Mickey did not propose to undertake it until convinced that no other
scheme was open to him. In going about the cave, he struck the walls in
the hope of finding some weak place, but they all gave forth that dead
sound which would have been heard had they been backed up by fifty feet
of solid granite. Among the many schemes that he had turned over in
his mind, none gave as little promise as this, and he dismissed it as
utterly impracticable.
He could conjure no way of reaching that opening above their heads. He
could not look up at that irregular, jagged opening without thinking how
easy it would be to rescue them, if they could make their presence known
to some one outside. There was Sut Simpson, who must have learned that
he had gone upon the wrong trail, and who had, therefore, turned back to
the assistance of his former comrade.
The latter knew him to be a veteran of the prairie, one who could read
signs that to others were like a sealed book, and whose long years of
adventure with the tribes of the Southwest had taught him all their
tricks; but whether he would be likely to follow the two, and to
understand their predicament, was a question which Mickey could not
answer with much encouragement to himself. Still there was a possibility
of its being done, and now and then the Irishman caught himself looking
up at the “skylight,” with a longing, half-expectant gaze.
There were several other schemes which he was turning over in his mind,
none of which, however, had taken definite shape, and, not wishing to
discourage his young friend, he answered his question as best he could.
“Well, my laddy, we're going to have a hard time to get out, but I think
we'll do it.”
“But can you tell me how?”
Mickey scratched his head in his perplexed way, hardly feeling competent
to come down to particulars.
“I can't, exactly; I've a good many plans I'm turning over in my head,
and some of them are very fine and grand, and its hard to pick out the
right one.”
Fred felt that he would like to hear what some of them were, but he did
not urge his friend, for he suspected that the fellow was trying to keep
their courage up.
They had finished their meal, and were sitting upon the sandy soil,
discussing the situation and throwing an occasional longing look at the
opening above. They had taken care to avoid getting directly beneath it;
for they had no wish to have man or animal tumble down upon their heads.
Now and then some of the gravel loosened and rattled down, and the clear
light that made its way through the overhanging bushes showed that the
sun was still shining, and, no doubt, several hours still remained
to them in which to do any work that might present itself. But,
unfortunately, nothing remained to do.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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