OFF TO THE CAVE.

On the evening of the third day after the departure of Mr. Lane from the Howard's, Owen was busy at the hand-mill cutting oats for the stock, when Uncle Pius came hobbling into the barn shaking his head in a most mysterious way.

"I know'd it, I know'd it," he muttered, in a low tone, while with solemn steps he paced up and down the barn floor.

"What did you know?" asked Owen, as he made the mill-wheel twirl and buzz, pretending not to be in the least interested in what the old negro had said.

"Can't tell you. Massar said I musn't tell." And Uncle Pius continued his measured steps to and fro, with his head resting upon his breast and his hands clutching his heavy cane behind his back. Owen continued his work. He knew that the best way to get a secret from Uncle Pius was to appear entirely indifferent in regard to it. The old negro walked from one end of the barn to the other several times, then he came to a halt directly in front of Owen.

"I know'd it," he repeated. "I know'd it all 'long. I know'd dar wasn't no corn in dat crib."

The buzz of the mill-wheel was the only answer he received. Uncle Pius turned and started off; but he had not gone ten feet before he retraced his steps.

"I know'd dar wasn't no corn in dat crib. I know'd dar wasn't. I know'd dar wasn't. I'se said so all 'long!" And Uncle Pius brought his massive cane down upon the barn floor.

Still the wheel twirled on; and still Owen was silent.

"Den dat ole Bowen! I know'd he's a rascal. I know'd it all 'long," continued the old negro, becoming more and more excited at every word he uttered.

It was with difficulty that Owen remained silent now. From a few words that his father had dropped at table, he had concluded that Mr. Lane's visit was in some way connected with Louis Bowen. Mr. Lane was sheriff now—had he come to arrest the old villain? But the corn-crib; why did Uncle Pius mention it? The boy's curiosity was soon satisfied; for Uncle Pius had come to tell his story.

The old negro went back to the night of the previous autumn when Bowen's corn-crib had burned. He reminded Owen of the fact that he, Uncle Pius, had stated, and rightly so, that there was no corn in the crib; for old Bowen had hauled it all away to a cave near the river, where, together with two robbers whom Mr. Lane had arrested, he had been making whisky for three years. The two robbers were now in jail, and the sheriff had gone down the river to find the cave and arrest Louis Bowen. But worst of all, as Mr. Lane had promised to return on the second day to get help if he had not succeeded by that time in making the arrest, and had not yet appeared, Mr. Howard was afraid that the sheriff had been killed by the villain.

Owen's heart beat faster and faster as he listened to Uncle Pius; faster and faster, too, in his excitement he made the wheel spin around. Thought after thought rushed through his mind. Mr. Lane was now in Louis Bowen's power—perhaps wounded—perhaps dead. Was there no way to bring him help? Could not Owen tell his father that he knew of the cave and persuade him to start at once to rescue Mr. Lane?

But why not go alone? Better still, get Martin Cooper to accompany him. They could reach the cave early in the night and bring assistance to a friend who needed their help. They could frustrate the design of a villain who had sought their lives.

Uncle Pius continued to rehearse his story, changing and distorting facts at each successive repetition. Owen scarcely hearing what the old man said; his mind was too busily engaged in working out a plan of action. As soon as he had made his decision he released his grasp upon the handle of the mill, seized a large willow basket, quickly distributed the oats in the troughs for the horses, leaped from the barn door and ran toward the house. It was lucky for him that he met no one, for his face was flushed with excitement. He took his coat and the pistol which he had won at the shooting-match; passing through the kitchen he thrust a few crusts of bread into his pocket, then dashed off again toward the barn. On his way he met Uncle Pius, who made an ineffectual effort to stop Owen and give him a more detailed account of old Bowen and the cave.

Five minutes later when the old negro saw the boy riding at a breakneck speed across the field toward Martin Cooper's, he shook his head ominously and muttered, "Dat chile am goin' to do somethin' awful. I jes' knows he is!" He had enkindled a fire, but could not quench the flame.

Martin was at supper, but on hearing Owen's familiar call, he went out to the stile-block in front of the yard-gate. The two boys exchanged a few words, and Martin caught his friend's enthusiasm at once. They were not boys who acted without the knowledge and consent of their parents; but on this occasion they were borne away by a sudden impulse and excitement. They consulted no one; they asked no one's permission. In less time than it takes to describe their movements, they had galloped off and disappeared in the gloom of the forest.

The cave! how often had the boys spoken of it, and thought of it, and dreamed of it during the past months! How the secret to which they had pledged themselves burned within their breasts! How they had longed to wander once more through its weird and mazy passages, its dim-lit vaults!

The cave! To enter it in the full light of day, and with the assurance that all was safe within—even this would have been an adventure for the boys—one that past recollections would have clothed with romance. But to penetrate it at night, to stand face to face before a villain whom ill-fortune had made desperate, to rescue Mr. Lane and make old Bowen a prisoner—all this caused the boys' blood to tingle in their veins. Yet it was not the excitement that comes of fear! True, they had quailed before the danger on that October night when Stayford had threatened them with death; but now that friendship called them, with beating hearts and firm resolve they pressed on without a falter.

The cave! Nearer and nearer the boys came to it. At first they spurred their horses and raced along the narrow path by the river bank, but when darkness had enveloped the forest their progress was slow. With difficulty the horses kept the winding road. Dark it was; yet light enough to see the dog-wood, as its long, white branches swayed to and fro in the evening breeze, and appeared like ghosts moving among the shadows of the thick Spring foliage. A hawk darted from a neighboring evergreen, screaming as it flew.

The cave! The boys were close to it now. They dismounted, and noiselessly threaded their way among the underbrush, and up the uneven hillside. There were the two giant rocks which stood as sentries near the entrance.

The cave! All was silent without; no sound was heard from within. Slowly! slowly! noiselessly! The heavy stone door was reached.

When Louis Bowen felt the powerful grip of the sheriff, he made no effort to resist, but permitted himself to be bound hand and foot. Simpson, too, yielded without a struggle, and before they had time to realize what had happened, the two men were helpless prisoners.

The sheriff seized a heavy axe and began to destroy the still. The copper caldron was cut and battered beyond the possibility of repairs; the long pipes, usually called a worm, were twisted and broken; the iron of the furnace was shattered into fragments.

Old Bowen groaned and cursed alternately as he saw the work of years melt away before his eyes. Then he began to execrate the authors of his misfortune. The two boys, whom he had wished to kill had, no doubt, divulged the secret of the cave—why had he spared them? Why had he spared a Howard? The Howards had stood between him and his fortune for years; their upright, honest lives were a constant reproach to him; they had sheltered his runaway slave; Zachary Howard had spurned him, threatened to chastise him; Owen had saved the war message. If he could but take revenge! If he but had them in his power for a single hour! But even revenge was denied him, and he could but curse his enemies and bemoan his fate.

While the miserable wretch indulged in these fierce, but useless thoughts, Owen and Martin, the objects of his hatred, appeared in the dim, ruddy light at the door. With a frenzied cry of rage that rang through the rocky arches of the cave, and startled the sheriff, plying his work of destruction, Bowen snapped the rope that bound his hands, and jumped to his feet; but before he could disentangle himself and rush at the boys, Mr. Lane had seized him and laid him helpless on the floor.

"What brought you here?" the sheriff asked the boys, as he knelt with one knee upon the breast of his prisoner.

"We came to help you, Mr. Lane, for we feared you were in trouble," replied Owen.

"How did you find the way?"

"Find the way!" gasped old Bowen. "They were here—last fall—and promised—on their oath—to tell no one. If I had only killed them, I should not be a ruined man to-day," continued he, in half smothered tones.

"And we kept our word, Mr. Bowen," said Owen, in a faltering voice.

"Believe them, Mr. Bowen; they told no one," said the sheriff.

"Then—then——" stammered the captive, "Jerry and Stayford—have—have proved traitors! The whole—whole world is against me!"

"Boys," said Mr. Lane, "let us finish this here work as soon as we can. Pile them there barrels together to burn, and put shavings under that there wood; we'll set fire to 'em and leave this here place for good."

The boys began their work without answering a word. Scattered here and there were a number of large barrels in which the mash was prepared; these were rolled together in a heap. Along one side of the cave, and extending its entire length, was a pile of many cords of wood. Most of it was well seasoned poplar, with its thin, ragged bark hanging down on all sides. While Martin set fire to the barrels, Owen applied a brand to the dry bark. It burned like tissue paper; it hissed and sparkled, and sent up puffs of unsteady smoke which wrought strange shadows on the sides of the cave, and made the myriads of water-drops overhead tremble and glitter.

Soon the pile of wood began to burn, and as the fire grew brighter and brighter, it leaped to the top of the damp stone arches, tossed and flared and scattered showers of whirling sparks. The men and boys were dazzled by the sudden and brilliant flame. Huge columns of pitchy smoke rose up from the glowing mass. The heat became intense; so intense that Mr. Lane cut the ropes which bound the prisoners and led them to the outer section of the cave; but he kept close to them, pistol in hand.

Two passages which led farther beneath the ground offered a natural flue through which the flame roared with the fury of a whirlwind. Stored away on heavy beams within these deep recesses of the cave were hundreds of barrels of whisky, the output of three years. The barrels caught fire; the heavy beams caught fire; the whisky poured out in streams and fed the raging element. Smoke and flame found their way through a thousand crevices and rifts until the whole hillside appeared to be ablaze. The glare through the rock door which stood ajar lit up the surrounding trees; while far below the glimmering river seemed a stream of blood.

The men and boys stood without, shading their faces from the heat and light, viewing the terrible and destructive scene. Old Bowen the while peered through the open door into one corner of the cave where a few pieces of wood lay half buried in the damp earth. The flames could not reach this wood, but the surrounding heat was gradually drying it. It began to smoke, then suddenly burst into a flame. At the same instant Louis Bowen shrieked: "Powder! powder!" he cried, as he sought in vain to free himself from Mr. Lane's grasp. "A barrel of it! The fire is over it! Run, run!"

He had scarcely uttered the last word when the whole hill seemed shaken to its foundation. A part of the stony vault fell with a crash, leaving a spacious chasm through which the pent-up flames burst with a mighty roar and leaped to the very top of the surrounding trees. A fragment of stone struck old Bowen and laid him lifeless at the feet of the sheriff. In the confusion which followed, Simpson darted into the woods and disappeared.

Mr. Lane and the boys fled from the spot to escape the suffocating smoke and flames. To their horror they saw the two giant rocks which had stood as guardian genii at the entrance of the cave start from their foundations and threaten to overwhelm them. For untold ages rain and frost and decay had done their work, and gradually removed the soil from beneath these stony masses, till it needed but the single shock of the explosion to set them in motion. At first they trembled with quick vibrations, then swung to and fro with the regularity of a pendulum, then rasped and jarred, and ground the stones beneath them into atoms, crushed the smaller trees which barred their progress, then on, on they dashed, gathering strength and terror as they went. Lane and the boys sprang aside just as they thundered by. Down, down they crashed; down, down, while the largest oaks and hickories bent as reeds before them, and were shivered into splinters—down, down, while the hills trembled beneath their massive weight and echoed with wild reverberations. At the water's edge they parted. One embedded itself in the mud and sand close to the shore; the other reached the middle of the river and disappeared beneath the water.

In the meanwhile the hill was shaken by another mighty throe—the entire roof of that section of the cave where the fire was raging collapsed and fell. The flame leaped out and lit up the trees and bluffs and river with a ruddy glow, and then was smothered and extinguished as if by magic. The sight was grand, but lasted only for a moment. A few gleams of light from the crevices in the hillside—a slight rumbling noise of the waves against the giant rocks—then all around was left in silence and in darkness.

SEALED FOREVER.

"The whole cave has fallen in," exclaimed Owen, as he leaped to the top of the cliff just in front of the place where the two giant rocks had stood.

"See, too, how the rocks are burned and blackened," replied Martin.

"I'm not surprised; I thought the whole world was on fire."

"And I thought that the Day of Judgment had come."

"Look at those trees! how they were crushed by the rocks."

"And the size of that rock!"

"Yes, it is as large as three houses."

"Now I see why the earth shook so much," said Martin. "I couldn't understand how one barrel of powder could make such an earthquake."

"And how do you explain it now?" inquired Owen of his companion.

"Easily enough; the whole cave was but a shell. The earth had been washed from around the rocks, and they were resting one on the other. When one fell, they all fell."

"What you say seems to be true," assented Owen.

"And now I wonder whether the whole cave has fallen in?" inquired Martin.

"Has Jerry's 'hold out' been blown up? That's the first question to answer," said Owen.

"Come," said Martin. "Let us see if we can find the little window."

It was the fourth day after the capture of old Bowen. Martin and Owen had come down to examine the scene of the explosion, and to search for the money which was supposed to be in Jerry's abode; for Mr. Lane had told them of the conversation which he had overheard between Simpson and the Tinker. In fact, the sheriff had promised to accompany them, but had been detained by business connected with his office. If they found the money, the two boys intended to send it on to the old trapper, who had always been friendly to them, and whose misfortune they both lamented.

It was impossible to judge of the position of the "hold out" from the top of the ridge where the boys were standing, so they descended into the ravine to the left of the hill to look for the small glass window. With the exact description which Mr. Lane had given, they did not anticipate any great trouble, yet so ingeniously had Jerry concealed the opening, that they spent an hour without discovering it, although they passed below it many times.

Finally Martin suggested that one of them climb a tree near the cliff. He had scarcely finished the sentence before Owen, springing up to the lower branches of a young ash tree, mounted to the top as nimbly as a squirrel, and a moment later a shout of triumph announced to Martin that the window had been found.

"Can we get up to it?" asked Martin.

"It is best to get down to it," came the reply from the top of the tree. "How long are the ropes which we used to tie our horses."

"They are over ten feet."

"Well, the longest will do. It is about seven feet from the window to the top of the cliff, whereas it is fully fifteen to the bottom, so you see it will be easier to climb down. I'll stay here while you go up on the ridge; then we'll be able to mark the exact spot over the window."

"That's a good scheme. It won't take me long to get up there," and Martin started off at once.

He gained the spot and called out for Owen. No answer came. He looked around to see whether he could have missed the place. No, it could not be; there was the ridge, there the ash tree which Owen had climbed. He waited for some time, then called again: "Owen! Owen!"

He heard the breaking of twigs behind him, and looking around beheld his friend, pale and trembling.

"Owen, what has happened?" he asked.

"I saw a ghost."

"What?"

"A ghost—a bear—something. I don't know what it was."

"Where?"

"In the window—just a moment—then it jumped back again."

"Why, Owen, you are dreaming. You fell asleep."

"No, I saw it. It was ugly, the ugliest thing I ever saw. Its face was covered with hair. It had large black eyes—I tell you, Martin, there was no dream about it."

"Sit down and cool off. Why, I never saw you so excited."

"Have your pistol ready, if it comes after us," said Owen, as he sat down on a log, and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "You had scarcely gone," he continued, "I was looking at the window, thinking of the night we spent in the cave, thinking of what we said about the ghosts when we were left alone in the dark. Then I saw the window slowly open and this ghost, thing, or bear, or whatever it was, looked at me with its two big eyes. You should have seen me get down that tree. I simply fell down; and away I went, looking back every minute to see whether the thing was following me."

"I never saw you frightened before. But I tell you what it is, Owen, I am going to crawl into that window and see what is there."

Owen pleaded with Martin not to go; but the latter was firm in his resolution. As the boys talked Owen's curiosity grew stronger, until finally he consented to stand above the window and keep guard while Martin entered the cave. The rope brought, Martin knotted it in several places, leaving a loop at the end in which to rest his foot, then tied it to a small sapling just above the window.

Martin began his descent slowly, and not without some hesitation. When he reached the end of the rope he gave a scream which made the heart of his companion leap within him. Owen looked over the precipice, and, to his surprise and horror, saw a long, shaggy arm and rough claw slowly dragging Martin into the cave; yet he could not shoot for fear of hurting his companion. Martin the while struggled in vain. He felt the claws of an animal sink deep into his flesh; he felt himself being slowly drawn farther and farther into the window, and a sickly, dizzy feeling came over him. Everything around began to swim. He relaxed his hold on the rope. He heard the report of Owen's revolver. Then he was free, and was falling headlong down the side of the precipice. The thick grapevines protected him from the rocks, and somewhat broke the weight of his fall,—for a moment, even entirely checking his perilous descent; and in that instant's pause he wildly clutched a strong branch, and then fell heavily to the ground.

The boy sprang to his feet, surprised to find that he had sustained no injury.

"Run, Owen! run!" he called out to Owen, who was standing at the edge of the cliff, pistol in hand.

Away the two boys went scudding through the woods like frightened rabbits.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"What was it?"

"A bear."

"That's what I told you. You wouldn't believe me."

"I believe you now."

"Was it a big one?"

"As big as an ox."

"Are you sure it didn't hurt you?"

"I thought it was eating my arm and leg off; but I don't feel it now."

"I thought you were a dead man when I saw you fall."

"The grapevines saved me."

The two boys all the while were saddling their horses and preparing for flight in case the animal followed them. They were suddenly startled by a noise in the opposite direction. It was Mr. Lane, who had finished his work and had come to join them in their sport.

"Halloo, youngsters! tired of the cave?" he asked. "Why, you look scared. What's the matter?"

"There's a bear in the cave," muttered Owen.

"Why, there isn't a bear in this here state, boy."

"Yes there is," stammered Martin. "He's as big as an ox. Both of us saw him."

Mr. Lane sat down and listened to the boys. Now that their giant friend was with them, Martin and Owen were no longer frightened. They succeeded in convincing Mr. Lane that there was really a bear or some other wild animal in the cave; although when Martin bared his leg where the monster had sunk his claws, he found only a light bruise.

The sheriff commanded the boys to follow him, determined that he would have its hide whatever the beast might be.

But how was he to get at the monster? Certainly he could not crawl through the small window, and neither Martin nor Owen would volunteer to go into the den and drive the animal out for him.

While they were consulting about the difficulty, Mose, the runaway slave, suddenly appeared and began asking the pardon of the two boys for frightening them.

It will be remembered that Mose had escaped from old Bowen some months previous, because the latter threatened to kill him. He was the only one of Bowen's slaves who knew of the existence of the cave, as he had assisted his master in hauling the still from Louisville and in putting it in position, and now that his master was dead, he had come to the cave to look for the money which he knew old Bowen had hid somewhere.

It was his intention simply to frighten the two boys. For this purpose he had used an old mask of deer skin, which Jerry had left behind him in the cave. But when he saw how scared the boys really were he repented of his act, for they had always befriended him.

A general laugh followed the explanation.

Mose assured the boys that there was no money in the "hold out."

The four then went to review the scene, the negro acting as guide. He had worked for many days and nights in the cave, and was familiar with all its winding passages. In his opinion not more than a third of it had collapsed, but this in falling had entirely blocked the three entrances. Every hole and cranny on the roof of the cave and along the ridges was examined, but with no success.

"I reckon that old cave is shut up as tight as a fruit can," said the sheriff.

"Yes," replied Owen, "it is sealed forever."

"The 'hold out' isn't sealed," said Martin.

"I'm going to crawl into it and take a last look."

Both boys crept in through the little window. Martin put on the mask which Mose had used, and looked out at Mr. Lane, who was standing below.

"Great pos-sim-mons," ejaculated the old marksman. "That looks just like the old Nick himself. 'Course you boys was scared when you seen such a crittar. I don't call you cowards no more. 'Course you run, and you was right."

While the sheriff amused the two with his remarks, Owen stood gazing at the huge rock which had fallen so as to bar completely the entrance to the cave from the "hold out."

"Martin," said he, in a broken voice, "I never in my life felt sadder or more disappointed than I do just now. We talked about this cave for days and weeks and months. I've thought of it; I've dreamt of it. I've looked forward to the time when we would wander through it with our torches, and tell the visitors of the first night we spent here. Now this is all impossible. The cave on the Beech Fork is sealed forever." On the floor he found a piece of charcoal. With it he wrote on the stone, which barred the way to the cave, the words:

Sealed Forever.

On the old stage-road between Louisville and Nashville, near the banks of the Beech Fork, where stood the home of the Howards, can be seen to-day a spacious stone residence. In the attic of this house in the year 18—, a young boy of fifteen—a Howard—found a faded and dusty manuscript with the title, "The Cave by the Beech Fork," by Richard Lane. On the second page he read the following: "Richard Lane, generally called Coon-Hollow Jim, for years held the prize as the best marksman in the State. He was Sheriff of Nelson County for two successive terms, and ended his days as school-teacher in the Beech Fork district. He wrote an account of the famous shooting-matches of Kentucky, as also a history of the wonderful cave of Tom the Tinker. He has also left a description of a trip to New Orleans on the Woodruff."

The boy read the manuscript with intense interest. One scene described there was perfectly familiar to him. Often had he fished from Big Rock, and swam and rowed around Middle Rock. Could these be the huge monsters that thundered down the river bank and crushed the giant oaks on that eventful night? Even during the time of Mr. Lane they bore the names of Big Rock and Little Rock! How strange it all seemed. And the cave, could it be there? And the "hold out"?

He would see that very day whether it could be found. To the cave he went, the manuscript in hand, and with him John Finn, a companion, who shared with him his sports. What appeared to be the sunken roof of the cave was easily traced. In fact it was familiar to the boys as they had often hunted rabbits there in the thick hazel and sassafras bushes. The day passed by and the "holdout" was not found. The boys did not grow disheartened. They returned to the spot with a rope ladder; with this they could descend safely and examine the precipice by sections.

Their patience was at last rewarded. The "hold out" was found. Into it they climbed. The place was dry; the dust was inches deep upon the floor. Not a single object was seen. But there upon the rock could still be read the words:

Sealed Forever.

To-day a primitive ladder leads up into the "hold out." It is made of a sycamore trunk, nailed with slats and leaning against the side of the cliff. The "hold out" is a favorite resort for the boys during the fishing season, for here they seek protection from the Spring rains. This, too, is their place of lodging when they fish at night. Gathered here in dusky groups around a blazing camp-fire, they often sit and rehearse the story of Owen Howard and the cave by the Beech Fork.