"Water falling from the roof into a pool; there's lots of it," Jim told him, sotto voce. "Come along!"
Once more they were threading their way onward, each man with his left hand outstretched, feeling the damp, roughly-hewn side of the tunnel, while with his other hand he held the tail of the coat of the comrade in front of him. As for Jim, he gripped the electric torch in his right hand, ready at any moment to switch the light on and project the beams in any direction. A hundred, two hundred yards they gained, five hundred yards, without having heard a single sound to disturb them, save occasionally that pat-a-pat, the often tuneful dripping of water from the roof into some rocky pool beneath, water through which their feet splashed when they came to it. Then of a sudden a rumbling roar smote upon their ears, advanced swiftly towards them, met them, as it were, and then, racing past their ears, went on along the dark gallery, and so towards the open, bringing the party to a halt.
"A shot," Jim whispered. "That fellow's fired his gun somewhere on beyond us, and a goodish way, I'd say, for the gallery carries sound like a speaking-tube, and you can hear a man shout, for instance, more than a quarter of a mile away. Let's move forward faster."
"Get in at it," the Sheriff answered.
And then they were moving again, on through the darkness, stumbling over rough tram-lines, through pools of water, over fallen boulders, round acute corners, and so on and on, while behind them first one and then others of the party they had left at the entrance crept in, forming that communicating chain which the Sheriff had so thoughtfully ordered.
"H—hush!" The Sheriff's bony fingers gripped Jim's arm, and, unmindful of the fact that darkness surrounded them, he stretched forth his other hand and pointed into the void in front. "The varmint's there," he whispered hoarsely. "I heard him move. Listen!"
Yes, something or someone was moving. Whether in the near distance or far it was impossible to state definitely, though every member of the search-party stretched his ears to the fullest extent and listened eagerly, head forward, horny palm making a funnel in the endeavour to catch more sound waves, and so to unfathom what was then a mystery.
"Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat!" went those lugubrious drops into the pools of water underfoot, "pit-a-pat!" they tumbled from the arched roof of the gallery on to the persons of that listening search-party, while water streamed down the rough-hewn sides and dribbled over the fingers which they had placed there to guide them.
Yes, someone moved.