There was nothing to be seen in the restricted area about the car and winches, but partly concealed by the stairway was a narrow passage hewn in the rock.
“This is where Coleson started to follow the vein of ore back under the house, I guess,” said Ned and moved forward with his lantern.
Half a dozen steps brought him to a door set in the rock wall. A quick jerk threw it back upon its hinges, revealing a small chamber between the walls of which tiers of wooden boxes reached from floor to roof. Crowding together before the open door, the boys stood silent for a long minute.
“What’s in ’em?” Dick Somers’ muttered question voiced the curiosity of all.
Setting his lantern upon a projecting point of rock, Ned Blake cautiously lifted one of the boxes from the front tier. A dull metallic rattle sounded from within.
“I heard that same noise once before!” exclaimed Rogers excitedly. “I’ll never forget it!”
The box was tightly closed, but by aid of the winch-handle the cover was pried off and the secret of the haunted mine stood revealed to five pairs of astonished eyes. Ned lifted a bottle from the opened case and read the label on its flat side.
“Canadian Club Whisky.”
“Bootleggers!” yelped Dick Somers.
“Rum-runners from across the lake!” wheezed Dave Wilbur.