CHAPTER XXXIV.
IN A HARD PLIGHT.
They were hungry and sleepy, but about eight o’clock that morning several vehicles passed down the road near them, and a boy came by with a basket of apples, and Dean ventured to steal forth and beg some of him.
Then he and Marcus slept until noon. Then they talked and worried, and finally Marcus said:
“Dean, I’m going back to the cave.”
“What for?”
“To see Meg.”
“But she said not to come until night.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t find the way at night.”
Dean was quite as anxious as Marcus, and they retraced their way to the hills.
Without much difficulty they located the entrance to the cave. Here Marcus paused.
“What had we better do?” he asked of Dean.
“Wait here for Meg.”
“Until night?”
“Yes; she said so.”
“I’m afraid she’ll forget all about us.”
“Then let us seek her.”
“Come on.”
It was a venturesome and dubious experiment threading the mazy labyrinths of the cave.
They groped on and on, and finally emerged into an open space, but the darkness was intense.
“I am sure that this is the main room in the cave,” said Marcus.
“Have you a match?”
“Yes.”
“Light it.”
Marcus did so. Its rays revealing some pine knots near by, he ignited one.
“Yes; this is the central cave,” he affirmed.
“Where the captive was?”
“Exactly.”
“But he?”
“Gone. There is the chain and the ring in the rock.”
The man Marcus had recognized as Manseur had disappeared.
There was, furthermore, no trace of Meg.
The boys stared wonderingly about the place.
“Dean,” said Marcus finally, after a pause, “it looks queer here.”
“Like a struggle.”
“Yes, or some one throwing things about.”
“There’s been some kind of trouble since we were here.”
“What do you think?”
“Those men.”
“Our enemies?”
“Yes.”
“You think they have been here?”
“I fear so,” replied Dean. “It looks as if some one had been searching for something all over the cave, and in so doing had disturbed things.”
“Shall we go on?”
“I guess so.”
The boys now pursued the other corridor leading from the cave toward the witches’ sugar bowl.
Soon they came to where daylight showed and extinguished the torch.
Dean was in the lead, and just as he reached the opening he started back with a cry of dismay.
“What is it, Dean?” asked Marcus excitedly.
“Look yonder.”
“Not the woman?”
“No, Daley and Tim.”
Both boys peered toward a little hollow where a small campfire burned.
Seated near it were two figures, recognized by the startled Marcus as Tim Downey and Daley.
They seemed to be engaged in earnest conversation, and a grim, resolute expression came into the face of Marcus Ellison, as he realized that a knowledge of its details would prove of the utmost importance to them.
“You wait here, Dean,” he said.
“What for; what are you going to do?”
“Get nearer to those fellows.”
“Don’t try it, Marcus.”
“I must.”
“You’ll certainly be seen.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Some of the others may return!”
“You watch out, and whistle if they do.”
Marcus crept on the ground to a clump of thick bushes that lined the hollow, in which sat Tim and Daley.
He listened intently, all unsuspected by the talkers.
The latter was indeed discussing themes of vital interest to Marcus and Dean.
“Yes, we’ll leave here,” Daley was saying.
“When?” asked Tim.
“As soon as the others return. We’re beat all around.”
“Yes, Meg is done for.”
“Drowned, sure! We almost had her.”
Marcus was filled with dismay.
Meg drowned!
If this was true, farewell to all hopes of ever establishing the innocence of his father.
“You see,” continued Daley, “we were too precipitate.”
“We found the cave here and went in. In the centre we found a man chained to a ring in the solid rock.”
“Who was he, I wonder?”
“Some victim of Meg’s crazy plan,” he said. “Anyway, he offered to show us all her hiding places he knew of if we released him, and we did it.”
“And we searched everywhere?”
“Yes, and found nothing. Then we came outside. The man told us of another cave by the river yonder, and ran away.”
“We went there.”
“And found Meg.”
“She ran.”
“We pursued her, and she fell over the cliff into the river. I saw her sink. Spofford and Rodney have gone to try and find her body, in the hopes that the stolen money may be on her, but the current is swift, and I guess it is a hopeless task.”
“I guess so, too,” replied Tim. “We may as well say good-by to the money.”
“Sure!”
“And we’re paupers?”
“It looks so.”
“I’m bound to have money, I’m bound to leave the country. That fellow Mercer is free, and he certainly knows our plots. Perhaps he has already gone to the police with his story.”
“That’s so,” muttered Daley uneasily.
“So I say, we must get money and leave the country.”
“That’s easily said.”
“And easily done.”
“How?”
“I have a plan.”
“To get money?”
“Lots of it.”
“Tell it to me. You’re a keen ’un, Tim,” Tim’s eyes glowed cunningly.
“Will you help me?” he asked.
“Certainly.”
“And do as I say?”
“Yes.”
“I shall scheme to get ten thousand dollars.”
“That’s a heap.”
“I intend to get it.”
“Who from?”
“Colonel Darringford.”
Daley started.
“Rodney’s father?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’ll tell you,” replied Tim with a mysterious chuckle.