“Said it was 180 feet long.”
“But he didn’t mention that it was only six inches wide!” Max retorted, coming to a halt at the same time.
“We may as well go on a bit farther,” Sandy advised. “A Scotchman doesna like to gie it up till he ha’ seen the end of a thing. ‘A’maist and very near,’ I’ve heard, ‘hae aye been great liars.’”
“All right, we’ll explore it as long as we can scramble,” Max rejoined cheerfully, and the three pushed on, enduring many a bump and scratch on hands and toes, knees and elbows, in spite of their lamp light.
Before long, however, progress was completely blocked. A great mass of the roof had fallen where a crevice opened upward and sideways, and out of this crevice gushed a steady stream of water to swell that which trickled from lesser fountains elsewhere, and drained out along the bottom of the tunnel.
“Thus far and no farther. Satisfied, Sandy?”
“Oo, aye. ‘Down wi’ the lid,’ quo’ Willie Reid.”
They were turning back when Max asked them to wait a minute, and taking out a pocket-compass, he noted as well as he was able the direction the excavation pointed at that inner end.
“I suspect,” he explained, “that as it deepens this tunnel bends a trifle to the left—down the creek—on a slight curve following the vein. If so I want to know it.”
Making their way out, he took another compass observation near the entrance and found he was right, though the bend was a slight one.