“Is thar any light at the other end?” asked Vic.
“Not dat I can see,” replied Scip; “it’s jist as dark as a pocket.”
“Try yer knife an’ see ef the rock can be cut,” said Wild Nat.
“Can’t make no ’pression on it,” was the answer.
“Wal, git down then. That’s all bu’sted.”
Scip turned to descend, but, somehow, in the act he lost his footing and rolled heavily down, striking the wall a hard thump with his head, and bringing up on the floor of the cave.
“Golly,” he muttered, rising to his feet, and rubbing himself dolefully, “dat ar’ war a hard tumble. Like to broke my skull.”
Wild Nat paid no attention to the negro’s complaints. He was looking at the wall with a new idea. Jerking out his tomahawk he hit the wall several times, and then jumped off the platform with a subdued yell.
“Wagh!” he ejaculated, “thet are’s wuth a fortune. Whoop!”
“What’s up?” queried Vic, who had been looking at Scip, and had not noticed Nathan’s maneuver.