Clay pulled down the mantle that had half hidden his features, and I saw that his red locks were as abundant as ever—in fact, had grown long as those of a bobbed-haired girl. He had also sprouted a full red beard, which greatly added to his impressiveness, while his face had subtly, unmistakably changed, and deeply graven lines along his cheeks and brow bore evidence of recent suffering.
"Say, old pal, I never expected to see you again this side of Saint Peter's gate!" declared Clay, while I was examining his changed features. "I thought the lightnings had got you long ago, in the battle cavern, when we both ran for dear life!"
"I thought they had got you! I never heard a word of you again till yesterday!"
"Nor I of you! By the devil—we're going to have a good time hearing of each other's troubles! I've had my share, Frank! And you look as if you've had yours!"
"Oh, I've been all right," said I. "Let's hear your story first!"
"No, yours first!" he insisted, and seemed so bent on having his way that I yielded. Both of us took seats on a rocky ledge amid the obscurity, and for the next twenty minutes I recited the highlights of my recent adventures.
"Jumping snakes, old fellow, but you've had a time of it!" exclaimed Clay, when I had finished. "Ought to put it in a book when you get back! But, at that, I don't think you've got me beat one whit!"
"No? What happened to you?"
Clay settled back on the ledge, as if seeking a more comfortable berth; and it was a moment before he spoke. Meanwhile it seemed to me that I saw, from behind a bend in the gallery, a sudden flutter of light, and a suspicious shadow moving. But thinking this no more than a sentinel on his rounds, I tried to dismiss it from my mind.