A few steps brought them to a great fissure, that extended from the top of the cliff to the water’s edge, and into which a man could edge his way.
“Well, here we are,” remarked the trapper, stooping to examine the foot of the crack. “It looks like the cave of death, but,” looking up suddenly, “it is inhabited.”
“What!” cried Harmon, springing to his side, “has he entered here?”
“Yes, the ground tells me so!”
At last the end of the Night-Hawk’s trail had been reached; but the final scene was wrapped in fearful obscurity.
“I’ve been here afore, and I’ll lead the way,” continued Wolf-Cap, stepping forward.
“No, Silver-Hand go ’head,” cried the Wyandot, suddenly, and his right hand pushed the trapper aside. “Wyandot know more ’bout cave than pale-faces think.”
The next instant the Indian sprung into the fissure, and darkness, damp and impenetrable, swooped down upon the adventurers.
It at once became evident to the whites that their guide knew much about the interior structure of the cave, for he pushed forward in the darkness, seemingly with a well-known destination in view.
But suddenly something struck the wall above the trios’ heads, and then fell heavily to the ground.