Thoroughly determined to find their missing comrade, and if possible those who had struck this blow, the two men scarcely gave a thought now to the danger they might be incurring, nor how completely they would be at the mercy of any hidden enemy, while they were bearing lighted torches. So, while Wythe guarded the cave entrance, Duplin hastily collected material for torches.
A few minutes sufficed for this, and then both men entered the hole. Thus shielded from the wind, they soon succeeded in kindling a torch, and then, while one held it aloft, the other kept just without the circle of light, with cocked and ready revolver. In this manner one at least would be running less risk. Duplin, as being the best shot, held the latter position.
The two friends curiously glanced around them. But little was to be seen, save the jagged roof of rock, as the torch emitted but a feeble light.
Still, a few moments showed them that the chamber in which they stood was untenanted save by themselves. It was of considerable size, irregular in outline, rough and jagged, with a low roof or ceiling.
"Look! here is a sort of tunnel," muttered Wythe, waving the light before him. "And—yes! here goes the blood-drops. Poor Jack! if it's his blood, he must be dead."
"Maybe not. A little makes a big show on rock. But let's hasten—I'm eager for the end. Any thing—even the knowledge of his death, is better than this suspense."
"If he is dead, somebody must pay for it!" gritted Wythe, vindictively.
The tunnel was low and narrow, and the explorers had to stoop their heads to avoid the rocky roof. More than once Wythe fancied he could distinguish the trace of tools wielded by human hands upon the soft rock, but other thoughts occupied their minds, though at another time this fact would have excited the deepest curiosity.
The tunnel was winding, now sheering abruptly to the right, then again to the left, and several times Wythe paused in doubt, as two passages met his gaze. But a close and cautious scrutiny would show a drop of blood upon the floor of one or the other, and thus guided, the adventurers pressed on, further into the labyrinth, without a thought of their own peril—thinking only of their lost comrade. From first to last, of that day, they exhibited a strange lack of prudence.
Their progress, owing to these causes, was slow—far more so than, in their impatience to learn the fate of Jack Tyrrel, they believed—and the winding passage frequently caused them to almost retrace their footsteps.