When Tom drew back into the hollow formed by the angle of the rocks, he crowded in among the ferns and thick moss further than he had ever been before. As he did so, he threw one despairing look about him for a weapon. What seemed to be a loose stone caught his eye. It was covered with many years’ growth of lichens, but it came up easily in his hand. As he was stooping to raise it, what was his astonishment to find beneath it a dark opening into what appeared a sort of inner cave, the mouth of which had been concealed by rubbish.
With the instinct of a hunted animal, as he heard the boughs of the beech-tree creak under the weight of his enemy, he tore aside the rocks and moss which were easily dislodged and in a moment more he was in the hole, pulling the largest stone within reach over the mouth of his strange retreat as he disappeared within it.
His first sensation was one of relief. The Indian, he knew, would hesitate about entering a trap like this, where his unseen foe might spring upon him from any side. Already his footsteps were heard, on the stones above, and his short, surprised grunt when he found his victim had sunk into the ground like a mole. He was beginning to cautiously remove the rubbish from the opening, when Tom thought it was time to beat a further retreat.
At first, plunging suddenly into darkness out of the sunny afternoon, he had been able to see nothing. Now the few rays of light that entered enabled him to distinguish the nature of his surroundings. He found that he was in a little rocky chamber, perhaps ten feet square and half as many high, partly natural and partly cleared by the hand of man; as he could tell by the regular arrangement of stones here and there. At the further end was a blacker space than anywhere else. He moved across the cave, and found that this was the entrance to an inner tunnel or passage-way, apparently leading to still further recesses. The Indian had now ceased work, and Tom felt more nervous than when he could hear him scratching and digging at the mouth of the cave. There seemed nothing for it but to keep on, in the black passage, where the darkness, at least, would favor him. He had to get down on his hands and knees, as this inner opening was less than three feet in diameter; and in this way he crawled ahead, into the depths of the little cave.
Up to this moment he had never stopped to reason out the possible cause for such a queer, underground chamber. Now it suddenly flashed upon him that it must be the secret passage-way that his uncle had told about; for although Tom had not been in the room when Mr. Percival had described this ancient provision for escape in case of sudden attack, he had heard his sisters speak of it afterward. Where it came out, he did not know; but the thought that he must be moving toward the house gave him new courage.
Making as little noise as possible, he crept along the passage-way, hoping every minute that it would expand to a size sufficient to allow of his walking erect. After a short halt for rest, he started on again, having made such good progress that he believed he must be half-way to the house. Two or three times he bumped his head, but he paid little attention to bruises. So far he was safe, with the watch in his pocket, from his ugly pursuer.
He had not gone a dozen feet, however, when he came to a second halt, his heart beating fast. What was the matter with the boy? With a good chance of escape before him, and half of the tunnel passed, he ought to have been pressing forward. But here he was, crouching almost flat to the earth, stock still, as if afraid to advance another inch. What could be the matter? Tom could have told you very quickly, what he had been suspecting for the last five minutes, and what was now true beyond a question. The passage-way was contracting! Instead of growing wider and higher it was now so small that he could barely squeeze through on his hands and knees. Presently he lay down at full length, and wriggled along, the perspiration pouring from every inch of his body, the earth falling in a fine shower about his hair and neck. What if the tunnel should come to an end? Should he remain there wedged in this terrible place, buried alive? Ah, this was not all that made Tom tremble, and urge his way still more earnestly through the narrowing tunnel. When he had paused, a moment before, he had heard, plainly as through a speaking-tube, a slight disturbance, a sound of scratching, the fall of a distant rock in the passage behind him. He could not hide from himself the meaning of those sounds. The Indian had explored the cave, had discovered his method of escape, and was now actually in the tunnel, in close pursuit.
CHAPTER XIII.
FOUND AT LAST.
MR. PERCIVAL had spent a busy half-day in the open air, superintending matters on his farm. There were early potatoes to be dug, heavily laden branches of apple and pear trees to be propped up, and a small, low-lying piece of meadow-land to be mown. Slowly the deliberate oxen had plodded to and fro, with the heavy cart creaking and thumping behind them; while Tim or Ruel tramped beside, urging them on with an occasional “Haw! Ha’ Bright! Gee! Star!”
Mr. Percival was a good farmer, and nothing “shiftless” could be found on his place. The barn was always fresh and sweet, fences and walls upright; and even the pigs seemed to enjoy a clean, dry corner in their pen where they could lie in the sunshine and grunt contentedly in their sleep.