“Stop again,” said the doctor. “I am sure I heard something moving, and it’s getting quite dark in front. Let’s have a light.”
“Here you are, sir,” cried Buck Denham. “Strike a match, somebody.”
This was done, the big driver holding Bob’s resinous wood to the flame till it began to blaze well, and then winking to himself, as Dean saw, the big fellow stepped right forward before the rest, holding the improvised torch so that the light illumined the glittering walls and ceiling of the rift of beautifully clean granite rock.
Everyone was on the alert, as Buck now led on and on into the darkness, till he said, “You will mind and not shoot me, gen’lemen; but be on the look out, for there is something here.”
The man stopped short as he spoke, holding up the torch as high as he could, and the doctor and Mark pressed forward with their rifles extended on either side of the big driver.
“That’s right, gen’lemen,” he said. “Now you can’t hurt me, so you can let go when you like.”
“One minute, gentlemen,” said Bob Bacon. “This was to be my job. You, Bob, hand over that there link; I only give it to you to hold while I struck a match.”
“Yes, I know, mate,” replied Buck, “but it’s well alight now, and you are quite safe there. Now, gen’lemen, can you see him?”
“Yes; take care!” cried Mark. “I can see its eyes gleaming. Look, doctor—can’t you see?”
“Yes, quite plainly. Some animal that has crept in here to die.”