Half an hour’s more riding brought them to the place of their destination. It was a rude hut or cabin, such as ‘squatters’ put up when taking possession—peaceably if they can, forcibly if they must. This hut was erected at the bottom of a deep dell, surrounded on all sides by hills so abrupt that they were forced to leave the horses tied above, while they made the descent on foot. Both externally and internally this looked like the ordinary abode of a new settler. But no sooner had the gang entered with their prisoner, than a light was procured, and one of the party, moving a mattress, lifted a trap door that gave entrance to a subterraneous apartment of some extent. It was probably a natural cavern, the entrance to which had been accidentally discovered by these desperadoes. Its isolated situation suggested its usefulness to them as a secret place of rendezvous, and a receptacle for plunder. One of them had accordingly squatted on the place and put up the hut. Monteagle was handed down into this apartment, his eyes still blindfolded—but the close, damp air informed his senses that he was in an underground apartment of some kind. The more he reflected the more he became mystified in his endeavors to ascertain the motives that had prompted these ruffians to take him prisoner in this most unaccountable manner. He had recognized the voice of the man called ‘Jimmy’ as that of the villian found asleep in Vandewater’s store, and who had been arrested for murder, and afterwards escaped from justice. But this discovery did not explain why he had been thus kidnapped. His suspense was, however, soon ended, as shall presently be shown. The cavern was of large dimensions, yet was more than half filled with silks, broadcloths, laces, and velvets of the costliest descriptions piled promiscuously together. Upon these heaps lay goblets, salvers and ladles of gold and silver ware, some showing signs of use, but most appearing bright and untarnished as when they glittered on the jeweller’s shelves. These things were evidently the result of successful robberies and explained why the neighboring city had been swept by so many conflagrations. In one corner of the cavern a small, thin, sharp-visaged man bent over a large crucible, the flickering flames beneath which shed a red glow upon his swarthy, anxious countenance. At the first glance this individual might have been mistaken for one of those alchemists who, in the dark ages, sought to transmute the baser metals into gold, or discover an elixir that would give to mortal man eternal vigor and immortal youth. He of the crucible was engaged in no such visionary employment. Beside him stood dies and other mechanical contrivances for the manufacture of coin, while a large box full of glittering ‘octagons’ showed that he was busy ‘augmenting the currency,’ by fabricating spurious ‘slugs.’ Monteagle now once more demanded the cause of his detention.