I dropped behind. But when I did that he stopped. "I just stopped for breath," I said. "You can keep on and I'll follow in a minute." "No," he answered, "I'll wait for you. I'm out of breath, too. Besides, I don't want you to get lost in here." At this juncture my companion, who had moved a little way off, gave a frightful yell, which echoed horribly through the cavern. I could not see him. I did not know what was the matter. Never mind! My one thought was of him. Perhaps he had been attacked by a wildcat or a serpent. Well, he was my fellow traveler, and I would stand by him! Even the chauffeur of the hack seemed to feel the same way. Together we turned and ran toward the place whence we thought the voice might have come--that is to say, toward the mouth of the cave. But when we reached it he wasn't there. "He must be back in the cave, after all," I said to the driver. "Yes," he agreed. "Now, I tell you," I said. "We mustn't both go in after him. One of us ought to stay here and call to the others to guide them out. I'll do that. I have a good strong voice. And you go in and find out what's the matter. You know the cave better than I do." "Oh, no I don't," said the man. "Why certainly you do!" I said. "I wasn't never into the cave before," he said. "Leastways not nowhere near as far as we was this time." "But you live right here in Hannibal," I insisted. "You _must_ know more about it than I do. I live in New York. What could I know about a cave away out here in Missouri?" "Well, you know just as much as I do, anyhow," he returned doggedly. "Look here!" I said sharply. "I hope you aren't a coward? The idea! A great big fellow like you, too!" However, at that juncture, our argument was stopped by the appearance of the missing man. He strolled into the light in leisurely fashion. "What happened?" I cried. "Happened?" he repeated. "Nothing happened. Why?" "You yelled, didn't you?" "Yes," he said, "I wanted to hear the echoes." * * * * * Before leaving Hannibal that afternoon, we had the pleasure of meeting an old school friend of Samuel Clemens's, Colonel John L. RoBards--the same John RoBards of whom it is recorded in Paine's work that "he wore almost continually the medal for amiability, while Samuel Clemens had a mortgage on the medal for spelling." Colonel RoBards is still amiable. He took us to his office, showed us a scrap-book containing clippings in which he was mentioned in connection with Mark Twain, and told us of old days in the log schoolhouse. Seeing that I was making notes, the Colonel called my attention politely to the spelling of his name, requesting that I get it right. Then he explained to me the reason for the capital B, beginning the second syllable.