“Oh yes—a long, long, long way. I was months before I got right through.”
“What!” cried Nic in a startled voice; and he wished he had not spoken, for his exclamation sounded as if it would bring down the rocks upon their heads.
“No, no; not as you take it,” said the convict laughingly, as he waved the torch and made it glow. “I mean that after I discovered it one day, as I told you, through a sheep falling down into that well-like opening, I made myself a rough lamp from an old pannikin, some melted mutton fat, and a bit of rag, and when I had chances I came down and followed the stream a little farther and a little farther, led on and on by the interest of the place, always expecting to find that it would end with an underground lake.”
“And it did not?”
“No, this little stream joins the river in the great valley, as you will see. But we are losing time. Come on.”
Nic followed in silence, but with the creepy, shivering sensation passing off; and a feeling of intense curiosity and wonder taking its place.
“Is it much farther?” he said at last.
“Like to go back now, boy?”
“No,” cried Nic firmly—“of course not.”
“Well, as to being farther to go, I could turn off in several places, and we could wander on for longer than I could say. You can bring friends and explore it some day, perhaps; but down to the valley is not a great way now.”