THE CAVES UNDER THE MOUNTAIN
For a distance of five hundred feet the way was known to both Larry and his sailor friend, and the pair passed along swiftly, guided in part by the flickering rays from the camp-fire outside of the main cave.
“Have a care now, lad,” whispered Leroy, as they reached a narrow passage, which turned first to the left and then upward. “The roof is low, and you don’t want for to dash your brains out on the rocks.”
“Never fear but I’ll be as careful as I can,” responded the youth, feeling his way along. “Better keep close, Leroy, that we don’t become separated.”
The turn made, it was no easy matter to ascend the sloping floor, with here and there a rough bowlder to cross, or a hollow in which one might fall and break a leg without half trying, as the 236 Yorktown sailor said. Presently Leroy called a halt.
“Better light the torch now, Larry.”
“I was going to save it,” was the reply. “There is no telling how long we may have to depend upon it.”
“That is true; but it’s no longer safe to walk in this pitchy darkness.”
Leroy was provided with matches, used in smoking his pipe, which had not been denied him, and striking one he set fire to an end of the dry cedar branch which Larry had laid away over a week before, when the thought of running away had first crossed his mind. At the start the branch spluttered wofully and threatened to go out, but by coaxing it remained lit, and presently burst into a flame that was sufficient to see by for a circle of twenty or thirty feet.
On they plodded, up an incline that seemed to have no end, and then around another turn. Here the chamber widened out, and beyond there were branches, two to the left and one to the right.