"Thank God!" murmured Ruth tremulously. In the sudden transition from despair to hope, they took little account of the difficulties they might have to overcome before they reached that other entrance--or the exit, from their point of view--which they had reason to believe existed. But as their first jubilation subsided somewhat, a soberer view began to thrust itself upon them. Admitting that there was an exit, what guarantee had they of reaching it? Suppose a fathomless gulf barred their way? Suppose the passage narrowed to a point too small for them to thrust themselves through? Suppose when the coveted exit should at last be found it should prove to be in the ceiling of the cave instead of the side, and hopelessly out of reach? But they quickly dismissed these dismal forebodings. Those problems could wait for solution until they faced them. The present at least was illumined by hope. "Come along, Ruth," cried Allen gaily. "Pack up your trunks and let's be moving." "Only too gladly," the girl responded, falling into his mood. "I never did care much for this place anyway." But suddenly a reflection came to her. "How are we to find our way in this pitch darkness?" she asked. "I don't know how many matches you have with you, but at the most they can't last long. And the time may come when a match would be more precious than a diamond." Drew took out his bag again, and, taking the greatest precautions not to drop one, counted the matches by the sense of touch. "Just thirty-two," he announced when he had counted them twice. "Only thirty-two!" echoed Ruth. "And we may need a hundred and thirty-two before we get to the other mouth of the cave." For a moment Drew pondered. "You're right, as always, Ruth," he agreed. "We can't depend on the matches alone. We'll have to get something that will serve as a torch. While I was digging, I remember I came across many branches of trees that had been carried down by the slide in its rush. We'll see if we can't make some torches out of them." He set lustily to work and soon had as many as ten good-sized sticks that promised to supply his need. He was afraid that not being seasoned wood they would prove difficult to light. But there proved to be a resinous quality in the wood that atoned for its greenness, and before long he had a torch that burned steadily though rather murkily. "Eureka!" he cried waving it aloft. "Good for you, Allen," applauded Ruth. "Now give me the rest of those sticks to carry and you go ahead with the lighted torch." "I'll carry them myself," he protested. "No you won't," she said decidedly, at the same time gathering them up in her arms. "You'll have the torch in one hand and you need to have the other free for emergencies." He recognized the common sense of this, but found it hard to let her do it. "It's too much like the Indians," he said. "You know that with them the buck carries his dignity, while his squaw carries everything else."