The floor was the same everywhere save at its extremities.At the point of Willock's descent,it dipped away in a narrow line that would not have admitted a man's body.At the other end,where he now stood,it suddenly gave way to empty space.It came to an end so abruptly that there was no means of discovering how deep was the narrow abyss beyond.Possibly it descended a sheer three hundred feet,the depth of the ridge at that place.On the smooth floor which melted to nothingness with such sinister and startling suddenness,the candlelight revealed the skeleton of a man lying at the margin of the unknown depths.Mingled with the bones that had fallen apart with the passing of centuries,was a drawn sword of blackened hilt and rusted blade--a sword of old Spanish make--and in the dust of a rotted purse lay a small heap of gold coins of strange design.
Well,pard,said Brick Willock grimly,you come here first and much obliged to you.You've told me two things:that once in here,no getting out--unless you bring along your ladder;and what's better still,nobody has been here since you come,or that wouldn't be my money!And now having told me all you got to say,my cavalier,I guess we'd better part.He raked the bones into a heap,and dashed them into the black gulf.He did not hear them when they struck bottom,and the sinister silence gave him an odd thrill.He shook his head.If I ever roll out of bed here,he said,me and you will spend the rest of the time together,pardner.
He did not linger for idle speculation,hut drew himself up his dangling rope,and in a short time was once more outside the place of refuge.Always on the lookout for possible watchers,he snatched up his bread and meat,and ate as he hastened over the outer ridge and down the rugged side toward the wagon.Here he filled a box with canned provisions and a side of bacon,and on top of this he secured a sack of flour.It made a heavy burden,but his long sleep had restored him to his wonted strength,and he could not be sure but this trip to the wagon would be his last.With some difficulty he hoisted the box to his herculean shoulder,and grasping a spade and an ax in his disengaged hand,toiled upward to his asylum.
When the crevice in the mountain-top was reached,he threw the contents of the box down into the tarpaulin which he had spread out to receive it,and having broken up the box with the ax,cast the boards down that they might fall to one side of the provisions.This done,he returned to the wagon,from above invisible,but which,when he stood on the plain,loomed dim and shapeless against the night.
There were great stores of comforts and even some luxuries in the wagon,and it was hard for him to decide what to take next;evidently Henry Gledware and his wife had expected to live in their wagon after reaching their destination,for there was a stove under the seat,and a stovepipe fastened to one side of the wagon.
If the Indians don't catch me at this business,said Willock,looking at the stove,I'll get you too!He believed it could be lowered between the stone lips of his cave-mouth,for it was the smallest stove he had ever seen,surely less than two feet in width.I'll get you in,said the plunderer decidedly,or something will be broke!
For the present,however,he took objects more appropriate to summer:the mattress upon which he had passed the afternoon,a bucket in which he packed boxes of matches,a quantity of candles,soap,and the like.This bucket he put in the middle of the mattress and flanked it with towels and pillows,between which were inserted plates,cups and saucers.I'll just take 'em all,he muttered,groping for more dishes,I might have company!
The mattress once doubled over its ill-assorted contents,he was obliged to rope both ends before he could carry it in safety.This load,heavier than the last,he succeeded in getting to the crevice,and as he poised it over the brink a few yards from where the tarpaulin lay,he apostrophized it with--Break if you want to;pieces is good enough for your Uncle Brick!
