But as he reached the entrance his heart stood still, for his worst fears were confirmed. The retreat that he had taken such pains to keep a secret, and had shrouded with enough mystery to make the goings and comings of his men an object, not of curiosity amongst the simple superstitious people, but alarm, had been discovered, and by some one full enough of enterprise and daring to make his way inside. The first thing that struck his attention was a tall, stout fir-pole, which had evidently been used as a lever to dislodge the stone that stopped the entrance, and on going close up and peering in he could see a dim light burning upon one of the barrels, while a figure was down upon its knees hard at work opening a case. "The pitiful thief!" said Gil, as a movement on the intruder's part let the light fall upon his face. "As I thought--Abel Churr. Well, Master Churr," he muttered, as a hard look came over his face, "you have discovered a secret that should be paid for--with death--the due meed awarded to a thief." He drew his long, thin sword, and, holding it before him, stepped cautiously forward; but altering his mind, he thrust it back into the sheath with an impatient ejaculation, and once more peered over the stones between them at where the marauder was busily prising open the case. "The fool!" muttered Gil; "if that candle burned down he would be blown to pieces. What cursed luck that he should have found us out." He took another step forward cautiously, to avoid being heard, lest Churr should dash by and escape; but, once inside, the captain's person blocked the way, and stepping boldly forward, Churr started up with a shrill cry, like some beast when tracked to its lair. "You dog!" cried Gil, as he dashed at him, receiving, as he did so, a heavy blow from the iron bar with which the adder-hunter had been wrenching open the case. He staggered back, and Churr was springing over him, but he was too late, for, recovering himself, Gil seized him tightly, and a fierce struggle began. Churr had sprung forward so sharply that Gil Carr was driven to the narrow platform beyond the stone, and the struggle took place outside the cave. But it was not of long duration, for Churr was no match for the well-built, muscular young man, who, after wrestling with him here and there, ended by wrenching from him the iron bar, and they fell heavily on the narrow shelf of rock, from which, if either slipped, he would go down some forty feet perpendicular, and then crash through the bushes into the dark bed of the rivulet far below. "What--what are you going to do?" panted Churr at last, as he was held half over the side. "To kill you, as I would any other thieving rat or vermin who came to steal. But tell me first who knows of this place beside you?" "No one, not a soul," howled Churr. Then, feeling that he had made a mistake, he added hastily, "Only a few trusty friends."