High above his head, on the bare limbs of a sycamore, a restive rain-crow croaked,—its call predicting heavy rains and bad luck. The old marksman raised his rifle with deadly aim toward the rufous-winged prophet, held it there for a single second, then, lowering it again, said, "If I'd only pulled the trigger, my little friend, you'd never bring bad luck to nobody again."
A strange feeling came over him as he drew near the cave, so that he used every means to divert his mind. He spoke to the clattering kingfishers, even though they had no inclination to tarry with him; he gazed at the stupid frogs along the river bank; he watched the tanagers which seemed like balls of fire among the green foliage of the trees. The closer he came to his destination the slower he walked; as a consequence, it was almost mid-day when he stood before the two giant rocks, the guardian genii of that mysterious place.
With his right hand grasping his revolver, he passed cautiously through the narrow entrance. Here he paused and listened, but heard nothing. With difficulty he found the rock door. It seemed but a part of the solid stone wall, with a slight, irregular fracture along the side. It was in a dark corner, too, where the light from without did not penetrate. The sheriff drew from his pocket two keys, if keys they could be called, for they were simply pieces of seasoned hickory about ten inches in length, so shaped as to lift a latch. With the largest of these the door was opened. Through it he went into the chamber where Martin and Owen had been held as prisoners on that eventful October night, and again he paused and listened, but still heard nothing. Only the faintest light from without was admitted here, but enough for Mr. Lane to see that he had not reached the place where whisky was made. The walls were no longer decorated with the skins of wild animals. As no fire had been lighted there for weeks, the air was damp and chilly.
The sheriff suddenly recollected that Stayford had spoken to him of two passages leading from this second room, and had directed him to take the one opposite the rock door. He lit a firebrand which he had brought and walked toward this second entrance. He was convinced by this time that no one was in the cave; besides, Jerry had assured him that neither the Tinker nor Simpson ever remained there during the day.
The whisky still was found, and near it several barrels full of mash. The furnace was warm, and, although the fire beneath it had been extinguished, it was evident that some one had been working there during the previous night. It was equally evident that they would return to complete their labor.
Mr. Lane had intended to examine the cave closely, but not to stay there until dark. His plan was to conceal himself in the woods, watch the men when they entered and then follow them. Now, however, he concluded that it was better to remain in the cave, as he could easily find a hiding place.
At one end of the room in which the whisky was made was a passage leading into the "hold out." The sheriff took from his pocket a second key, unlocked the door, and went into the former dwelling place of Jerry the Trapper. This door could be bolted from within, and so firmly that it was impossible to force an entrance without breaking the solid rock slab of which it was made. Mr. Lane decided to wait here until Simpson and the Tinker returned to the cave, and turned the heavy bolt.
The new occupant then began to examine the contents of his strange abode. At one side hung an iron lamp, with just a little tallow in it. Scattered on the floor were deer-skin leggings and moccasins, caps, and jackets of home-spun, just as Jerry had left them a few days before, when he was preparing for the stage robbery. There were various devices used for cooking utensils. But what interested the sheriff most were the instruments for cutting stone. They were of the very finest material, and had evidently been brought from England. With them the old trapper had cut the two massive doors, and had also opened a way from the side of the cave through which to introduce corn and wood and to roll out the barrels of whisky. Then there was the small window with a single pane of glass; the whole being ingeniously covered by wild grapevines which Jerry had trained along the ledge without.
After Mr. Lane had examined everything in the little room the passing hours became long and tiresome. The little window gradually lost its light, until finally all around was shrouded in darkness. With the night came a protracted vigilance on the part of the sheriff. Mr. Lane sat close to the rock door which he had opened and kept a few inches ajar. At length he heard footsteps at the entrance of the cave. He closed the door, and waited, for he wished to give the Tinker time to begin his work.
When ten minutes had passed he cocked his revolver, threw open the door, and rushed from the "hold out."