“Of course,” said Mike; and, taking up the lanthorn, Vince began to shuffle himself along the narrow, awkward place, till, at the end of a dozen yards, in darkness which grew thicker as he went, the great crack turned suddenly right off to the right, and again directly after to the left.
“Why, it looks just the same shape as a flash of lightning,” cried Mike. “Does it get any bigger?”
“Doesn’t seem to,” was the reply; “but there’s plenty of room to walk along.”
“Walk? I don’t call this walking? I’m going along like a lame duck striddling a gutter. I say, think there’s ever been water along here?”
“Sure there hasn’t,” said Vince, holding the light low down. “Why, you can see. The rock isn’t worn a bit, but looks as sharp as if it had only lately been split.”
“But what could split it? The lightning?”
“No: father says these rocks crack from the water washing the stuff away from beneath them, and then the tremendous weight does the rest. But I don’t know. I say, though, I shouldn’t wonder if this goes on into another cave. Look here.”
Mike pressed forward, and found, as his companion held up the light, that the fault in the rock shot off sharply now to the left, and sloped up at an angle of some forty-five degrees.
“Looks awkward,” said Mike. “Are we going up there?”
“Of course. Why not? We can climb it.”