I took out flint and steel, kindled my tinder, and presently had a roll of birch flaring. Above stretched that cleft in the granite, silent, black, grim with unseen terrors. I led the way gingerly enough, for the passage seemed to zigzag before me, as if some giant hand had smitten into the heart of the cliffs.
Then I paused abruptly, holding my flare high, as the passage opened out. Surely, it was a cave—small, but large enough to hold us in comfort. The room was a dozen feet across and at my feet lay a little store of wood as if someone else had been there, while skins were piled in the corner. My torch sputtered, and I swiftly lit the pile of sticks, which flared up instantly, flickering in a draught. Then at the far end of the chamber I saw a second opening, smaller than the first, and clad in darkness.
"We have an hour," muttered Radisson thickly, as he sank down upon the skins. "What is this place?"
"Let us tend your wound first," I besought him, whereat Ruth gave a little cry and came to his side.
"Oh, are you hurt?" she exclaimed softly, catching his head as he sank back. "Where is The Keeper?"
"He has gone before me," returned Radisson with more strength. "Nay, let be, lass. You can do me no good now, for I have come to the end of the trail. Eat of the food that is left, both of you; we will have need of all your strength ere morning, lad."
We obeyed him, while Ruth heard the story of The Keeper's passing, and wept as she ate until the tears choked her. Radisson spoke, dry-eyed and smiling, with Grim curled at his side.
"Lad, see what lies in that farther chamber, for it has taken strong hold on my mind."
Willing to humor him, I caught up a burning stick and went to the entrance, which was about mine own height. All was dark beyond, until I turned a sharp corner of the rock. I near dropped the light, and my heart leaped in fear, for a great bearded face was staring out upon me! Then I knew all.
Staring from across a rude table where it sat, was the figure of a man—in one hand an ancient pistol, in the other a quill, with paper before it. Upon the table sat a keg, with the word "Hudson" painted on it, and I needed not to look at that high brow encased in the frozen drippings from the rock above, to know that here had been the ending of Henry Hudson.