By the flickering light of a fire which had been kindled in the center of the chamber they could examine their dingy prison. It was more than eight feet high and twenty feet long, with solid rock walls and incipient stalactites projecting from above. Skins of minks, foxes, raccoons and wildcats were stretched on forked staves the full length of the cave; and from their variety and number one would infer that he was in the rude home of a trapper. Nothing else was visible, not even a rough bench or a bed of straw. No doubt the occupant of this mysterious cave had other apartments connected with this one.
Martin was the first to break the awful silence.
"What a fool I was," gasped he, "for telling him—about that door."
"Well, it's too late to cry about it now," replied Owen. "Are you much frightened?"
"Why—I was so scared—that I thought—I should never recover—my power of speech."
"My heart stopped beating."
"If mine stopped—it is making up for it now. It isn't beating—it's hammering."
"I must confess that I don't feel very brave just at present," said Owen, trying at the same time to force a laugh.
"I only wish we had Bounce in here with us," replied Martin.
"Yes, I am never lonesome in the woods when I have him with me. But, say, Mart! did you notice that when the man left us, he opened another door there to the right, and that there was another light farther in the cave?"