As Fred advanced he caught occasional glimpses of the jagged overhanging rocks, which in some places were wet, the water dripping down upon him as he passed. The fact, too, that more than once both sides of the cave were visible at the same time, told him that the dimensions of their prison were altogether different from what he had supposed.
“There must be an end of this somewhere,” he muttered, beginning to suspect that he had gone quite a distance, “and I’m getting tired of this tramping. I hope the wolf hasn’t gone beyond the door he came in by, and I hope he has nearly reached it, for it will take me some time before I can find my way back to Mick.”
[Chapter II.]
Alone in the Gloom.
Before Fred could complete the sentence his foot struck an obstruction and he was precipitated headlong over and down a chasm which had escaped his notice. He fell with such violence that he was knocked senseless.
When he recovered he was in darkness, his torch having been extinguished. The smell of the burning resin recalled him to himself, and it required but a moment for him to remember the accident which had befallen him. For a time he scarcely dared to stir, fearing that he might pitch headlong over some precipice. He felt of his face and hands, but could detect nothing like blood. The boy had received quite a number of severe bruises, however, and when he ventured to stir there were sharp, stinging pains in his shoulders, neck and legs.
“Thank God I am alive!” was his fervent ejaculation, after he had taken his inventory. “But I don’t know where I am or how I can get back again. I wonder what has become of the torch.”
He could find nothing of his flambeau, although he was confident that it was near at hand. Fred believed that he had fallen about twenty feet, striking upon his chest and shoulders. At this juncture, he thought of the wolf which had drawn him into the mishap, and he turned his head so suddenly to look for him that the sharp pain in his neck caused him to cry out. But nothing of the beast was to be seen.