“Are you ready, Golden George?”
“Ready, Midnight Jack.”
For a moment Rube stared at the wall, or rock, with a natural hollow, like a man bereft of his senses.
“This is the devil's work, Gopher!” he gasped. “How did they get in thar? How? Why the rock opened and swallowed 'em, and they're goin' to fight to the death! Think what a fight it will be!”
The boy found himself dragged to the foot of the stony pathway by the excited hunter, and the next minute the two were ascending.
“Midnight Jack,” said Golden George, who lay on the ground vanquished and dying, “this tussle has been to the death. Where are you?”
“Here,” and the victor crept forward till he bent over his foe—till he clasped the hand of the dying man, who feebly said—
“Your sister is in the canyon. Follow the bed westward to the petrified trunk of a tree. The cave is there. I left her safe.”
All was over.
“He found his own tomb and died in it,” reflected Midnight Jack. “Goodbye, Golden George! We were bound to fight to the death!”