They promised to be careful, and the rope was let down inch by inch, until old Jacob had reached a point fifteen feet below the ledge.
"That's all the rope we have here," cried Bob.
The Yankee tar remained dangling in midair. On all sides of him were the walls of rock, dripping with moisture. He held the torch down, and saw, far below, the glitter of some dark, underground stream.
Dick had fallen into that. But where was he? The question was one impossible to answer. With care old Jacob took some light string from his pocket and threw it into the water. Like a flash a strong current seized it and carried it under a neighboring wall!
"He's gone, poor boy!" he muttered; and something like a tear stole down his bronzed cheek, for he thought a good deal of the young master of the Dashaway. From the top of the opening he heard Dash set up a dismal howl, as if to confirm his opinion.
It was a sorry crowd that gathered to hear what the old tar might have to say when he came up.
"And you think he was carried away by that stream?" observed Don, sadly.
"No doubt on it, lad. He wasn't in sight, and the water fills the entire bottom of the opening."
"Then he is gone!" gasped Leander, bursting into tears, and little Danny joined in.
"Dat's de wust yet!" sobbed the Irish lad. "I don't want none o' dat gold—now!" And the others felt very much the same way.