"They will kill us----" he began, when, on turning, his foot struck an iron ring in the flooring of the niche. He felt of the ring and soon became convinced that it was attached to a trap-door of some kind. "If it's a trap-door it must lead to a cellar!" said Stover, hurriedly. "I hope to heaven it does. Try it, lad, an' be quick!" Both crawled from the narrow opening, and Dan pulled upon the ring with all of his strength. Up came a trap-door about two feet square. Beneath this was a space of inky darkness. "Don't mind the dark," went on the old frontiersman. "Let me go fust, and be sure an' shet the trap after ye!" [Illustration: "HE BEGAN TO LOWER HIMSELF INTO THE HOLE."] He began to lower himself into the hole, and his feet struck a flight of stone steps. Down this he sped and soon reached a narrow passageway lined with rough stone, from which the moisture oozed into pools at his feet. "I'll try to put them off the scent," said Dan, and drew up one of the boxes in such a fashion that, when the trap fell into place, the box came down on top of it. Then he hastened to join Stover. "I don't believe any of our soldiers knew of this secret passage," said Stover. "I wonder where it runs to?" "Perhaps it doesn't run to anywhere," replied Dan. "Go slow, or you may dash your brains out on the rough wall." They moved along cautiously. The passageway was not over six feet in height and from three to four feet wide. It was uneven, but soon they found themselves going downward and away from the church and convent, as they learned by the muffled noises overhead. "This is some secret passage put in by the friars, years ago," was Stover's comment, after several hundred feet had been passed. "Like as not they built it to escape in case the Injuns attacked 'em." "Well, if they did, it must lead to some place of safety," answered Dan. "I sincerely hope it does." Stover was still suffering great pain, and he had lost so much blood that he could scarcely walk. "I must rest and try to bind up that wound," he panted, and sank in a dead faint at Dan's feet. Dan could do nothing in the darkness, and now he resolved to risk a light, and lit the stump of a candle which he usually carried with him when on a hunting expedition. By these feeble rays he bound up the wound as well as he was able and also attended to his own hurt. Then, as Stover gave a long sigh and opened his eyes, he blew out the light. "Don't make a light ag'in," were the frontiersman's first words. "It may cost us our lives. We will keep still and lay low," and then he became partly unconscious again.