“Who killed him?”
“The Modocs; they shot him full of holes as he jumped into the river.”
The gritting of teeth was heard in the corridor.
“If ever we git out o’ this, girl, we’ll pay the Indians for those shots,” said the scout; “but we’ve got to be going. This hall leads to the river—I know it by the rough walls.”
Then the march was commenced, Donald McKay in the van, and admirable progress was made until the ranger suddenly brought up against a stone wall.
“Perdition!” he hissed, turning upon his followers, “the corridor ends here.”
“Then we’re lost!”
“Yes. In the gloom, I have turned from the true trail. But, hark! we are near the river! I hear the water dashing over the rocks.”
Then every voice grew still, and the party listened to the sound of the underground river.
“There must be an outlet to the river,” said young Harris, breaking the silence. “I believe that a path leads from this cavern straightway to its brink.”