Harry was ready to make the leap at once, but Little Rifle had hopes of accomplishing the result by another plan. It will be remembered that he had started to explore what seemed to be a cavern, the opening of which was but a short distance away; but he had withdrawn from the attempt under the conviction that there was more imminent need of him elsewhere.
He was now ready to take up the work again, and motioning for Harry to follow, he moved toward the dark, forbidding depth of what might be an interminable cavern.
To give himself the free use of his arms, he had strapped his rifle to his back, and he now groped cautiously along, like a man feeling his way in a dark room.
Of course the darkness rapidly deepened, until in a few minutes it became impenetrable. The floor of the cavern was slippery, and the utmost care was necessary to prevent a fatal catastrophe. When their eyes became of no further use, both sunk upon their hands and knees, and crept along in this fashion, Harry keeping so close that he could touch the foot of Little Rifle, who used one hand, as an elephant uses his trunk in venturing upon a treacherous support.
Two noteworthy facts impressed themselves upon the lads. The floor of the cavern was becoming freer from dampness, and after a time was absolutely dry—a most gratifying change, for they had had so much of water during the last few hours, that it seemed to both that a day or two of scorching thirst would be acceptable, as a means of relief.
Again the floor of the cavern was ascending, very gradually, but none the less positively for all that. Little Rifle suspected that the dryness of the rocks, over which they were crawling, meant that they had passed from beneath the river bed, and were under the solid earth, but with little prospect of ever reaching the surface.
But the most gratifying and welcome fact of all, was that they were getting away from the tormenting uproar of the waterfall. With every foot they advanced through the labyrinthine cavern, that terrible continuous crash grew less and less distinct, until it finally sounded like the dull roar of the distant ocean.
The relief was unspeakable, and the ringing din in their ears speedily subsided, so that they began to feel something like their natural selves again. It would be easy enough for them to remain in this part of the cavern until the coming of night, and Little Rifle concluded that this was what they would do.
As they got further away from the tumult, of course they found use for their tongues, and, as may be supposed, they made good use of them, as a sort of recompense for their enforced idleness.
“Suppose the Blackfeet follow us here?” inquired Harry Northend.