The Secret of the Caves (8 page)

Joe was first to reach bottom.

“A cave!” He pointed right toward the base of the cliff. There, but a short distance from the breaking waves, was a dark hole in the steep wall of rock.

Frank took a flashlight from his pack and led the way into the dark mouth of the cavern. In its gleam he saw that their shelter was no mere niche in the face of the cliff, but a cave that led to unknown depths.

“Looks as if we can start exploring right here and now,” he said.

“Explore my neck!” grumbled Chet. “Let's build a fire. I'm wet clear through!”

“What do we do for firewood?” practical Biff inquired.

This had not occurred to the others. They glanced at one another in dismay.

“That's right,” Joe said. “There's not much wood around and it's soaked by now, anyway.”

Frank moved farther back into the dark cave with his flashlight. Suddenly he exclaimed in mingled astonishment and delight. “Well! Can you beat this, fellows?”

“What?” called Joe.

“Firewood!”

“Where?”

The others came hastening over to Frank.

“Look!” He cast the flashlight beam against the cave wall to his left.

In the center of the circle of radiance, they saw a neat pile of wood.

Joe whistled in surprise. “That didn't get here by accident—someone stacked it.”

Frank stepped over and picked up one of the sticks. “Good dry driftwood. We'll have a swell fire now.”

“I wonder who piled it in here,” Biff remarked.

Chet shrugged. “Why worry about that?”

“Probably the mystery men who are doing all the yelling and shooting,” Biff said. “We'll be in for it if this is
their
cave we've stumbled on.”

He, Chet, and Joe began carrying wood over to the center of the cave. Frank, meanwhile, set down the flashlight, took out his pocketknife, and whittled a particularly dry stick until he had a small heap of shavings. Over these he built a pyramid of driftwood. Then he took a match from his waterproof case and ignited the shavings. They flared up brightly.

Anxiously the boys watched the small blaze. Frank had been afraid that lack of a draft might cause so much smoke that they would be almost suffocated. To his relief, the smoke spiraled upward and was carried off. “Must be an opening in the roof,” Frank observed.

Soon the fire was burning briskly. As its warmth penetrated the cave, the boys took off their drenched clothes and spread them about the blaze, then wrapped themselves in the heavy blankets they had brought with them.

The rest of the afternoon the rain continued unabated. The clothes dried slowly. Once Biff went to the cave mouth and looked out at the wind-lashed sea.

“Do you think the water comes in here at high tide?” he asked.

“No,” Frank replied. “The cave floor was dry when we came.”

At dusk Chet produced the frying pan, and the fragrant odor of sizzling bacon soon permeated their refuge. The boys never enjoyed a meal more than their supper in the cave. The driftwood blazed and crackled, casting a cheerful glow which illuminated the rocky ceiling and walls of the underground chamber. With crisp bacon, bread toasted brown before the fire, hot chocolate, and jam, they ate ravenously, and at last sat back with deep sighs of sheer content.

Although part of the floor of the cave was rocky, much of it was sand, which provided a fairly comfortable resting place. The boys were tired after their long journey, so they stretched out in their blankets and were soon drowsily chatting, while the fire died lower and lower. At last it was only a glow in the dark and the voices ceased.

An hour passed. Two hours.

Suddenly Joe was awakened. He was just about to turn over and go to sleep again, wondering vaguely what had aroused him, when he heard a footstep close by.

He raised himself on one elbow and peered into the gloom, but could see nothing.

When he heard a rustle, he spoke up. “Is that you, Frank?” The words rang out clearly in the deep silence.

Instead of the reassuring voice of his brother, Joe heard a muffled exclamation and scurrying footsteps. Someone was running across the floor of the cave!

“WHO'S that?” demanded Joe, scrambling to his feet.

There was no answer.

“Fellows! Wake up!” Joe exclaimed as he stumbled about in the darkness, trying to find his flashlight.

“What's the matter?” came Chet's sleepy voice. “It isn't morning yet. Let me sleep.”

“Wake up! Someone's prowling around here.”

“Maybe it was Biff,” came Frank's voice. “Biff, you here?”

There was a deep sigh. Then Biff said drowsily, “Of course I am, why?”

Frank switched on his flashlight and played the beam around the cave. Biff and Chet sat up in their blankets and blinked. “What's wrong?” Biff demanded.

Joe told about the intruder.

“Did he go out the front way?” Biff asked.

Joe shook his head. “No. He seemed to go farther into the cave.”

“Well, then,” Frank said decisively, “we'll go look for him.”

The boys hurriedly dressed, and taking flashlights, followed Frank deeper into the stygian cave. Thirty paces ahead they were confronted by an arch in the rock, an opening that seemed to lead into a tunnel. They walked into it cautiously, and Frank kept his light focused on the floor to make sure no pitfalls lay before them.

The tunnel was about fifteen feet in length and six feet high. As the floor was of solid rock, they were unable to find any footprints indicating that someone had passed that way.

The tunnel led to another cave. “Maybe there's a regular chain of caves!” Joe exclaimed as the boys stepped out into a massive underground chamber.

“I guess ours is only the beginning,” Chet remarked.

In the glow of their flashlights the foursome saw that the huge room in which they now stood had a number of dark openings in the walls. These were, presumably, tunnels leading into caves beyond.

Frank frowned. “There are at least a dozen different passages out of here. The prowler might have taken any of them.”

“Let's tackle the biggest,” Biff suggested.

“Good idea. If we don't get anywhere, we'll try the others.”

The largest tunnel was straight ahead. The boys crossed the cavern and Frank led them into the dark passage. Seconds later he exclaimed softly, “Look!”

“What?”

“A footprint.”

Clearly discernible was the imprint of a boot in a patch of wet sand.

“We're on the right trail,” Joe said quietly. “Come on!”

With increasing excitement, the searchers pressed forward and in a few moments emerged into another cave. This was an enormous underground vault, the largest they had seen yet. Even the four flashlight beams failed to reveal all of the rocky walls and ceiling.

As they started to cross it, Biff's light went out. He muttered in annoyance and tried to coax a gleam from the silvery tube. No luck.

“Take mine,” Frank offered, but Biff declined. “Stay close, then,” Frank said as they continued across the huge cavern.

The floor of the cavern was piled high with rocks, evidently from cave-ins over the years. In other parts it was pitted with gullies and holes. In trying to avoid these, the boys gradually became separated.

Biff stumbled along behind. He felt the loss of his flashlight, but said nothing, relying on the radiance provided by the others.

Soon, however, the three lights became widely scattered. Biff found himself in total darkness.

He stood uncertainly for a moment, then called out, “Hey, fellows, wait for me!”

He took a step forward and stumbled. As he fell, he groped wildly for a firm rock, but there was nothing there.

With a cry of terror Biff hurtled down into blackness.

For a moment the other three boys froze in their tracks. Then they shouted for Biff, time and again, but there was no answer. They searched frantically among the rocks and crevices, but found no sign of him.

In the glow of the flashlights they looked at one another anxiously and listened in vain for a faint cry. There was no sound but the echoes of their own voices.

“We won't give up!” Frank vowed. “We'll search every pit and hole in here!”

With desperate patience they scoured the cave, but at last were forced to admit that it was no use.

“This place is too big,” Chet said dejectedly. “We need more light.” He sat down on a rock and buried his face in his hands.

“I have an idea,” Frank offered. “Let's build a fire. That'll help.”

Chet brightened. “Good idea!”

“Come on,” Frank said. “We have lots of wood left in the outside cave.”

“That's not a bad stunt!” Joe declared hopefully. “With a roaring bonfire we'll be able to light up the whole place enough to see what we're doing.”

The boys retraced their steps into the outer cavern where they had slept. They filled their arms with wood and were about to re-enter the tunnel when Joe noticed something that made him drop his wood on the stone floor with a clatter.

“What's wrong?” Chet asked.

“That's funny,” Joe returned. “I was sure we left our supplies right near this woodpile.”

“We did,” Frank assured him.

Joe turned his flashlight on the place where the greater part of their supplies had been stacked. A loaf of bread and a tin of sardines lay on the rock, but that was all.

“They've been stolen!” Frank exclaimed.

“By that prowler, I'll bet!” Joe said. “He probably hid himself until we passed, then sneaked back here and stole our food.”

“We can't worry about that now,” Frank said grimly. “Let's go!”

Swiftly Joe gathered up his firewood and the boys returned to the big vault.

Hastily the fire was built and soon the flames flared high. The companions were surprised at the number of holes and crevices now revealed.

“It's a wonder we weren't all killed,” Chet said. “We were prowling around this chamber without any idea of the real danger.”

Methodically the boys resumed their search, investigating each opening, deep or shallow. But in spite of the extra light and all their shouting, their efforts were in vain.

“I'm afraid it's no use,” Chet said, gulping. “It's as if Biff was swallowed up.”

“We need help,” Frank said tersely. “We'll go to the village and get some men with ropes and searchlights.”

Disconsolately the boys turned back. But as they did, Chet let out a bloodcurdling cry.

On the wall of the cavern flickered the huge shadow of a hand!

THE ghostly shadow caused the boys' hearts to pound until they saw the reason for it. A hand was reaching up from one of the pits, and the bonfire's glow threw its silhouette on the cavern wall.

“Biff!” Joe cried out.

Only a groan answered. The Hardys and Chet leaped toward the faltering hand as it groped for the lip of the pit. Frank grasped it and together the boys pulled Biff out. He lay dazed for a moment.

“You're hurt!” said Joe, bending down to examine a large egg on Biff's left temple.

“I'm all right now. A little dizzy yet, but it isn't serious.”

“What happened?”

“I fell into the pit and struck my head against the rocks. When I came to, I was lying beneath an overhang. I must have been out for a few minutes.”

“A few minutes!” Chet exclaimed. “We've been hunting for you over an hour.”

Biff looked incredulous, and shook his head in dismay when told about the stolen supplies.

“Boy! What a mess we're in,” he said as his companions helped him out of the cavern.

They returned to the outer cave and fell fast asleep. When morning came, a diligent inspection of their quarters failed to reveal any clues as to the thief.

“We're out of luck, that's all,” Frank concluded. “Our light-fingered friend fooled us neatly.”

“At least the storm is over,” said Biff, who was feeling better.

From the cave they could see the sun shining on the blue waters of the sea. As Chet unlimbered his metal detector he moved it over a rocky part of the floor. “Hmm. That's funny,” he said.

“Did you find a pirate's chest?” Joe grinned.

“No. But I hear a buzzing noise. Maybe this thing's broken.” He moved outside and began to swing the disk back and forth over the beach.

All at once Chet dropped his detector, fell to his knees, and dug furiously in the sand. His astonished companions watched from the cave entrance.

Finally the stout boy pulled something out and held it aloft in his right hand. “Ha! I told you!” he shouted.

“What is it?” Biff asked as he, Frank, and Joe hurried over.

“A pistol. Probably a pirate's. Or maybe from the sunken ship.”

“By golly, Chet, I have to hand it to you,” said Frank as he examined the piece and wiped wet sand from it. “Hey, wait! This isn't old.”

“You're right!” Joe burst in. “It's hardly rusted at all.” He handled the weapon. “Looks like a Smith and Wesson.”

“But see the marking,” Biff said. “Made in Spain.”

Chet looked wisely at his companions. “What do you make of it, boys?”

“Perhaps this very pistol caused all the shooting we've heard about,” Biff offered.