"All right, then," said Frank seriously. "We know now where the cache is. Our business is to get out of this place, find the rest of the party, come with those strong gunny-sacks, and carry off the whole of Kinney's hoard."
"Gee whiz!" commented Lanky, "the old man must have been digging those nuggets right along, carrying a few away with him, and chucking the rest in his stone bank here. Shall I take this one with me, Frank?"
"Yes, we ought to have some evidence to show we're not bluffing when we reel off the story of our adventures. Each of us might put a few in our pockets. But go slow, and don't load yourself down, Lanky, became you might start another landslide, you know."
They were actually on their last sliver of torch-wood when they turned their backs on the queer five-fingered cave and plunged into a narrow passage. Frank, after a close examination, decided this must be the one the old prospector had used during his periodical visits to his secret claim.
Before they had gone far they found to their dismay that the light was failing. Lanky began to worry, but Frank cheered him up.
"I'm certain I can feel fresh air on my cheeks," he announced. "That of course, would indicate we're close on that exit right now. I've still got a little stock of matches in my safe, and we'll make them last as long as we can."
"Who's afraid?" Lanky broke out, with fresh animation. "After such luck in absolutely falling on to that cache of nuggets, we're not going to let little things knock us out. You're right, though, about that fresh air, Frank, because I can sniff the same every breath I draw."
The torch flickered, and went out.
"Look ahead, Lanky. What do you see?" called out Frank.