“It’s a Megatherium,” whispered Dewey, irrepressible even here.
In the suspense that followed the frightened crowd made out that Mark was leaning forward to explore with one hand.
And then suddenly, with a cry of real horror this time, he forced them back hastily.
“It’s alive!” he cried.
They were about ready to drop dead with terror by that time, or to scatter and run for their lives. Every one of them was wishing he had never thought of entering this grewsome, black place, with its awful mysteries, its possibilities of fierce beasts or still more fierce and lawless men, or ghosts and goblins, or Heaven only knew what else. Most men do not believe in ghosts or goblins until they get into just some situation like this.
Indian was moaning in terror most appalling, and the rest were in but little better state of mind. And then suddenly the Parson uttered a subdued exclamation. They turned with him and saw what he meant. Facing the darkness as they had, when they turned in the direction of the light that streamed in from the opening, they found that they really could begin to see. But how? The light was so dim and gray that it only made things worse. The seven saw all kinds of horrible shadows about them, above them, beneath them, and not one single object could they distinguish to allay their fears.
Still huddled together, still silent and trembling, they stood and gazed about them, waiting. There was not a sound but the beating of their own hearts until all of a sudden Dewey was heard to whisper.
“B’gee, I’ve got a match!”
Fumbling in his pockets for a moment he brought that precious object out, while the others crowded about him anxiously. A match! A match! They could hardly believe their ears. Robinson Crusoe never welcomed that tiny object more gratefully.
With fear and trembling Dewey prepared to light it. Every one of them dreaded the moment; horrible though the darkness was, it might be a black shroud for yet more horrible things.