon our one
lantern did not go far toward lighting the path. We stumbled along over
plowed ground and through swampy pastures to the music of croaking frogs
and whip-poor-wills. At first the way was enlivened by humorous
suggestions on the part of my companions as to what had become of
Colonel Gaylord, but as I did not respond very freely to their
bantering, they finally fell silent with only an occasional imprecation
as someone stubbed his toe or caught his clothing on a brier. After a
half hour or so of plodding we came to a clear path through the woods
and in a few minutes reached the mouth of the cave.
A rough little shanty was built over the entrance. It was closed by a
ramshackle door which a child could have opened without any difficulty;
there was at least no danger of the Colonel's having been locked inside.
Lighting our candles, we descended the rough stone staircase into the
first great vault, which forms a sort of vestibule to the caverns. With
our hands to our mouths we hallooed several times and then held our
breath while we waited for an answer. The only sound which came out of
the stillness was the occasional drip of water or the flap of a bat's
wing. Had the Colonel been lost in any of the winding passages he must
have heard us and replied, for the slightest sound is audible in such a
cavern, echoing and re-echoing as it does through countless vaulted
galleries. The silence, however, instead of assuring me that he was not
there only increased my uneasiness. What if he had slipped on the wet
clay, and having injured himself, was lying unconscious in the
darkness?
The men wished to turn back, but I insisted that we go as far as the
broken column which lies in a little gallery above Crystal Lake. That
was the place where the coat had been left, and we could at least find
out if either the Colonel or Mose had returned for it. We set out in
single file along the damp clay path, the light from our few candles
only serving to intensify the blackness around us. The huge white forms
of the stalactites seemed to follow us like ghosts in the gloom; every
now and then a bat flapped past our faces, and I wondered with a shiver
how anyone could get up courage to go alone into such a hole as that.
"Crystal Lake" is a shallow pool lying in a sort of bowl. On the farther
side the path runs up seven or eight feet above the water along the
broken edge of a cliff. A few steps beyond the pool the path diverges
sharply to the left and opens into the little gallery of the broken
column.
Just as we were about to ascend the two or three stone steps leading to
the incline, the guide in front stopped short, and clutching me by the
arm pointed a shaking forefinger toward the pool.
"What's that?" he gasped.
I strained my eyes into the darkness but I could see nothing.
"There, that black thing under the bank," he said, raising his candle
and throwing the light over the water.
We all saw it now and recognized it with a thrill of horror. It was the
body of Colonel Gaylord. He was lying on his face at the bottom of the
pool, and with outstretched arms was clutching the mud in his hands. The
still water above him was as clear as crystal but was tinged with red.
"It's my uncle!" I cried, springing forward. "He's fallen over the bank.
He may not be dead."
But they held me back.
"He's as dead as he ever will be," the guide said grimly. "An' what's
more, Colonel Gaylord warn't the man to drown in three foot o' water
without making a struggle. This ain't no accident. It's murder! We must
go back an' get the coroner. It's agen the law to touch the body until
he comes."
It went to my heart to leave the old man lying there at the bottom of
that pool, but I could not prevail on one of them to help me move him.
The coroner must be brought, they stubbornly insisted, and they
restrained me forcibly when I would have waded into the water. We turned
back with shaking knees and hurried toward the mouth of the cave,
slipping and sliding in the wet clay as we ran. I, for one, felt as
though a dozen assassins were following our footsteps in the dark. And
all the time I had a sickening feeling that my uncle's death only
foreshadowed a more terrible tragedy. The guide's: "This ain't no
accident; it's murder," kept running in my head, and much as I tried to
drive the thought from me, a horrible suspicion came creeping to my mind
that I knew who the murderer must be.