“Yes,” said Captain Roby sharply. “Take the sergeant with one lantern and ten men. I’ll follow with the other lantern and ten more. You, Captain Edwards, keep a guard over the powder and the prisoner. Of course your men will be ready to receive any one trying to escape after avoiding our search.”
“Right,” was the answer; and sword in one hand, revolver in the other, Lennox and Dickenson began their advance into the maze-like cavern, closely followed by the sergeant holding the lantern well on high so that its rays kept on flashing from the men’s bayonets.
“Keep your eyes well skinned, Drew, old chap,” whispered Dickenson, “and never mind your revolver. You’re sure to miss in a place like this.—You behind, lads. The bayonet, mind, whenever our friend here makes a rush; he must be stopped.”
There was a low murmur of assent from the men, and then, with eyes and bayonets gleaming strangely in the dancing light, the party moved steadily on into the weird darkness of the cave.
Chapter Fifteen.
The Plot that Failed.
The searchers’ way was now a narrow crack such as might have been formed by some mighty convulsion of nature which tore apart a gigantic mass of stone, the fracture running here and there where veins of some softer material had yielded, to be separated sometimes only two or three feet, and at others opening out to form rugged chambers as much as twenty feet in extent, whose roofs ran up so high, that the dim light from the lanterns failed to reach them. Here and there were niches and crevices which were carefully searched in the expectation of their proving to be hiding-places; but the men, who forced their way in without hesitation, failed to obtain any result.
Upon reaching one which seemed to be the deepest, Dickenson, who was first to notice it, paused to shout, “Now, Dirck, old chap, come out and surrender before we fire.”