“Blest if I know,” he said. “We were told to get the map and that’s all we know about it.”
“And if you can’t get it?” asked Clay.
“Then all we’ve got to do is to start a graveyard. If we can’t get it, no one else shall use it. Mind that!”
“How long have you been waiting here for the Rambler to come back down the river?” asked the boy.
“Look here,” replied Steve, apparently regretting his previous loquacity. “I’ve known a whole lot of boys to get along in the world without asking so many questions.”
As he spoke he arose, went to the mouth of the cavern and glanced out. Ben followed him with the one eye which was free of the bandage, but did not arise. Directly a stone broke loose from a side of the gully and went pounding down to the rocky bottom. Then a low whistle was heard.
“Come on in,” shouted Steve. “We did our part. What about you?”
The man who entered was roughly dressed. His face was covered by a week’s growth of beard. His long black hair hung straggly about his ears. Yet, after all, the carriage of the head and body was not that of a riverman. Clay sat looking at him for a long time wondering where he had seen him before. He was certain that he had seen him before. Strive as he might, however, the boy could not associate the figure and pose with any scene in his past life. The man advanced into the cave and looked about.
“Where is the other boy?” he asked sharply.
Steve threw out a hand to indicate flight and snapped his fingers significantly. The newcomer frowned.