“Nothing in that place,” said Mark’s voice, cheerily. “Let us try for the next. Forward!”
And then once more the main part of the cavern was deserted; but the horrible old man did not reappear. He still lurked in the shadows and watched and waited for a chance to wield his bloody knife.
The unsuspecting lads grew more and more reassured as they searched and found nothing. Texas, with his two revolvers, in front, was a bulwark to give courage even to Indian. They came out of the second short hollow and hurried on down the room.
There were only two passages of any size branching off from that side. The rest were simply irregularities in the walls—cracks and niches. The plebes explored every one of them with the lantern’s light, however. Finally they found themselves at the far end of the “den.”
Here there was a secret room, which requires to be described in detail to those who have not read the other stories in this series. That secret room had proven the death of its builders, the counterfeiters. There was a heavy wall of masonry, and a heavy iron door with a spring lock that could be opened from the outside only. The counterfeiters had evidently gone in there for some purpose and failed to make fast the door. It had swung to and locked. The skeletons of the victims had lain in that vault for fifty years before the plebes found them.
The place was felt to be dangerous by the Seven. In fact, they had made it a sworn rule that never were they all to enter that room at once. Some one must always stay outside for safety. And they did not break their rule in this case. Indian remained to guard the door.
The party had felt that it was necessary to search that fatal trap most carefully. They thought that it would be a hiding place for any one who inhabited the cave. Accordingly, after some little hesitation outside, the bold Texas leaped in, lantern and revolver in hand; the rest followed, and the trembling Joseph stood and held the heavy door.
The moment of peril had come!
Scarcely had the figures disappeared before a lurking shadow crept stealthily down the cave. The mysterious old man was crouching low, moving with the swiftness and silence of a tiger upon his prey. His eyes gleamed; his white teeth shone, and the flashing knife was still clutched in his hand.
He crept in the shadow of the wall, and there was not a sound to warn his victims. Poor Indian did not see him, for his back was turned. Indian was staring, watching his friends and trembling as he did so. If Indian had only cast one of his frightened glances over his shoulder he would have seen something to scare him, indeed. For the wild and savage figure was creeping on.