In the Mammoth Cave
WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY
NOTE—This story is built upon a legend of Mammoth Cave.
The open mouth of Kentucky's far-famed cavern yawned huge and black. On the brow of the hill, ready to descend the winding rock stairway, stood a group of young people picturesquely attired in the bloomer costume of cave-explorers. They were disputing as to whether to take the long or short route first, unmindful of the guide, who ventured to hint that time was slipping away.
"If we take the long route first we will be too tired for the short one," said one.
"Oh, that will never do!" exclaimed another, "I must see the Chapel and the Star Chamber. That is about all I came for."
Apart from the wranglers a pair stood in earnest conversation, hardly in keeping with the frivolity of the hour.
She was small, lovely, and winning in gypsy dress of red and black, relieved here and there with soft white ruffles. Upon her golden curls rested a dainty little padded cap, and strong boots protected the tender feet. From her gloved fingers swung a torch not yet lighted.
The youth beside her showed his hardy pioneer lineage in a well-knit frame and a countenance full of chivalry, and at present glowing with eloquent love for his fair companion.
Neither of the absorbed pair noticed the angry light in the cruel eyes of a man standing near the guide. He was fully thirty-five years of age, quite tall, and as a merry girl expressed it, brigandish-looking. But for the restless passions that marred his bearded face he might have been called handsome. He glared at Minnie Dare as a tiger might watch his prey, for she was indeed the destined prey of this fierce-looking man.