He pulled out his metal box of matches and scraped one. As the light flared up, the lads glanced anxiously around them.
They saw at once that they were in an underground cavern. To right and left stretched a gloomy passage, ten feet wide. The sides and roof were of jagged, slimy rock, dripping with moisture.
Deep footsteps crossed the snow and led into the yawning blackness to the right. They were of recent origin, for the white imprint was visible in half-a-dozen places on the smooth, rocky floor.
“Do you see that?” Jerry whispered, hoarsely. “There is some person here, sure enough.”
“Who can it be?” said Hamp. “Perhaps it’s Brick.”
In a clear, distinct voice he called the missing lad’s name several times. But there was no reply. Jerry shook his head.
“It’s not Brick,” he muttered. “How would he get separated from his companions? We were following only one trail toward the last, so this may be Sparwick.”
“Then why did Brick and those men give up the chase and branch off?” asked Hamp. “It’s too deep a mystery for me.”
“It is sort of puzzling,” admitted Jerry, “but we won’t bother about that now. Whoever it was that fell into the cavern, I believe he has found a way out by this time, and that’s the first thing we want to do.”
“I hate the idea of crawling through the dark,” muttered Hamp.