the most dangerous, and a sudden sense of a presence hidden
nearby possessed them both, as they came against a blind wall.
A stouter heart than Vic Burleigh's might well have quailed now.
The two were lost underground. What deeper cavern might yawn
beyond them? What length of dead wall might bar their way?
And more terrifying still, was the growing sense of a human presence,
a human menace, an unseen treachery. As Vic felt his way
along the stone, his hand closed over something thrust into
a little niche, shoulder-high in the wall. It seemed to be
a small pitcher of unique pattern, solid silver by its weight.
Was it the booty of some dead and forgotten robber chief,
the buried treasure of some old Kickapoo raiding tragedy,
or the loot of a living outlaw?

Vic thought he felt the outline of a letter graven in heavy relief
on the smooth side, and, for a reason of his own, dropped the thing.
Mercifully, he did not cry out at the discovery, but Elinor felt
his hand on her arm grow chill.

A dazzling glare, token of the passing of the storm's fireworks,
outlined an irregular opening in the wall before them,
revealing at the same time a large room beyond the wall.

"Here's the hole where we get out of this trap, Elinor Wream. If such a big
lightning like that can get in, we can get out," Vic cried.

He crawled through the opening, and pulled her as gently as possible
after him. Presently, another blaze lit up the night outside, showing a
cavern-like space thirty feet in dimensions, with a rock roof above
their heads, and a low doorway through which the light from the outside