'Wonder how deep it goes down,' he said to himself. He broke off a
piece of wood and dropped it down the hollow. It seemed to reach the
ground uncommonly soon. He tried another piece. The sound of its fall
came up to him almost simultaneously. Evidently the hole was not deep.
He placed his hands on the edge, and let himself gently down into the
darkness. His feet touched something solid almost immediately. As far
as he could judge, the depth of the cavity was not more than five feet.
Standing up at his full height he could just rest his chin on the edge.

He seemed to be standing on some sort of a floor, roughly made, but too
regular to be the work of nature. Evidently someone had been here
before. He bent down to make certain. There was more room to move about
in than he suspected. A man sitting down would find it not
uncomfortable.

He brushed his hand along the floor. Certainly it seemed to be
constructed of boards. Then his hand hit something small and hard. He
groped about until his fingers closed on it. It was--what was it? He
could hardly make out for the moment. Suddenly, as he moved it,
something inside it rattled. Now he knew what it was. It was the very
thing he most needed, a box of matches.

The first match he struck promptly and naturally went out. No first
match ever stays alight for more than three-fifths of a second. The
second was more successful. The sudden light dazzled him for a moment.
When his eyes had grown accustomed to it, the match went out. He lit a
third, and this time he saw all round the little chamber. 'Great
Scott,' he said, 'the place is a regular poultry shop.' All round the
sides were hung pheasants and partridges in various stages of maturity.