The fugitives saw that it was too late to retrace their steps. They sprang together upon the platform, and commenced searching among the loose rocks, with a faint hope of finding some place of concealment.
It was but a despairing sort of search, again like two drowning men who clutch at a straw.
All at once an exclamation from the guide called his companion to his side. It was accompanied by a gesture, and followed by words low muttered.
“Look hyar, Frank! Look at this hole! Let’s git into it!”
As Hamersley came close he perceived a dark cavity among the stones, to which Wilder was pointing. It opened vertically downward, and was of an irregular, roundish shape, somewhat resembling the mouth of a well, half-coped with slabs.
Dare they enter it? Could they? What depth was it?
Wilder took up a pebble and flung it down. They could hear it descending, not at a single drop, but striking and ricochetting from side to side.
It was long before it reached the bottom and lay silent. No matter for that. The noise made in its descent told them of projecting points or ledges that might give them a foothold.
They lost not a moment of time, but commenced letting themselves down into the funnel-shaped shaft, the guide going first.
Slowly and silently they went down—like ghosts through the stage of a theatre—soon disappearing in the gloom below, and leaving upon the rock-strewn platform no trace to show that human foot had ever trodden it.